So, I am in the midst of writing my first novel. It will be my second book, when and if it gets published, my first book being It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt, due out from Summerfolk Press this coming spring.
So this book, so far, is about a little kid, growing up in an abusive household, that all of a sudden finds himself wielding tremendous power. The first thing he does with the power is kill his abusive step-father.
Ain't that a bitch.
I am about 52 type written pages into the book or roughly 19,000 words. I know where the book is going next, and I am pretty sure I know where this book ends (though I think there may be some sequels to it). It is part autobiography and part exorcism, and writing it is like channeling an alternative mini-me with the power to see auras, summon spirits, and tear abusive stepfathers a new asshole.
Amen.
It is an interesting exercise writing this book, as I am following the old maxim "write what you know." The book, for the first six chapters, is set in my hometown of Duluth, MN. Much of it is set in an apartment building that I lived in briefly as a child that was actually an old convent. Next, the kid is going to be hauled off to the hometown of my birth Father in the southern mountains of West Virginia. I need to go and visit Ronceverete, anyway, to visit my Great Aunt Sis. But, also, I want to visit the place to make it more real in my memory, since the last time I was there was 18 years ago. This town is the same town in which my family were held as slaves, so there is some serious history in this place. There has been a member of my family in the county since at least the mid-18th century, and since 1709 we have been in the Virginia Colony. So, I am feeling the pull of the homestead, so I can capture the spirit of place.
It also helps that in my Great-Grandma's backyard is a century+ old tombstone, tumbled over, and the maiden name of the woman on the tombstone is one that is shared by my Great-Grandmother, who, incidentally, swore that this woman was of no relation.
B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T
Don't think that isn't going to end up in this book.
In the end, writing a novel is both similar and wildly different than writing a poem. Poetry seems to capture a single moment in time and reflect it back with some analysis but mostly raw emotion. A novel seems to take broad swaths of time and delve into the woulda, coulda, shouldas in a way that is both cathartic and crazy making.
Hold on to your diaphragms ladies...this is going to be a hell of a ride.
Showing posts with label The Book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Book. Show all posts
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Advanced Praise for It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt!
Advanced praise for my first solo book of poetry, due out at the end of September from Summerfolk Press, It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt.. Look soon for the release of a webpage for the book!
"Brandon Lacy Campos is part tomahawk thrower and part philosopher, a fresh voice of queer rebellion, an outsider talking of revolution, avenging exploitation. The stinging lashes on a slave’s back, the mystical incantations of native medicine men, the curiosities of an innocent white child and the cultural bisection of a bilingual Latino—these are the things he sees, as these are the things he is. These poems are monuments to the victims of abuse, to the splendor of visionary queer consciousness—to true America."
Charlie Vázquez, fiction writer, blogger and host of the queer East Village reading series, PANIC!
"Brandon Lacy Campos is part tomahawk thrower and part philosopher, a fresh voice of queer rebellion, an outsider talking of revolution, avenging exploitation. The stinging lashes on a slave’s back, the mystical incantations of native medicine men, the curiosities of an innocent white child and the cultural bisection of a bilingual Latino—these are the things he sees, as these are the things he is. These poems are monuments to the victims of abuse, to the splendor of visionary queer consciousness—to true America."
Charlie Vázquez, fiction writer, blogger and host of the queer East Village reading series, PANIC!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Bookin' It II: Writing Boogaloo
So, I am in the middle of the fifth chapter of my as of yet unnamed book. As I am writing this bad boy, I have found myself in a constant struggle not only with being as true as possible to a set of circumstances from which, at this point, I am more than 12 years and a thousand miles distant but also with a litany that keeps cycling through my brain...why are you writing this...who cares...is anyone going to read this...is this funny enough...is this too funny...can you write a memoir this way....is there a right way...how the hell do you get a damn book published...you are dumb if you think anyone is going to publish this...when should I let folks start reading chapters to provide feedback. The list seems to go on ad infinitum.
I have found, though, that even with the struggles that come with writing the book, I am loving it. I am loving the process, I am loving the challenge, and I am loving forcing myself to delve into memories of perhaps one of the most turbulent times of my life (and for those that have known me...I can count the non-turbulent times on one foot). I have decided that the scope of the book is going to go from my sophomore year of college at Warren Wilson through my trip to Puerto Rico as a senior at the University of Minnesota. In the grand epochs of my life...it seems my life has naturally broken itself into various ages...birth to junior high...high school to the end of my freshmen year of college....my sophomore year of college up to my trip to Puerto Rico and my return to North Carolina...my return to Minnesota in 2001 to 2003 and the entrance of HIV into my world....2003 to Albuquerque and my return from Albuquerque to the present time. Good lord, that is a lot of subdivisions for a guy that is only 30 years old. At least I know that if this book sells, I have at least a good five or six more I can put out, and perhaps by the time those are done a new chapter in my life history will have been completed, so I can keep the paychecks coming.
