leftover bits & keeping track
The pieces folder is there for when I've got a paragraph that doesn't fit, but I don't want to toss because I might find use for it somewhere else in the story. By the time I'm done with a novel the pieces folder looks pretty wild. I always check through it as one of the last steps to make sure I'm not overlooking something useful I could have found a home for.
Here's an example. I wrote this short scene for Tied to the Tracks, because it came to me when I was thinking about one of the secondary characters, the camera man for the documentary film company. He's a fairly complex character, a serial monogamist, a kind and funny guy who at fifty still can't find the energy to get married. I was thinking about him talking to his mother on the phone and this scene poured out.
I may never find a place for this in the novel, which would be sad, but things can't be forced. In that case it will sit in the pieces file and maybe someday I'll remember it while I'm working on something else and it will fit there. The point of this is to say: don't be too hasty with the delete key. Let things sit around, age a while. You might be surprised by what happens, down the line.Copyright: Mine.Excerpt: Tied to the TracksRivera had been saying for years that they could make a whole film around Millie Russo's phone calls to her only son. Tony refused to discuss the possibility, but he always put his mother on speakerphone. Angie had yet to figure out if his purpose was to spread the misery around, or entertain them.
"Tony," Millie said now from her kitchen in East Orange. "I'm calling to ask, you ever think about real estate?"
"Hi ma," Tony said. "How are you?"
"You know how it goes. So, you ever give real estate a thought?"
"Real estate? What for?"
"Real estate. Why not."
"Ma, would you just spit it out?"
"Listen to Mr. Impatient. You don't got ten minutes for your mother?"
"Sorry ma. Go ahead."
Millie sniffed. "You remember Jerry Tedesca, the tubby boy with the overbite was in high school with you? His uncle Mario died. His heart, and him only seventy-nine. "
"And Jerry was at the wake."
"That's what I'm telling you. You know what Jerry drives? A Mercedes, the biggest one they make. Still got that new car smell, leather seats as soft as butter. He drove me and your Aunt Dot home."
"And Jerry Tedesca is in real estate."
"That's what I'm telling you. Real estate. He made close to a million dollars last year."
"Real estate, ma."
There was a moment's silence. "What, you can't sell a house?"
Angie let out a squeak, and Rivera poked her.
"Ma."
"I'm just saying. How hard can it be to get a real estate license? Your second cousin Loretta got one and God knows she's got nothing much going for her in the brain department."
"Ma, I've got a job."
"You could drive around all day in a nice car, looking at houses. You want, you can fill the trunk up with cameras, take pictures on your lunch hour."
"I'm fifty years old, ma. I've got a job I like and I'm good at."
"It's never too late to improve yourself. You could go back to school. Move in here with me to save some money, go and study business. Angie, you tell him." Millie shouted so that the speakerphone vibrated. "A backup plan is a good thing."
"A backup plan is a good thing," Angie echoed obediently, and Jerry shot her a dirty look.
"Why do I bother?" Millie asked with a sigh. "He never listens. You never listen, Tony."
"We'll talk to him about it, Mrs. Russo," Rivera volunteered.
"I know you will. Such good girls, and single. Tony—"
"Ma."
"I'm just saying."
On a different matter: Marjorie has indicated that she'd be interested in talking about endings, which is something I can do in a general way. I'll start with that tomorrow.