Feb 012010
 

Right this very second, I'm supposed to be writing.

And my body is doing its damnedest to convince me we're not capable of sitting still1 or (horror of all horrors) dragging words out of the murky recesses of my consciousness and slapping them down in some laughable approximation of narrative order. My eyes are sagging in their sockets, my shoulders are starting to climb up around my ears, and my legs keep attempting mutiny by standing. Get up, my mind is whispering. Give it up. Do something easy. Like watching TV. Or reading — there's that juicy book you're in the middle of, just waiting for you. Or what about scrubbing the bathtub? ANYTHING BUT THIS.

All because I'm not quite sure what happens next in this short story, and apparently DECIDING is too much to ask.

Honestly, some days I think if you just accomplish staying in the chair, you've won an epic battle.2

  1. at the desk — apparently lying still on the couch or the bed, reading, we're definitely capable of :???: []
  2. Although words and/or plot wouldn't go astray right now. Any second now. Whenever you're ready, words, plot. No, really, take your time. []
Dec 282009
 

First, the administrivia: I have been a most efficient and dedicated authorly creature and mailed out the giveaway books. They went out in the afternoon post of Monday 21 December (my time). So, winners, eyes on your mail boxes, and please to be ooh'ing and aah'ing over the pretty when it arrives, 'kay? 'kay.

I would like to say that my Christmas has been quiet and contemplative, but as I steal a moment to write this I quite literally cannot hear anything over the bawling and hollering of the two year old and three year old. They're not a patch on the twenty-four year old cousin egging them on, however. I can say my Christmas has been raucously festive, at least ;)

It's also involved edits. Lots of. I'm now about halfway through the first pass of edits on Pledged Book 2, whatever it ends up being called. But as I go through, I stick a post-it note against any fix that requires too much thinking or might result in a ripple of changes back and/or forward through the novel. So the pages I've 'done' usually end up with a minimum 3 post-it notes apiece, and need to be gone back to. They're starting to look like much harder work than the pages I haven't touched yet. Oy vey.

Somewhere along the line I realised I've started talking to the edits. Well, actually, that usually happens from the get-go — but I seem to have progressed to talking aloud to the edits. Can't remember at what point I started talking aloud to the edits of Shadow Queen, so hard to say whether my insanity is progressing faster or not. Probably faster. Accelerated by the Christmas lights, no doubt.

I had more to say, but the squalling has reached epic proportions and if I don't at least make an effort to intervene, I might end up caught in the crossfire. See you all in the new year!

Oct 202009
 

Today at work I pointed out a tagline that was aiming for — and singularly failing to use — the plural possessive. Worse, I did it with frustrated hand gestures and even (oh dear lord) finished up with a wordless cry.

You know what this means, don't you? That's right: I've cemented my reputation.

In TV-land, girls cement their reputation by doing dreadfully uninhibited things at office christmas parties. Me? I point out apostrophe atrocities.

Oh yeah. I live on the edge.

Oct 112009
 

I don't talk about my writing process overly much, or with a great deal of specificity when I do — mainly because every time I contemplate the topic, I always trip over the "what (barely, if at all) works for me won't necessarily work for anyone else" hurdle; and if I manage to make it past that one there's always the "I'm hardly an expert!"

But it occurs to me I should, mainly because I like hearing about how other writers work. So, you know, share and share about and all that.

So, given I've been whinging so much lately about the plot (or apparent lack thereof) of the faerie novel, I thought perhaps I should share how I currently1 approach outlining.

My first novel2 I wrote out of order, and without any outline at all. Literally scattershot. I wrote 350,000 words worth of novel, and then wrote a summary of each scene on an index card, and only then did I put the scenes in order. It was inefficient, and messy, and led to a whole lot of continuity errors. But that's okay: at the time, I was writing solely for myself, without any guidance or practice, to see if I could not only start a novel but finish one.

I'm not quite that inefficient any more — although I've not progressed far along the spectrum yet.

