Chapter 5 — Saskia’s Twin
Hello Friends,
Today’s is another short chapter, so I thought I’d take a little extra time and tell you about my writing process, specifically as it pertains to The Curve of Time. If you’re just here for the next chapter, then feel free to skip ahead.
I have a slightly odd way of writing. I haven’t heard another author describe my process——which is a bit disconcerting on the one hand, but there you have it. Most stories I’ve written started with an idea, which is not so unusual. Something I was excited to explore. The Curve of Time was no different.
This story started with the notepad I keep by my bed at night. I jot notes down as I fall asleep. I use a small stack of recycled paper from printouts of whatever (sometimes they are math papers, a couple of years ago they were publications on machine learning and neural nets, and when my wife was in law school they were law school case studies). More specifically, I use the backs of those pages, which are clipped together at the top with a big pink or black industrial binder clip——I’m not quite sure why pink and black are the two colors I own. Anyway, the point is they are blank pages and I have developed an ability to write just legibly enough that I can read my chicken scratch the next morning, without the need of turning on my bed-light at night (this out of deference to my wife).
In any event, one night, while falling asleep, I started scrawling notes about my friend Eden slipping in time. Eden’s a good friend I spent much of the Covid pandemic climbing with on the rock wall I installed in my backyard, and it was after one of those evening climbing sessions that my mind wandered to slipping in time (I think we might have been talking about Blake Crouch’s Dark Matter that night). My initial notes were maybe a dozen pages. That’s not as much as it sounds, remember it’s chicken scrawl, written in the dark, and I err on the side of spacing things out because there have been times in the past when my inspired words have overlapped, and the combination of their being barely legible to begin with and overlapped on top of that consigned those words to the dark void where many other fleeting ideas have gone, ideas that were not committed to paper, or an audio notebook.
So, that’s how The Curve of Time started.
Later, it occurred to me that my ideas about slipping in time shared something with the concepts explored in Edwin Abott Abott’s novel Flatland of the late nineteenth century. Though, my story explored the interface between three and four dimensions, instead of two and three. Mine is also a more modern tale, with more modern themes, subject matter and pacing. But, as an erstwhile mathematician, I like the idea of writing a story that explores geometry and what is meant by dimensions, something I think many readers have a basic understanding of but would love to encounter an approachable modern day presentation of.
Nothing I’ve described thus far is so out of the ordinary as a writer. And maybe the next step, which is kind of the bulk of my writing journey, is only a variant on what others before me have done, but basically my process consists of writing snippets that I’m inspired to write (or sometimes pinching scenes, lines of dialogue, or the like that I’ve collected over the years but haven’t yet found a home for) and putting them in my book where they fit. Then, and this is the wonderful thing about being a bit of a goldfish, I start reading what I’ve got from the beginning and flesh things out as I go, permitting myself, quite freely, to skip over anything that I don’t have a good idea about. Fleshing things out can be anything from making a note about how a character needs to learn something in a scene, to noting how the chapter I’m looking at might tie either forwards or backwards to another spot in the novel, all the way to writing out a scene that I’m inspired to flesh out. I’ll make notes on story structure as I read through, which, early on, often means taking scenes or chapters or even a few chapters in a row and juggling them about.
It feels a little like the way Mid-journey and other AI image-making programs start with static and then iterate with pass after pass gradually getting closer to something resembling the entered prompt. Only I don’t have a Platonic novel in my head to set as the north star, just a few ideas that trigger more ideas for the next pass.
One of the nice consequences of immersing myself in the story is that at night I often have new ideas which bubble up in that liminal state just before being engulfed by sleep. The next day, my chicken scratched notes are a very easy jump start.
So that’s my process. I’m not really what’s known as a traditional pantser (meaning writing from the beginning without a plan, aka flying by the seat of one’s pants), nor am I a traditional planner. In truth though, most of us probably exist in the grey area between the extremes of this world, so maybe I’m not so different.
Until next week, be kind to someone and keep an eye out for the ripples of joy you’ve seeded.
Cheerio
Rufus
PS. If you think of someone who might enjoy joining us on this experiment, please forward them this email. And if you are one of those someone’s and you’d like to read more
PPS. If you’d like to join in a discussion check out the comments section of the chapter 5 blogpost
And now, without further ado, we pick up our story, with Mica, right after Saskia has coordinated to meet her at the Santa Anita racetrack for the second time.
— 5 —
Saskia’s Twin
Mica watched as Saskia walked down the block. She was intrigued by the woman who’d knocked on her window as if that were the most natural thing to do. And, unless Mica had been grossly off-base, Saskia had been flirting with her. That was a first for a lottery winner, making Saskia decid- edly not what Mica had expected. Moreover, for a techie, she told a good story, though Mica had to admit that her own attentiveness was possibly biased by Saskia’s general appeal.
Mica tossed her bag back onto the passenger seat, and placed her hands on the steering wheel. She then realized that, in her distraction, she’d for- gotten to extricate her car key from her bag. She looked over at it, and back to Saskia, who gave her an adorable little wave before disappearing around the corner, out of sight.
Slipping the key in the ignition, Mica paused again. This was not how she’d expected today to run. Saskia was cute, but there was something fishy about the way she seemed to know who Mica was, and why she was here. She didn’t seem that genuinely surprised to find a reporter on her doorstep.
Still, Mica started the car and glanced over her shoulder. She was about to pull out into the street, when she noticed another woman inside Saskia’s house. It was a fleeting glimpse she’d caught, but—
It couldn’t have been.
Mica stopped what she was doing. The woman in the house crossed back in front of the window, and was gone again, her wavy brown hair and simple black top disappeared further inside. She was the spitting image of Saskia.
Collecting herself, Mica went back over what she’d just seen. Saskia had rounded the corner at the end of the block, and then, in less than the blink of an eye, she’d seen Saskia again, inside her house. It made no sense . . . unless Saskia had a twin. That would be a great twist on the lottery story.
14 Rufus Williams
An element of unexpected intrigue. Everyone loved twins. And identical twins, so much the better.
It was weird, though. Jeff, her digital assistant, ought to have flagged a twin when Mica had him run a quick background on Saskia. Sure it was a lateral direction to take the story, but it seemed unlikely her AI would have missed such a fun element.
Once again, Mica killed the engine. She scooped up her bag from the passenger seat, and threw her keys inside.
Slate pavers, neatly ensconced in wood chips, led her to the front stoop. There was no name on the letter box. Apartment buildings were so much more helpful that way.
Mica listened for half a minute, but resisted the temptation to place her ear to the door. There was a tall thin glass window between the lock and the wall that flanked the entryway. Mica craned her neck to peek inside, but whoever was inside was further back in the house now.
This didn’t need to take long, and she had a car after all. She’d still beat Saskia to the racetrack if this somehow turned out to be a fools errand. Collecting herself one last time, she raised her hand, ignored the electronic doorbell, and rapped the ornamental knocker.
That’s it for chapter 5, hope you enjoyed it and I look forward to seeing you all next week. In the meantime, apparently liking podcasts and even more writing reviews make a huge difference, so if any of you find a free moment I’d be eternally grateful for a podcast review on your favorite platform.
Until next week, cheerio.