Actually, writing this book has been a great exercise, and it has rekindled my love for great speculative fiction. I wrote a play a couple of years ago now about a vampire, since childhood I have read anything and everything I could get my hands on concerning vampires, and I have seen just about every major vampire flick from the early 80s forward (plus the original Dracula and snippets of Nosferatu). I love vampires, I love Anne Rice's vampires, I love Bram Stoker's vampires, I love Joss Whedon's vampires, and I think that the next project (see me always thinking ahead) is going to be my own take on the vampire legends. But, you know, I haven't finished the book I am currently working on.
Writing is such a beautiful beautiful thing. Folks have complimented me on my writing. And I have deeply appreciated those compliments, but I feel as if my ability to write is akin to someone that can sing their butt off, or is a piano virtuoso...there is hard work that goes into developing the talent, but, in the end, it is a genetic predisposition that resulted from the luck of the draw. Some people can see a piece a woman in a piece of marble, and I just see marble. The key, for me, is encouraging everyone to find their gifts and to explore them and share them and appreciate them as well. And I appreciate the opportunity to share my gifts, and hard work, with those around me. And, if by chance, someone gets laughter, joy, a good cry, or an aha moment from something I've written, then all the better.
I have found, though, that even with the struggles that come with writing the book, I am loving it. I am loving the process, I am loving the challenge, and I am loving forcing myself to delve into memories of perhaps one of the most turbulent times of my life (and for those that have known me...I can count the non-turbulent times on one foot). I have decided that the scope of the book is going to go from my sophomore year of college at Warren Wilson through my trip to Puerto Rico as a senior at the University of Minnesota. In the grand epochs of my life...it seems my life has naturally broken itself into various ages...birth to junior high...high school to the end of my freshmen year of college....my sophomore year of college up to my trip to Puerto Rico and my return to North Carolina...my return to Minnesota in 2001 to 2003 and the entrance of HIV into my world....2003 to Albuquerque and my return from Albuquerque to the present time. Good lord, that is a lot of subdivisions for a guy that is only 30 years old. At least I know that if this book sells, I have at least a good five or six more I can put out, and perhaps by the time those are done a new chapter in my life history will have been completed, so I can keep the paychecks coming.
Actually, writing this book has been a great exercise, and it has rekindled my love for great speculative fiction. I wrote a play a couple of years ago now about a vampire, since childhood I have read anything and everything I could get my hands on concerning vampires, and I have seen just about every major vampire flick from the early 80s forward (plus the original Dracula and snippets of Nosferatu). I love vampires, I love Anne Rice's vampires, I love Bram Stoker's vampires, I love Joss Whedon's vampires, and I think that the next project (see me always thinking ahead) is going to be my own take on the vampire legends. But, you know, I haven't finished the book I am currently working on.
Writing is such a beautiful beautiful thing. Folks have complimented me on my writing. And I have deeply appreciated those compliments, but I feel as if my ability to write is akin to someone that can sing their butt off, or is a piano virtuoso...there is hard work that goes into developing the talent, but, in the end, it is a genetic predisposition that resulted from the luck of the draw. Some people can see a piece a woman in a piece of marble, and I just see marble. The key, for me, is encouraging everyone to find their gifts and to explore them and share them and appreciate them as well. And I appreciate the opportunity to share my gifts, and hard work, with those around me. And, if by chance, someone gets laughter, joy, a good cry, or an aha moment from something I've written, then all the better.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Bookin' It
I have led a very interesting life for someone that has not yet finished out his 30th year of living. For a person that grew up poor and at times near homelessness, I have seen and done quite a bit, less than many but more than most. I have, because of luck or the love of friends, been a part of some moments that will most likely be talked about in history books one day: the first Day of Silence, the first Youth Pride in DC, part of the planning committee for the first U.S. Social Forum, etc. I have also lived through some shit. And done some shit. Some of which I am proud of some of which I am deeply not proud.
As I look back at the last thirty years of life, look at my life now, and continue with my commitment to maintain my joy and strictly apply the Mary J. Blige Rule: No More Drama, I am trying to systematically revist my memories and those experiences that, at least at this point in my life, I believe have done much to shape who I am, where I've gone, and the choices (good and bad) that I have made.
A couple of weeks ago, I started writing a book. I have started many a book in the past. The furthest I had ever gotten before was two perhaps three pages. As of this evening I am in the middle of the third chapter and some twenty or so pages into the project. The book starts off shortly after I turned 19 with a trip I took with some friends to Washington DC to see the AIDS Memorial Quilt the last time that it was fully displayed. In the narrative of my life, particularly now as an HIV positive adult, that experience was and continues to be important. I am writing the book as a memoir. It is creative non-fiction that uses a sassy humor that I hope will both examine personal and collective experiences and help me better understand who I am.
