I finished my outline yesterday, and felt really good about it.
--Good balance between plot and emotion? CHECK!
--Pushing the characters forward without going fan-fic crazy? CHECK!
--Good balance between lightheartedness and heart-string-jerking? CHECK!
It's taken me a long time, but the whole thing seemed to flow.
So far, my process has been:
1. Watched a million episodes of the show I wanted to spec.
2. Found a fun, exciting, show-consistent concept.
3. Analyzed the show's story structure.
4. Decided which characters would carry the A, B, C, and D plots respectively.
5. Made mini-outlines for the A, B, C, and D plots.
6. Wrote in-depth treatments for the A, B, C, and D plots respectively.
7. Re-did each of the mini-outlines (beefing them up a lot and focusing especially on the A-story act outs).
8. Wove them together into an outline.
9. Made sure the full-episode outline was structurally consistent with the show, and there weren't any obvious plot holes.
And today I started writing the treatment...which, to me, means writing the spec's entire story out in prose. The first act came easily, and was almost exactly the same as the outline--though I did fill in some vague spots. All was OK with the second act, too. The events came in the same order, and I didn't find any major logistical issues.
But I just finished doing the same for the third act, and now I'm worried, because that bit of the treatment didn't go so well. Did I lose sight of my concept? Did I spend so much time making A BIG INTERESTING BEAUTIFUL LIVELY plot that I buried my hook? It feels like there's a ton of stuff going on, but none of it relates to my main hook, and I think it'll muffle the punch of Act 4 and 5.
For sure, some (Act 3 and likely 4) events have got to be shuffled around. And I'm going to go back to my notes on the show, to make sure I'm telling my story at exactly the same pace and with the same (diffusion of) focus as the show writers do. It's a constant pull-push, writing a spec. On the one hand, I ask: is this a good story? So I try to go crazy with the creativity to make it better. But on the other hand, the question that's more important is: will this script be a good example of the show? Could it go on TV and fit in perfectly to all that came before and will come after?
The line between creation and mimicry is so tough to find! But the whole point of a spec is to display one's skill at finding that balance. Maybe some people have more trouble infusing a piece with their own voice? I know I have the most trouble with the mimicry aspect of spec writing--everything I see and hear automatically goes through my little Sasha-Filter and comes out seeming completely different from how it went in. Which can be a good thing--but which also means it's essential for me to try especially hard to stick to my bible--the show itself. So, while I'll be trying to write the best story I can, it's smartest for me to always refer back to the show whenever I'm in doubt.
Honestly, in the midst of all this treatment trouble, I'm considering re-writing my outline to copying an episode's structure exactly (I've even already got a particular episode in mind). Why not? At least it would keep me on a very short leash.
Aw well--that'll likely be my next step. I can't wait to get to the fun dialogue/action/writerly stuff...but there's no way the spec can be any good if the structure's at all off. I'm more anxious to write a spec worth something than to just get one done--no matter if it's taking a couple weeks longer than expected.
Showing posts with label The Writing Process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Writing Process. Show all posts
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, December 24, 2009
One: Loneliest Number
The biggest mistake I've made over the past year is: trying to work on ten projects all at once. It's so difficult to say no to a project that is new and exciting and WILL BE SO GREAT!
But the problem with dating around is that you never get the golden anniversary dinner. I've got a lot of great stuff 80% finished, but no final products and no money earned from writing.
So over the next year, I'm working on ONE thing at a time. I think it's going to do a lot for both my ability to meet my goals, and the quality of my work.
My proof is: by working on one story hardcore over the last few weeks, I've seen an improvement in both those things.
So my writing priority starting Jan. 1 is: my novel's third draft.
And, of course, researching the non-fiction. But that's not really writing, so it doesn't count, right?
But the problem with dating around is that you never get the golden anniversary dinner. I've got a lot of great stuff 80% finished, but no final products and no money earned from writing.
So over the next year, I'm working on ONE thing at a time. I think it's going to do a lot for both my ability to meet my goals, and the quality of my work.
My proof is: by working on one story hardcore over the last few weeks, I've seen an improvement in both those things.
So my writing priority starting Jan. 1 is: my novel's third draft.
And, of course, researching the non-fiction. But that's not really writing, so it doesn't count, right?
