The VERB - May '09 - Page 3

WHAT'S ON YOUR DESK?

The Girl She Used To Be was written entirely on a series of laptops. Thus, I had a floating desk. The novel and most of its edits were completed all over the place—and this is something that really goes against my grain; I tend to succumb to the subtle pleasures of routine.

Much of it was written before work—prior to 7:00 a.m.—and likewise during lunchtime at work. Indeed, I have fantasies of having blocked-off time to write (say, 6:00 a.m. to noon) but it is as just as slight a reality as typing at the big oak desk pointed toward a window overlooking a frozen, tree-lined lake. Some of the story was penned in the evenings while my kids played in the basement. What was on my “desk” there? I carved out a small hole on an old wooden table where I could position my laptop, along with ten square inches for a mouse. Around that was a shield of crayons, sketch pads, stuffed animals (mostly cats), partly-assembled Lego structures (mostly houses), and the remnants of crafts gone by. In the background: two laughing children and the too-loud dialogue from an occasional Nick Jr. video.

But the majority of my writing took place like this: Sitting in a generic office at a laminated wood desk next to a window looking down on the city of Fairfax, Virginia, from seven stories high, headphones affixed (old-style, the ones that actually cover most of your ears and apply a gentle pressure that keeps other noises out), with tons of music queued up. I would listen to music one hundred percent of the time while writing the first draft, then none at all during the second and subsequent drafts. The push-pin board behind my desk was filled with black and white photos of my wife and kids, and my desk had stacks of print-outs and reports and white papers and a phone gathering dust by the day, with manuals and spare computer parts filling every crevice of the bookshelf that stood in front of my desk.

My laptop always has three things running at all time: Microsoft Word (Office 2003), Microsoft Bookshelf 2000 (yes, incredibly outdated, but as familiar and warm as a fireside blanket), and some incarnation of Internet Explorer. I would bounce between these three applications for whatever amount of time I was given, whether it be five minutes or five straight hours. There were times where all I was able to put down was a single sentence.

Of course, that was then—when The Girl She Used To Be (and her less-fortunate older siblings) were being created. As for today, most of my writing occurs surrounded by children’s toys and noises. Despite the odd comfort that chaos can bring, I’m still holding out hope for that big oak desk. Until then . . . I go where my laptop takes me.

David has earned degrees in Government & Politics and Computer Science from the University of Maryland at College Park and has worked for different branches of the Federal Government for over a decade. His short works have been published by Like Water Burning and McSweeneys. He currently works in the Washington, D.C. area where he lives with his wife, son and daughter.
The Girl She Used To Be is his first novel.

SAY WHAT? Misused Words

guilt - a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong.
"The person to whom I addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt."

gilt - the thin layer of gold or other material applied in gilding.
"The old nurse said she looked as if she had just stepped out of a picture, and wanted nothing but a gilt frame round her to make her complete."

Atonement
(2007)

Written by:
Christopher Hampton

Starring:
Keira Knightly
James McAvoy
Vanessa Redgrave

A fledgling 13-year-old writer irrevocably changes the course
of several lives when she accuses
her older sister's lover of a
crime he didn't commit.

A MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF WRITING

In 1964, a young journalist named Peter spotted an interesting item in the local newspaper: a fisherman had captured a 4,500-pound great white shark off the coast of Long Island's Montauk Point. Fascinated with sharks since his boyhood days on Nantucket Island, Peter wondered, What if that happened near my hometown? And what if the shark wouldn’t go away?

This planted the seed for a novel, but Peter didn't actually water it until six years later. In 1971, while freelancing for both television and newspapers, he began to work on his shark story. In the winters, he wrote in the back room of a furnace company in New Jersey. In the summers, he wrote in a tiny turkey coop in Connecticut.

When he finally completed the novel, three years later, he had no idea what to call it. He’d managed to come up with several titles—The Stillness in the Water, A Silence in the Deep, Leviathan Rising, The Jaws of Death, The Jaws of Leviathan—but they all sounded weird and pretentious to him.

Twenty minutes away from production, he sat in a New York restaurant with his editor mulling over the problem. “Look,” he finally said, “we can’t agree on a word we like, let alone a title. In fact, the only word we think means anything, that says anything is jaws. Call the book Jaws.”

“What does it mean?” asked the editor.

“I don’t know, but it’s short, it fits on a jacket and it may work.”

“Okay, we’ll call the thing Jaws.”

Within eight weeks, Peter Benchley’s cryptically-titled novel reached the second spot on the New York Times' bestseller list and earned over one million dollars.

A swim in the ocean hasn’t been the same since.

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