My brother's daughter arrived at 15:something yesterday. I think 15:10 or thereabouts. My brother said it's okay if I call her Snorgle.1
I had the day off from the dayjob today, and was looking forward to gathering up and corralling a slew of words on the page. No such luck, unfortunately. The going was slowslowslow, and after only 400 odd words I stopped because, quite frankly, all I was doing was writing filler. And no one wants to read filler. And writing filler? Possibly even more boring than reading it.
The problem of course is not only do I not know where I'm going with this story, any time I do think up a new snippet of plot, it's always just that: a snippet. A beat. Never a scene, with its own arc and turning point, just a beat. It's all so very disjointed. (I don't mind disorganised. I wrote my first novel out of order and without an outline. Disorganised is okay. Even though most of this novel has so far been written in sequence. But disjointed, where I can't feel a connection between what I'm writing and what I've written and what I'm planning, that's not okay.)
What I really need to do is collect the snippets up as beats, but not start on writing a new scene until I have a new scene. Surprises are okay, sure, but I really need to know the pivotal action, the beat that will be the turning point, the mini-narrative of the scene. Before going in. Otherwise, I'm going to write an awful lot of filler.
So, yeah, I'm plotting now. Or trying to. I have an uneasy relationship with plotting. I need to take it by surprise, ambush attacks, approach it whistling and thinking of other things.
- Yes, I did nickname the beagle puppy we didn't buy Snorgle. No, my brother doesn't know that. No, I may not be allowed to call his daughter Snorgle for long, if ever, if he ever discovers the connection. But I want it documented that he said I was allowed to. [↩]