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
talk about it
I've been researching a possible non-fiction project. Here's the process so far:
1. A loooong period of brainstorming, and bouncing various ideas off friends. Scratch that--not ideas, but questions. Which questions were my friends and acquaintances interested in? Which ones made their eyes light up?
2. Lots of note-taking sessions on non-fiction books (Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell was a huge help) and documentaries (16 and Pregnant on MTV is my personal fav) to guide me in terms of structure.
3. Mini eureka moment! An article in the newspaper connected with all the thinking I'd been doing. My thoughts coalesced into an actual thesis I wanted to study more--and one which could be easily translated into a solid structure.
4. Went online and searched for local resources about the topic--there were tons, but I got cold feet. Hit the books instead...of which my library had exactly two.
5. Working through the books at the moment, taking notes upon notes and feeling very much like I'm in Soc. 101. But is this the best way to research?
6. ?!
Damn, I know I need to talk to people in order to get real answers...but I also need a certain amount of background research in order to know which questions to ask.
1. A loooong period of brainstorming, and bouncing various ideas off friends. Scratch that--not ideas, but questions. Which questions were my friends and acquaintances interested in? Which ones made their eyes light up?
2. Lots of note-taking sessions on non-fiction books (Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell was a huge help) and documentaries (16 and Pregnant on MTV is my personal fav) to guide me in terms of structure.
3. Mini eureka moment! An article in the newspaper connected with all the thinking I'd been doing. My thoughts coalesced into an actual thesis I wanted to study more--and one which could be easily translated into a solid structure.
4. Went online and searched for local resources about the topic--there were tons, but I got cold feet. Hit the books instead...of which my library had exactly two.
5. Working through the books at the moment, taking notes upon notes and feeling very much like I'm in Soc. 101. But is this the best way to research?
6. ?!
Damn, I know I need to talk to people in order to get real answers...but I also need a certain amount of background research in order to know which questions to ask.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Critical Critiques
On "Ward Six" today, J.R. Lennon writes, "A good editor treats the story as something other than a masturbatory enterprise; she is trying to figure out how to make the world accept and enjoy your vision."
Sure, a writer must think of different perspectives--especially since after Draft 5 or so, it's pretty hard for a writer (or me, anyway) to have any real perspective at all. Trust in one's editor IS necessary if one is going to leap the chasm between writing as therapy/hobby and writing as entertainment/career; nobody can make it alone. But how much should one worry about the editor's personal biases?
I'm not at a point where I have a real editor--I just have literate, kind friends who are willing to read my work and talk to me about it. They've helped me transform my stories, but sometimes I feel as though their advice isn't representative of the general audience but just of their own personal taste/interests.
For instance, one of those friends is an actor who loves Spanish/South American literature. He has a taste for "archetypal" characters, unsolved mysteries, and a bittersweet tone; he also has a high tolerance for magical realism. Another of my friends is very into conventional fantasy, but shies away from explicit physicality, and she is a stickler for authentic, researched detail. Both of these friends are fantastic readers, but when the first says he "loves the characters" or the second says she doesn't understand why a couple had sex, alarms go off in my head.
Does he love the characters because they're love-able, or because he likes recognizable archetypes? Does the sex scene feel disconnected from the story, or is it just not to my friend's taste?
I guess the writer/editor relationship just takes a while to understand, but I struggle in deciding when to second-guess myself and when to second-guess my reader(s).
The ways I've found to get the most useful critiques possible:
1. Ask for problems, not solutions. As the writer, I know the story backwards and forwards by the time anyone else sees it. That means my eye glosses over the problems; I require fresh readers to catch them. But it also means that I'm best prepared to find solutions. Most non-writers are taught that constructive criticism means not calling attention to a thing unless they can offer an alternative to the problem. But while discussing possible solutions can lead to a fantastic brain storm, it's the writer's job to ultimately make a story work, not the readers'.
2. Reassure the readers that I will not ever, ever, ever get mad at them for any of their criticism. If a reader can't come up with a solution, he might think that either the problem he sensed doesn't exist, or that it would be unkind to bring it up. It's essential that the reader not be afraid to mention every little tingle of feeling for fear of the writer becoming defensive. I usually say again and again and again to the reader that this piece is *not* me--I will *not* take criticism of the piece to be criticism of me--and that every little thought the reader had was valuable. I also make sure to stay quiet and not explain anything while the reader is telling me what s/he felt--often listening to the reader figure out a piece out loud is invaluable.
