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Writing,
for me, is like breathing air. I always wrote little stories
and poems as a child. We
had lots of
books
in our home. My mom was a college professor, so during the
summers
she'd bring home boxes of
books
(literally) for us to read and have our fill.
So
in junior high and high school I read numerous books—especially in
the summertime—as
I
wrote in
my diaries. This, not
surprisingly, turned out to be extremely beneficial for me as a writer.
For
that way,
I practiced and fine-tuned
my writing. Then, when I was about 19 years old, I wrote
my
first 'novel'. I
got as far as ten or so typed pages. The problem, I discovered, was
that I did not
know
the direction of
the story. The ‘novel’
opened with a young girl visiting an elderly woman. The
old
lady reflected my
drawing of an old woman—with
lots of dialogue between the crone and the girl.
I
also had a grand theme. But after ten or so pages, where was
the story going? I had no idea.
***
A
decade later, instead of a diary, I kept a journal. (Girls write
diaries; women keep journals.)
By
writing my stories and poems and daily existence, I was doing as
Virginia Woolf,
Anais Nin, and
Doris
Lessing had done. I wrote down story ideas, novel ideas,
synopses, chapters, essays, poems,
and
parts-of-novels.
Now
I think what a remarkable child and teen I was—to be writing so
consistently with no
visible
reward
(except that I wrote great, impressive essays for my classes, papers and book
reports). But at
the
time, writing was the norm for me. My air. It was my clandestine
life.
***
After
I wrote my first novel, Porridge & Cucu: My Childhood, I
began thinking of a larger
more ambitious
story.
At
the time I'd just finished reading Doris Lessing's The Golden
Notebook and, trying to emulate her,
I
had in mind a mixture of stories and folklore and family history.
I also wanted to include Panamanian
history,
as Isabel Allende—a writer I had read and admired—had embodied the history
of Chile in some
of
her novels.
At
the same time, I wanted to tell the story of a woman betrayed by her first
love. I knew infidelity was a
main
theme, but I wanted her to survive and get
stronger. Her name was Eulalia.
I
had innumerable notes—written haphazardly when ideas came to me, and so I
created a ten-page synopsis.
I
divided the synopsis into chapters. I tweaked the outline with a few
changes. Then I began. I took a long
time writing
Chapter 1—since I felt I had to cram so much into it. Theme.
Foreshadowing the plot. Main
characters. Also
I wanted to use gorgeous language. So I went over the first page
countless times, and
the
entire chapter at
least a dozen times (probably
more), tinkering with each word. That phase took about
six
weeks or more—after which I decided to split the chapter I'd been working
on into two chapters.
I
also decided to go forward.
Chapters
3, 4, and 5 basically flowed effortlessly: I was astonished that the
characters took over their own
fate.
I
had done some research into Panamanian and US history—while writing the
outline and synopsis, and
beforehand.
But, since I love doing research, I had to stop myself and just begin
writing (and do the
research
intermittently, as needed).
In
a sense, I’d been preparing to write The Honeyeater all of
my life.
***
Surprisingly,
I never felt overwhelmed as I wrote The Honeyeater. Instead,
I felt
empowered. I was,
I
felt, 'in the zone'. Certain sections—to this day—make me misty-eyed.
Part of the reason could be
that I
was
crying as I wrote them.
So The
Honeyeater is
very heartfelt. I loved writing it. I also love
reading The
Honeyeater.
And hope
other
readers will agree.
--Yolanda
A. Reid
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