Writing this book has been both liberating and terrifying. There are narratives that I have told to myself and to others that have not always been the most honest and truthful. But, the stories that I have told myself are the ones that I needed to tell in order to get me through. But, as I look back over time and at my failure to face my own shortcomings or my downplaying the choicies of others and the impact of those choices on my life, I see how I have sold myself short and robbed myself of the honest self-evaluation that leads to growth.
Yesterday I went for a walk with Titi around Southdale Mall. Titi is a brilliant man. One of those rare individuals that is honest and tough and you know, even as he is breaking you down, that he is doing so because of love. Titi has let me have it on a couple of occassions. With most folks, I immediately get defensive...Titi's approach to accountability is one that is forthright and pre-emptively disarms those self-defense instincts. As we were talking yesterday, about a range of topics, I mentioned to him how as I have been writing and finishing drafts of chapters, I have found myself going back and re-reading, re-writing, and going deeper into the experiences that I have had.
Titi had some wisdom to share over Dairy Queen blizzards. Titi explained it to me like this, he said that our brains are built to defend us from particular emotions and experiences. Sometimes we are unable to access those experiences because we are not ready to face the reality of what was really going on. But, he said, as we lay down, through writing or whatever, those experiences, each time our brain allows us to add another layer of perception and understanding. As we grow and face that which we need to face, we are able to deepen our memory and, thusly, our interaction with the truth of our experiences.
As I write about some beautiful and tough experiences in my life, I hope that I am able to maintain the bravery necessary to make this more than just a ra-ra to me. Without being morose, I want to be able to critically look at my life, a life that has, without a doubt, been full of humor even at its ugliest moments. I want to be able to show my humanity while still maintaining a joyful engagement with the comedy of errors that is living. And, also, as I tap into the feelings that I have held on to for far too long, it is my hope that I can release them on to the pages and out into the world. Holding on to the lessons of life is necessary, holding on to the hurt is not.
As I look back at the last thirty years of life, look at my life now, and continue with my commitment to maintain my joy and strictly apply the Mary J. Blige Rule: No More Drama, I am trying to systematically revist my memories and those experiences that, at least at this point in my life, I believe have done much to shape who I am, where I've gone, and the choices (good and bad) that I have made.
A couple of weeks ago, I started writing a book. I have started many a book in the past. The furthest I had ever gotten before was two perhaps three pages. As of this evening I am in the middle of the third chapter and some twenty or so pages into the project. The book starts off shortly after I turned 19 with a trip I took with some friends to Washington DC to see the AIDS Memorial Quilt the last time that it was fully displayed. In the narrative of my life, particularly now as an HIV positive adult, that experience was and continues to be important. I am writing the book as a memoir. It is creative non-fiction that uses a sassy humor that I hope will both examine personal and collective experiences and help me better understand who I am.
Writing this book has been both liberating and terrifying. There are narratives that I have told to myself and to others that have not always been the most honest and truthful. But, the stories that I have told myself are the ones that I needed to tell in order to get me through. But, as I look back over time and at my failure to face my own shortcomings or my downplaying the choicies of others and the impact of those choices on my life, I see how I have sold myself short and robbed myself of the honest self-evaluation that leads to growth.
Yesterday I went for a walk with Titi around Southdale Mall. Titi is a brilliant man. One of those rare individuals that is honest and tough and you know, even as he is breaking you down, that he is doing so because of love. Titi has let me have it on a couple of occassions. With most folks, I immediately get defensive...Titi's approach to accountability is one that is forthright and pre-emptively disarms those self-defense instincts. As we were talking yesterday, about a range of topics, I mentioned to him how as I have been writing and finishing drafts of chapters, I have found myself going back and re-reading, re-writing, and going deeper into the experiences that I have had.
Titi had some wisdom to share over Dairy Queen blizzards. Titi explained it to me like this, he said that our brains are built to defend us from particular emotions and experiences. Sometimes we are unable to access those experiences because we are not ready to face the reality of what was really going on. But, he said, as we lay down, through writing or whatever, those experiences, each time our brain allows us to add another layer of perception and understanding. As we grow and face that which we need to face, we are able to deepen our memory and, thusly, our interaction with the truth of our experiences.
As I write about some beautiful and tough experiences in my life, I hope that I am able to maintain the bravery necessary to make this more than just a ra-ra to me. Without being morose, I want to be able to critically look at my life, a life that has, without a doubt, been full of humor even at its ugliest moments. I want to be able to show my humanity while still maintaining a joyful engagement with the comedy of errors that is living. And, also, as I tap into the feelings that I have held on to for far too long, it is my hope that I can release them on to the pages and out into the world. Holding on to the lessons of life is necessary, holding on to the hurt is not.
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