3. Tell the reader what I want them to look for or talk to me about. Usually I have certain questions about the piece, and I'll ask the reader to think about them while reading. I try not to be too specific re: plot or research detail, because it's more valuable to hear what the reader picked up on or missed without any guidance. But when it comes to theme, I will ask them afterwards or on a second reading to think about specifics. And on the first reading, I tell them: I want every thought that comes into your head, and every tinge of feeling you get, too. I tell them to forget about me and think about the piece as though it were a stranger's. Most of my readers are people who yell at the TV during shows or parse movies after viewing, so once they get into the swing of the criticism, they usually feel like they're on comfortable, familiar ground.
4. Listen to what the readers *don't* say. Sometimes things I thought were huge holes weren't actually noticeable. Likewise, sometimes readers will all have misgivings about the same (unexpected!) thing. In my last editing experience, both my readers talked about a certain plot element with a kind of disgusted or confused tone. Though neither mentioned specific problems with it, their tone of voice signaled to me that something was wrong. I think neither mention problems with the element because they thought it was integral to the plot--they couldn't actually imagine the story without it. But based on their half-hidden disgust, I took out the element--and the story is MUCH stronger for it; the element wasn't as integral as it seemed to first or second time readers, and in fact distracted from the real story. Readers often seem loath to suggest big changes or problems with a story's core elements--but often their tiniest hints will reveal real problems with a piece. The hints readers give can often be more telling than their explicit criticism, because readers' instincts are often more sophisticated than their ability to articulate analysis.
I'm so thankful to my friends for being willing to read my stories, and for doing it so ably; without them, my most recent piece couldn't exist. Because of their feedback I could transform it from a weird waking dream into a meaningful story--and my best work to date.
Still, I'm not sure that I picked up on all of the story's problems. Should I have listened to my readers even more? Or just a little less? The story speaks to me now, and it speaks to them--but what about a wider audience, an audience outside of my loved-ones?
Sure, a writer must think of different perspectives--especially since after Draft 5 or so, it's pretty hard for a writer (or me, anyway) to have any real perspective at all. Trust in one's editor IS necessary if one is going to leap the chasm between writing as therapy/hobby and writing as entertainment/career; nobody can make it alone. But how much should one worry about the editor's personal biases?
I'm not at a point where I have a real editor--I just have literate, kind friends who are willing to read my work and talk to me about it. They've helped me transform my stories, but sometimes I feel as though their advice isn't representative of the general audience but just of their own personal taste/interests.
For instance, one of those friends is an actor who loves Spanish/South American literature. He has a taste for "archetypal" characters, unsolved mysteries, and a bittersweet tone; he also has a high tolerance for magical realism. Another of my friends is very into conventional fantasy, but shies away from explicit physicality, and she is a stickler for authentic, researched detail. Both of these friends are fantastic readers, but when the first says he "loves the characters" or the second says she doesn't understand why a couple had sex, alarms go off in my head.
Does he love the characters because they're love-able, or because he likes recognizable archetypes? Does the sex scene feel disconnected from the story, or is it just not to my friend's taste?
I guess the writer/editor relationship just takes a while to understand, but I struggle in deciding when to second-guess myself and when to second-guess my reader(s).
The ways I've found to get the most useful critiques possible:
1. Ask for problems, not solutions. As the writer, I know the story backwards and forwards by the time anyone else sees it. That means my eye glosses over the problems; I require fresh readers to catch them. But it also means that I'm best prepared to find solutions. Most non-writers are taught that constructive criticism means not calling attention to a thing unless they can offer an alternative to the problem. But while discussing possible solutions can lead to a fantastic brain storm, it's the writer's job to ultimately make a story work, not the readers'.
2. Reassure the readers that I will not ever, ever, ever get mad at them for any of their criticism. If a reader can't come up with a solution, he might think that either the problem he sensed doesn't exist, or that it would be unkind to bring it up. It's essential that the reader not be afraid to mention every little tingle of feeling for fear of the writer becoming defensive. I usually say again and again and again to the reader that this piece is *not* me--I will *not* take criticism of the piece to be criticism of me--and that every little thought the reader had was valuable. I also make sure to stay quiet and not explain anything while the reader is telling me what s/he felt--often listening to the reader figure out a piece out loud is invaluable.