Shadow Queen I wrote without an outline, and without any planning in advance, but at least this time I wrote the story linearly, meaning I started at Chapter One and plugged right on through to Chapter Eleven.3 With Pledged, thanks to it being a continuation of the story, I had an idea of the turning points that needed to happen4 to get the story to the end I had envisioned back when I started writing The Binding books — which gave me some leeway to write not-entirely-linearly without messing up the continuity too much. (Heh. Two distinct skills, having an outline and writing in order. I can't do either one particularly thoroughly on its own; I definitely don't like to do both together, apparently.)

I've tried outlining up-front, using various approaches, from loose character sketches and a few key plot points, to the uber-detailed snowflake method. Ultimately, though, none of those tricks work for me unless I've written at least some of the alpha draft already. And by some I mean at least a good third of the draft.

At that point I know the world and the characters well enough to know where the story I started is heading.

To assess that, I use the four-act structure. It's a narrative structure I picked up from the Crusie Mayer blog (which no longer appears to be available online, so this is from the notes I made at the time and may have skewed from the original that Jenny Crusie presented):

  1. Inciting Event: the first conflict, which starts Act I
  2. Turning Point 1: the protagonist makes a decision they wouldn't have at the start of the story, thus ending Act I and kicking Act II into gear
  3. Turning Point 2: at the midpoint, the protagonist makes a decision which demonstrates how utterly they've changed from the story's outset, thus ending Act II and ushering in Act III
  4. Turning Point 3: the dark moment, at the end of Act III, when the protagonist is all but defeated
  5. Climax: the end of Act IV, and only one of the combatants is coming out a winner

Jenny Crusie had approximate wordcounts by which each of these turning points should occur, but I forget them. For my purposes, I find a "not quite quarters" approach works nicely for me: the fourth act needs to be shorter, for pacing reasons, whereas the second and third acts can stand to carry a little more weight.

It's all arbitrary, anyway — I for one have seen plenty of other-act structures out there, from the 3-act5 to the 9-act. I find 4 works for my brain because there's enough turning points to hang the story on, but not so many that I get lost and frustrated in the agonising process of trying to figure out the story without writing it first.

Usually, because I've written about a third of the draft, I've either written the first turning point, or I'm not far off it — so it's simply a matter of figuring out two more turning points and the climax to resolve everything. And because my characters are invariably capable of having an argument in white space which lasts a good 10,000 words, having from 20-50,000 words between turning points isn't too daunting and in fact can sometimes feel a bit rushed.

I'll also sometimes write a blurb or (usually incomplete) synopsis at this point, because that captures the mood of the story better than turning points, and knowing the mood I want to evoke is just as important as knowing what happens. One of my friends makes word-lists (brine in preference to salt, for example) to make sure she can pin the mood to the page, and sometimes I'll do something similar. Theme and symbolism might also get a few quick notes at this point, too.

The Binding books, being first-person, had only the one set of turning points, as the other characters' storylines played a very definite second fiddle to Matilde's. The faerie novel, on the other hand, has two protagonists, who are not always working together, so I have two sets of turning points happening, sometimes coinciding and sometimes in counterpoint. Here's hoping I can make that work.

I do find that with each book I attempt I'm wanting slightly more outlining up-front, so who knows? Maybe one day I'll end up being uber-detailed, outlining every beat of every scene of every chapter before I even write a word.

Although that would be a world gone topsy-turvy.6

  1. Processes change with time, of course, but also with books. I'd heard writers saying before that every book is written differently, demands to be written differently. Every book is a first book in the sense that you never learn how to write books, you only ever learn how to write the book you are currently writing. Before I'd actually hit the magical =30= on my first novel, I didn't disbelieve them, but neither did I entirely understand. Surely tricks learnt in writing a previous book would stand an author in good stead in writing the next book? Yes, in the sense that the author now knows those tricks and will try them, but no in the sense that the tricks in question may not help wrest the book out of the head and onto paper, and then the author is back to square one: whatever works. []
  2. Not Shadow Queen, that's my first published novel []
  3. Which, in the published version, roughly align with Chapters, oh, about 2 to um…however many chapters there ended up being. Thirty-odd, from memory. I don't have a copy of the book to hand to check, and I am too lazy to walk into the other room to find one. []
  4. Ooh look! that almost sounds like a bona fide outline — for very loose and nebulous interpretations of the word outline []
  5. Which is generally the same, Act II of the 3-act structure being equivalent to Acts II & III of the 4-act structure []
  6. As evidenced by this very post. Most people can explain their outlining process in a sentence or two, or a quick concise list. Me? Over a thousand rambling words. I sigh in a resigned fashion. []
Oct 012009
 

