I had planned to finish the final copy edits for Call of the Siren, the second book in the BryonySeries Limbo trilogy and a book that, quite frankly, has given me more trouble than any other novel, except for the first one, when I had no idea what I was doing.
So while I didn't finish the all of the copy edits, I did finish three-fourths of them, and I am fairly confident (from a Tuesday point of view), that I can finish them this weekend in the evenings, since I am working through the weekend again.
On the plus side, I learned a lot about writing when writing this novel. But the main thing I learned is that "voice" is more than the author's voice or the individual characters' voices. The story, the novel, can have its own voice, and that was my struggle with this book, although I didn't realize it at first.
However, realizing that the book had its unique voice didn't solve the problem. I had to first turn that volume up in my mind a bit, so I could hear that voice more clearly, even though that voice had been there all along.
Then I had to learn how to move that voice from my mind to the page, and that was really biggest struggle of all. That never happened until the end of 2021, after I had nine months invested in the book.
Even then, moving that "whole book" voice into a novel that also had the individual voices of characters, etc, wasn't a simple task.
While doing this, I also learned that, sometimes, telling is better than showing for translating that voice; that too much show drowns out the voice. Don't worry; the book is not one long narrative. But it also doesn't (completely) follow a typical structure.
But the efforts, I think, were worth it.
While reading through the proof copy a couple of weeks ago, I was amazed that I had actually accomplished it, that the story I wanted to tell in the way I wanted to tell it was actually told.
Keep in mind the book has no high commercial value. It's not genre fiction, and I'm publishing it myself. So when I say "final copy edits," keep in my mind you will find stray typos here and there. That's why, from time to time, I re-read my books, in order to pluck as many of those pesky errors as possible. So there really is no such thing as "final copy edits."
Furthermore, I know of only four people who will buy it immediately upon its release, three of whom who will greedily devoour the book when it arrives.
But even those three are worthy of my best storytelling efforts.
And soon, they will enjoy them.
Below is the back cover copy, a quote from Homer, chapter titles, and the prologue.
Sue Bass is haunted by dreams of her father, who died in a boating accident before she was born, alluring dreams of water and song. But then a soft-spoken outside man with an inside plan comes to town, and Sue's sleepwalking fades, only to resurface with greater magnetism when he leaves.
Two voices beckon. Which one will she heed?
PART ONE: WATER
Chapter 1: Lullaby
Chapter 2: Music or Madness.
Chapter 3: Town Mouse:
Chapter 4: Country Mouse:
Chapter 5: Water, Butter, and Wine:
Chapter 6: Little Girl Lost
Chapter 7: Lure of Their Eyes:
PART TWO: FIRE
Chapter 8: Flames and Frost
Chapter 9: Even The Sparrow
Chapter 10: Bewitched By Her Sweetness:
Chapter 11: House Calls
Chapter 12: Coin for the Passage
Chapter 13: Plaintive Cries:
Chapter 14: As Sharp as Spears
Chapter 15: A Meadow Filled with
Skeletons:
PART THREE: AIR
Chapter 16: Gates of Horn and Ivory
Chapter 17 Ask, and It Shall be Given You:
Chapter 18: Seek, and Ye Shall Find
Chapter 19: Knock, and it Shall Be Opened
Unto You
Chapter 20: The Stain No Storm Could Wash
Away
Chapter 21: A Stone and a Serpent
Chapter 22: Treading Water
Chapter 23: Last Dream of my Soul
PART FOUR: EARTH
Chapter 24: On Solid Ground
Chapter 25: Ideal – and Worthy of Envy
Chapter 26: Sue’s Diner
Chapter 27: In Dark Depths Lurking
Chapter 28: The Abyss Beckons
Chapter 29: : No Breath of Wind, No Ripple
of Water
Chapter 30: Ferry and Scythe
Epilogue
THE PROLOGUE
She
stood at the edge in bare feet with her toes gripping the rough edge of the
dock – and looked down at her friends.
The night wind whispered across her face,
her legs, and the hem of her nightgown, and raised the hair on her arms. She
shivered and hugged herself with cold hands as the chorus rose and swelled.
They looked back.
Silent and bloated blue under the rippling
waters, they gazed at her with purpled eyes and grinned with full inky lips.
She raised her hands and bent; the gentle
sloshing…
Creak.
She paused.
Creak, again.
Not the heavy creak of work boots, but the
light creak of an old man’s stockinged feet, a creak of stealth, of hurry.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Every fiber urged – now!
But she waited. She waited for the
crescendo, and when it came, she jumped, just as his arms tightened around her, and the chain snapped.
And the melody swallowed them up,
silencing its strains forever.
