We live in a context that values novelty over custom and familiarity; the Internet exacerbates this tendency, and a lot of waste results. We reach for something new when the emptiness inside us is unbearable, hoping to alleviate the pain of it, but it just fuels a vicious cycle of emptiness+new thing=momentary pleasure followed by more emptiness. Rinse, repeat.
I've been thinking about this a lot while I've been telling folks about All This Without You. The response so far has been very positive, and I'm thrilled that Tom and Elina's story resonates. It's true that my reach is small, but I still hope that the book will find its way to readers that need it. (I find that books often "find" me when I need them...funny thing, that). Books take a long time to write well, and I'm not a particularly speedy author, although I do read fairly quickly. All This Without You took more than three years to write and edit. Deliverance sat with me for almost a decade. I feel a certain amount of pressure (mostly internally) to get moving on the next book. When I had what I thought was the final draft of All This Without You (oh, the folly!), I started writing something just for fun, to clear my head. I had no idea where it was going, and didn't care. I just wrote and wrote and enjoyed it. But then it sat, as the pandemic bulldozed through all our lives. The overall story eluded me and I was too sick to care. I did start working on another story a few months ago--developing a bit of monologue that had popped in my head whilst writing All This Without You. I even wrote a couple of chapters, and plotted out most of the novel. The primary characters emerged from the shadows, and I was having fun learning who they were. At some point toward the end of 2020, I realized that I don't have the time or mental space available to punch it out quickly, and I don't especially want to live with this story for several years. At least, not in its current iteration. Perhaps its day will come, but that day is not now. I'm circling around some big questions that interest me, but no characters have whispered in my ear, no scenario has presented itself for me to explore. In the meantime, I've been painting. Landscapes, flowers, eggs. There too, I'm not speedy. I might work on one painted egg all morning and be creatively wrung out for the day. Recently, I designed and painted some wooden beads to make a necklace and earring set for my niece. The painting took a couple days because of multiple base coats, and the varnishing another, and the design and making another. Leaning into my own creative and artistic process when the world says 'move fast and break things' has been a difficult lesson for me, but ultimately, worthwhile. I would rather move slowly and build something lasting.
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Thanks to everyone who has bought the book, and especially to all those who have written me to let me know what they think of it!
Michael was the character who took longest to come into focus for me. In the earliest stages of writing, he was the shadow in the corner of my eye, and refused to come into my field of vision for some months. When he did finally show himself, it was in small pieces, given grudgingly. (Fittingly!) This was a little scenelet that originally appeared in the Chapter 5 flashback, but it disrupted the flow of the chapter and didn't work well as a transition to Chapter 6, so it had to go. Please do not repost without permission. Copyright © 2021 Juliana Bibas *** “I don’t know what to do,” Elina whispered to Father Innokenty at confession one Saturday, several months after Hazel’s death. The old priest was nearly blind; everyone said he had the gift of inner sight as a result. Elina was never quite sure, but she found him a good confessor and counselor. Michael was joggling a restive Philip in the back of the church while she made her confession. Elina knew she didn’t have long. “It’s like the man I married has just vanished and the person in his place isn’t someone I like very much. I feel so alone and I’m so angry at him for shutting me out and going away.” She sniffed a little and pinched her nose hard to keep from sobbing. Father Innokenty heaved a long sigh, like wind through trees, and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way. “Marriage is difficult,” he said, not looking at her. She kept her eyes on the bias relief on the gospel book in front of her. The raised gold faces of the evangelists regarded her solemnly and the scent old incense mixed with brass. Elina resisted the urge to run her finger over the surface of the book. “You have to find a way to let go of your anger and your pride and to forgive and forgive again. Forgiveness should be the word of your life.” Father’s voice cracked a little at the end. Elina was silent a moment, digesting that. “Even if he does not ask it, you must give it,” he added. “Ask God to help you with this.” “Yes, Father,” she said, feeling doubtful, but also somehow relieved of some of her burden. Father placed his orarion over her head and murmured the prayers of absolution, tapping her head with the four points of the cross. Elina kissed his hand and received his blessing and then moved to the back of the church to take Philip from Michael. Michael gave her a real smile—his first in months. He cast his eyes back to Father Innokenty. “Do you think Philip would keep a few more minutes? Because, ah…” Michael ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. “Yes! Go, please!” Elina could barely conceal her relief and practically pushed him down the aisle. Michael hadn’t been going to confession regularly, and consequently, hadn’t communed much since Hazel’s funeral. She hoped that the sacraments would help him come back to himself. Please do not repost without permission. Copyright © 2021 Juliana Bibas All This Without You is live today! Both the paperback and kindle versions are available to order. I hope the journey of these characters is something that will resonate.
Sometimes whole chapters end up on the cutting room floor because they don't fit after editing, or they slow down the narrative, or something else (kill those darlings!) I have a few such scenes from All This Without You I thought it might be fun to share here, sort of like a DVD extra feature.
The following scene takes place in late November in the Roskrysh section of the book (fairly early on). The link will take you to a recording of a male choir singing Memory Eternal in Russian. The melody/setting is the same in English. Please do not repost without permission. Copyright © 2021 Juliana Bibas ~ Tom found the memorial service quiet and moving. It brought him back to Michael’s funeral and he couldn’t help comparing the two services. The funeral had been savagely foreign and fascinating. Tom had found the repetition of the prayers monotonous, but the singing of Memory Eternal brought tears to his eyes. Kissing Michael’s forehead, along with everyone else, had been strange, but also fitting. He found the way most people treated death as something to hide wrong somehow—a denial of the bodily reality of death. Lines from John Donne ran through his head: I know not for whom the bell tools, but it tolls for thee. Another poem popped unbidden into his mind, and he whispered it to himself as he watched the other mourners file up to the casket to kiss Michael’s forehead. I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead. He is just away. With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you—oh, you, who the wildest yearn For an old-time step, and the glad return, Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here. Think of him still as the same. I say, He is not dead—he is just away. Tom had watched Elina, her baby in a carrier on her front, holding the hand of her other daughter, her sons to either side of her father. Michael’s red hair on all of them. The children looked confused as to what was happening. Elina’s face had been grey but stoic. She bounced on the balls of her feet to soothe the baby who was fussing a little. Tom took in the little family and his heart contracted with sorrow. There is nothing fair in the world. Hobbes had the right end of the stick. Life was nasty, brutish, and short, and then you died. Michael was too young to die like this! What would Michael’s family do without him? Tom had grieved for his childhood friend, the lonely years of boarding school, the two of them together against the posh kids who excluded them for being there on scholarship. However their lives had diverged over the years, Tom still valued Michael’s friendship and the history they shared. Now that Michael was gone, Tom had lost a part of himself. He didn’t know what to do with that. The graveside service had been equally beautiful. He watched Elina again, her head bent over the baby carrier. He hoped she would find peace after all this. He wasn’t sure he would ever be okay. The choir was singing a sonorous Memory Eternal by the time Tom came back to himself at the memorial service, Elina’s still form beside him. They stood in front of the candle box in front of the large crucifixion icon, and Tom stared at it, at the weeping figures at the foot of the cross. Father Ioan held the censor in his right hand and swung it gently over the candle box, the chains jangling with the movement. Tom crossed himself, the gesture less strange now, and breathed through his nose, trying not to weep. He couldn’t understand his grief over Michael—why it had hit him so hard. He’d lost other people over the years, even age-mate friends, but Michael’s death was different somehow. It had cracked something wide open in him and he didn’t know how to fit the pieces back together. The preceding content is the sole property of Juliana Bibas and may not be shared without permission. Social Media: #allthiswithoutyou |
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