Can you believe it's only Thursday morning? This has been the longest week known to mankind. Ever. No, really.

Perhaps it's because the weekend is staring me in the face, my already-double-booked weekend with no days to myself, and I am pre-emptively weary.

More likely it's the fact that the faerie novel hates me — no, wait, I hate it. We hate each other!

I've hit the patch in the alpha draft where it's all just an enormous muddle in my head, and I feel like I can't possibly wade forward with the words until I actually see if there's a cohesive story structure hidden beneath the detritus that is the draft so far. On the other hand, if I stop, and attempt to find said cohesive story structure, I know I'll either find myself convinced there is no story, or else convinced there is a story and if I just START AGAIN I'll find it. Or even both, which is not a marvellous headspace in the least, and I don't recommend it. At all.

I tried, on Sunday, to "quickly" scan through what I'd written so far. Not stopping, not plotting, just a read-through to jog my memory as to what happens in each scene so I know what's been set up (or failed to be set up) and what needs teasing out and what needs wrapping up. And, yup, sure enough: I want to simultaneously push onwards and FINISH THIS SUCKA and also go back to the start and write something, I don't know, SALVAGEABLE.

The solution to this dilemma would be ever so much easier if I had any idea what to write next.

Jul 292009
 

Last Saturday, a friend of mine said he might take a break from the novel for a bit, because he wasn't sure quite where it was going, and he didn't like it very much at the moment. And I told him that meant he was most definitely Not Allowed to put the novel aside for a bit. Put a novel down when you don't like it very much, and you run the very real risk of never picking it up again. And the only way to be quite sure of where the novel is going is to actually write it, and see where it takes you. Plenty of time to assess whether it went in the right direction once you've gotten there.

(For those planning-type writers out there, that last snippet of advice is going to sound heinous and dreadful and like telling small children they should totally just run out into the middle of a busy road without looking first, everything will be fine, and for that matter strangers present no danger whatsoever and while we're at it, in the interests of making sure you fit in at school, have you considered smoking? I can only say I'M SORRY, but I don't plan my stories in advance. In fact, writing them in linear fashion is still kinda new to me, and something I'm struggling with, and if I could come up with a substitute analogy for you pre-planning types I would. Honest.)

Anyrate, the point of all the above is this: I have totally spent the past two weeks avoiding my novel. Because I'm not sure quite where it's going. And I don't like it very much at the moment.

I've had all sorts of reasonable and legitimate excuses. Edits on a short story needed to be done.1 Then when those edits were done, there was no point picking up the novel again because edits on Pledged should be landing on my desk soonish, and if I picked up the novel again I'd only have to put it down again. So I picked up a short story instead, because I don't have any finished short stories to submit and perhaps I could work on that. Only I've just hit a point in the short story wherein I'm not sure quite where it's going, and I don't like it very much at the moment AND ARE YOU SENSING A PATTERN, PEOPLE?

Because I sure as heck am. And, quite frankly, I don't like it very much.

The thing is, the middle of a story is always hell. (I have even heard the pre-planning types opine this, although presumably for different reasons.) This is partly why it's not-very-affectionately known as the muddle, among other names.2 And every single time I attempt a story, without fail, I have to learn this lesson about the muddle anew. Every single time I have to remind myself that it's not okay to put the thing down, the key is to get past this section, however I can. Slog through the words until I find a way out; leave a note "And then something genius happens!" and skip ahead; consume some stimulant of choice and stay up all night; try whatever trick has worked in the past and even a few that haven't, because every story is different, but whatever you do: just. keep. going.

