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Redirect: How to Approach the End

Today, my first post as a regular contributor goes up on Write It Sideways. I’m talking endings. Not sad goodbyes, but a farewell to characters. How do you end a story? It isn’t as easy as just typing the words.

Click on over: What are the Best Ways to End a Story? Then, tell us how you tackle the final scene.

“A great ending can save a saggy middle, but an ending that’s abrupt or ill-thought-out can ruin all the goodwill built painstakingly page after page by an otherwise good book.”
~ Jael McHenry, “Flip the Script: End Anywhere”

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Welcome, Ilie Ruby, Author of The Salt God’s Daughter

 

If you’re a mother and a writer, you know how hard it is to make the writing happen. Some days, I’m lucky to get the skeleton of a story down on paper. Other days, I’m grateful to rewrite my to-do list. Plenty of those days, I’m up until midnight. Because balancing motherhood and writing is a daily challenge for me, I love to hear from successful authors who accept that challenge head on. And, win.

Ilie Ruby is one such author. Her new novel, The Salt God’s Daughter, has received lots of praise and attention. I’ll post my review of her book next week. But for now, Ilie stops by here today and shares with us how one mother writer makes it all happen.

Welcome, Ilie!

~

You know those color-coded schedules for families? Those charts that hang on the walls of people’s kitchens? Those have become our saving grace. I’ve had to become a very organized person, which is not at all the way that I used to be.

Internally, I was always incredibly organized in my thinking, for example when creating a novel it was easy and natural for me to remember where all the pieces fit. But externally, I was always very free-flowing and spontaneous. Three little kids later (with myriad activities and educational requirements)—I don’t have a choice but to become organized in my life as a mother.

The only way I get any writing done is to schedule my writing time in some rather strange hours—at night. I just love to write at night and I start after the kids go to sleep and then I write for four hours or so. This works for me because I am a natural night owl. 9pm has always been the high-point of my day and when I’m the most energetic and creative.

Now, I bet you want to know about sleep—when do I sleep? I’ve learned is that I don’t require as much as I thought. I’ve learned that my body is stronger than I ever knew. I always thought that as you got older, you became more frail. For me, it has been quite the opposite. In many ways, I feel younger today than I did ten years ago—healthy, strong, creative, and yes, organized!

Thanks for having me on your blog, Christi!

Ilie Ruby is the author of The Salt God’s Daughter and the critically-acclaimed novel, The Language of Trees, which was a Target Emerging Author’s Pick and a First Magazine for Women Reader’s Choice. She is also a painter, mother to three, and teaches writing in Boston.

About the Book
Set in Long Beach, California, beginning in the 1970s, The Salt God’s Daughter follows three generations of extraordinary women who share something unique—something magical and untamed that makes them unmistakably different from others. Theirs is a world teeming with ancestral stories, exotic folklore, inherited memory, and meteoric myths.

For more on her book, read Stacy Bierlein’s review and interview with Ilie at The Rumpus. You can also visit Ilie Ruby’s beautiful website, follow her on Twitter or subscribe to her Facebook page.

Interested in Mother Writer swag? Click the Mother Writer image above (and thanks to E. Victoria Flynn for providing the link).

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Michael Perry, Date Night, & a Writing Prompt

Technically, I don’t meet up with my friends at the retirement center until Saturday, but today is as good a day as any to introduce this month’s writing prompt.

I admit, I’ve never read any of Michael Perry’s books. He’s published several (his most recent hit the New York Times Bestseller list); he’s a Wisconsin writer; my husband loves his work. I know he’s good. Still, I had only admired the covers of his books when I made a date to attend his reading with my husband last week.

Let me say two things. First, It isn’t easy to plan a date night when you’re working hard and minding kids and scraping together money for a sitter. But this night was worth it: I love author readings, my husband loves Michael Perry’s books, and we stopped at a local burger joint for dinner, where I ate the best bag of fries. Ever. Not to mention the company of the man sitting next to me.

Second, the best part of a good book is listening to the author read from it, especially when an author, like Michael Perry, reads so well. It was an excellent event. He filled the spaces in between excerpts with life stories and glimpses into a writer’s world (to which I can relate). He is one of those authors I would love to sit and visit with for a while. Rather, I’d love to sit and listen to him and my husband visit for a while. They would have plenty to discuss. My husband isn’t a writer, but he tunes into life’s small details that I tend to ignore; he makes note of people living on the periphery. He’s a man of many questions, and because of that, he knows a little about a lot. Michael Perry does the same – the details, the people, the questions we all ask – and weaves those observations into great prose. Now, the question for me isn’t so much if I’ll read his book, but which of his books I’ll read first.

Date night and a good book. That’s all it takes to bring to light your next writing prompt.

From Visiting Tom:

I can make no special claim on Tom Hartwig. The path to his door was well worn by a parade of feet other than my own before I first crossed his threshold, and so it is right through the present. I visit him whenever I need a piece of iron cut, bent, or welded. Sometimes I visit in the company of my wife and two daughters; we bring food and stay for supper. Sometimes I visit to drop off a dozen eggs. Sometimes I visit just to visit. I rarely come to Tom seeking anything more than ten minutes of his time and a size-sixty-eleven welding rod. He is not my mentor, I am not his acolyte, we are simply neighbors. And yet with each visit I accrue certain clues to comportment — as a husband, as a father, as a citizen. (I also accrue certain clues regarding the fabrication of cannons, the rebuilding of Farmall tractors, and how to run a sawmill, although due to my profound mechanical ineptitude, any observations I might make in these areas should be regarded as anecdotal rather than instructional).

The Prompt.

Man on doorsteps, SwedenNeighbors. They are a critical part of our landscape whether we live in the city or in the country. They can make or break our time on the block. I’ve had questionable neighbors, good neighbors, absent neighbors. There was Linda, skin and bones, who lived on the first floor of our Irving Street apartment building. She kept her door open a crack, and you couldn’t help but peer inside as you passed by. Then, there was eighty year old Ruth, who welcomed us to our first house with a strong Irish smile. She stopped by with homemade chicken noodle soup every chance she got. And, the couple down the street whose whole front yard is made up of creeping phlox? Sometimes I wonder.

Tell us about your neighbor, about a time you depended on their kindness, in action or in thought, or about the time you discovered their secret.

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* Black and white photo credit: Swedish National Heritage Board on flickr.com