Downtown

Cold and alone in the ice-fields of Hoth, at least I’ve got my ride — tauntaun!

He might be ugly but you know what they say; he smells much worse inside — tauntaun!

(With apologies to Petulia Clark).

One of the things I say when I’m answering questions about writing is that structure repeats. Think of the prototype paragraph so beloved for class essays; opening statement, exploration, recapitulation and conclusion.

Well, it is only a guideline (insert pirate here) and one breaks up the structure, but that basic idea is seen in not just the paragraph, but the sentence, and in the novel itself.

Or in the chapter. I’ve been pushing very hard this week and somehow managing to get a little bit of writing done every day and I am finally down to the final scene of the first chapter.

Where I need to sum up what was presented and what was learned; basically, (since this is that all-important opening chapter), driving home what that chapter had to say about what the reader can expect from the book.

Brief mentions, in other words, of the main elements at play; the excitement of the treasure hunt (and the form it will take), the delights of Paris (both as the romanticized tourist destination and as the real city), the art of history (understanding that the past is a different country, and they write differently there.)

And briefly on Penny finally growing into her own as an experienced traveler, who still makes plenty of mistakes, and more than half expects another adventure (she’s right).

Of course, when I looked at the new formatting, with the epistolary fragment from Huxley set out in its own block surrounded by white space, it felt too short.

So last night was experimenting with what more he could say without giving away too much too early. And without straining my still-poor understanding of just what Montmartre looked like in 1900.