So. Time to figure out a trick that will work for the novel.

  1. Okay, that one actually is quite reasonable and legitimate, but in the interests of full disclosure I'm including it. Because it was the excuse I jumped on to start this whole avoidance caper rolling, after all. []
  2. My novels always earn themselves appellations like THAT EFFING CAR-CRASH OF A NARRATIVE around this time. For full impact it must be delivered through tight lips and with narrowed eyes and followed by the phrase WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT IT ANY MORE. Which is promptly followed by brooding silence and then, just when my friends have tentatively moved on to another subject, interrupting them with an angst-ridden yawp and the desperate plea MAKE IT WORK WHY IS IT BROKEN PUT IT BACK TOGETHER FOR ME! []
Jul 192009
 

Today, determined to finish the first pass of edits on "Shaping Lily", I decided to track my progress throughout the day. In the interests of accountability, you understand.

Read on at your own peril. You have been warned.

9:17: Realise I've been dicking around on the internet far too long already, mostly reading through 6 insane discoveries science can't explain (yet).1 This is not a promising start to my revisions. Quickly check my to-do list, and remember in a panic all those bloody things I promised myself I'd do today. Realise edits on Lily is therefore not the first thing I have to do today. Decide edits on Lily are the first thing I'm going to do today anyway.

Continue reading »

  1. I knew about the antikythera mechanism, but didn't know about the others. Really like the pipes. And the bloop Cthulhu. []
Jul 142009
 

Last night I stared at "Shaping Lily" with my edit letter in mind, and wondered if it's possible to fix what needs fixing without pulling the story to pieces.

It was a totally vain endeavour, of course, and I knew this at the time as well, but it appears to be part of my process. There is a point in my process — just after I've received feedback on a story but before I've actually started any (further) revisions — when the story hangs in the balance. A point wherein I basically sit staring at the story, hesitating, thinking a lot but achieving nothing. Or nothing material, at least.

Because as soon as I start — as soon as I select a single thread on which to work — the entire story will unravel and in the process a whole slew of other things that require fixing will fall out, and what was once a story will become instead a mess of shredded words scattered haphazardly over my desk. And I will have to examine every word, singly and in context, yet one more time, as I try to weave it all (seamlessly!) back into a cohesive narrative.1

All that sitting and staring has its place as well, however. It's a moment of waiting, of zen before the battle frenzy, which fixes the big picture in mind before I get lost in the minutiae.

Which is what it's time to do now.

  1. This metaphor would probably be much stronger if I knew anything at all about sewing, or weaving, or knitting. []
Jun 152009
 

Let it be known that I highly approve of flex.

Flex is wondrous, flex is superb, flex is the reason I did not go in to work today. Because all those extra minutes each day turn into extra hours each week — which means I've already worked today and didn't need to do it again.

This, my friends, is sheer genius.

If only it worked on novels as well, I would have already written my entire life's oeuvre and could spend this evening lolling on a couch.1

  1. Er, provided I had a couch. Note to self: buy a couch already! []
May 172009
 

one:

At work on Friday, during fraud and ethics awareness training, I discovered an amusing editing artefact in the Code of Conduct. Apparently, all employees "must treat everyone with respect and with harassment."

Now that, my friends, is one hell of a code of conduct. Licence for polite savagery: issued. I don't care what the manager says about mistakes, I have written evidence.

two:

Sitting on the tram on Thursday, I was listening to the conversation of two nearby school girls, who want to be writers.

Bless 'em.

They were full of enthusiasm and verve, laughing and chatting about how their ambition is received by others. Friends are excited, and want to read their work; parents and teachers, on the other hand, are always asking what sort of real job they're going to have. What outdated attitudes! Maybe in their parents' day, writers needed a dayjob and then pursued their dreams at night, but that's not the way the world works any more. They won't need to bother with any of that.

I nearly choked trying to hold back gales of laughter.

Poor children. The world will set them straight plenty soon enough.