3. Tell the reader what I want them to look for or talk to me about. Usually I have certain questions about the piece, and I'll ask the reader to think about them while reading. I try not to be too specific re: plot or research detail, because it's more valuable to hear what the reader picked up on or missed without any guidance. But when it comes to theme, I will ask them afterwards or on a second reading to think about specifics. And on the first reading, I tell them: I want every thought that comes into your head, and every tinge of feeling you get, too. I tell them to forget about me and think about the piece as though it were a stranger's. Most of my readers are people who yell at the TV during shows or parse movies after viewing, so once they get into the swing of the criticism, they usually feel like they're on comfortable, familiar ground.
4. Listen to what the readers *don't* say. Sometimes things I thought were huge holes weren't actually noticeable. Likewise, sometimes readers will all have misgivings about the same (unexpected!) thing. In my last editing experience, both my readers talked about a certain plot element with a kind of disgusted or confused tone. Though neither mentioned specific problems with it, their tone of voice signaled to me that something was wrong. I think neither mention problems with the element because they thought it was integral to the plot--they couldn't actually imagine the story without it. But based on their half-hidden disgust, I took out the element--and the story is MUCH stronger for it; the element wasn't as integral as it seemed to first or second time readers, and in fact distracted from the real story. Readers often seem loath to suggest big changes or problems with a story's core elements--but often their tiniest hints will reveal real problems with a piece. The hints readers give can often be more telling than their explicit criticism, because readers' instincts are often more sophisticated than their ability to articulate analysis.
I'm so thankful to my friends for being willing to read my stories, and for doing it so ably; without them, my most recent piece couldn't exist. Because of their feedback I could transform it from a weird waking dream into a meaningful story--and my best work to date.
Still, I'm not sure that I picked up on all of the story's problems. Should I have listened to my readers even more? Or just a little less? The story speaks to me now, and it speaks to them--but what about a wider audience, an audience outside of my loved-ones?
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Play Mate
I'm adapting the forty-page "short" story I wrote about yesterday into a play. In order to apply for the playwriting opportunity I'd like to, I've got to have the play done by Jan. 1.
The story is finished, so now I can start the adaptation process--but it's turning out not to be as tough as I thought. There have already been several pleasant surprises:
1. Structure. Though I didn't realize it, my story is already in perfect 5-Act structure. The relative act-lengths are even solid. That means that the story might be even stronger than I thought, AND that I've finally absorbed good story structuring!!!! I didn't outline this story, I didn't edit it with act structure in mind, BUT it came out well-laid-out anyway. That makes me unbelievably happy--because it means I'm learning, because it makes me more confident that the story is good, and because it will be relatively easy to adapt.
2. Scenes. My story is heavy on real-time scenes, as opposed to back-story and interior monologue. Not that it has no blathering or philosophizing, but it is mostly dialogue and action--which will translate well onto the stage. To me, constructing a plot using real-time scenes is a mark of professionalism--one I'm delighted to have! It also makes reading the story easier and more fun for the audience, and makes adaptation much easier, too.
So, turning this story into a play may be fun and rewarding--and DO-ABLE!--after all. Right now I'm most worried about the logistics of playwriting, ie, what *can* be done on a stage, what would look good on stage, the terms/shorthand people use, and play-script formatting.
The story is finished, so now I can start the adaptation process--but it's turning out not to be as tough as I thought. There have already been several pleasant surprises:
1. Structure. Though I didn't realize it, my story is already in perfect 5-Act structure. The relative act-lengths are even solid. That means that the story might be even stronger than I thought, AND that I've finally absorbed good story structuring!!!! I didn't outline this story, I didn't edit it with act structure in mind, BUT it came out well-laid-out anyway. That makes me unbelievably happy--because it means I'm learning, because it makes me more confident that the story is good, and because it will be relatively easy to adapt.
2. Scenes. My story is heavy on real-time scenes, as opposed to back-story and interior monologue. Not that it has no blathering or philosophizing, but it is mostly dialogue and action--which will translate well onto the stage. To me, constructing a plot using real-time scenes is a mark of professionalism--one I'm delighted to have! It also makes reading the story easier and more fun for the audience, and makes adaptation much easier, too.
So, turning this story into a play may be fun and rewarding--and DO-ABLE!--after all. Right now I'm most worried about the logistics of playwriting, ie, what *can* be done on a stage, what would look good on stage, the terms/shorthand people use, and play-script formatting.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Story Web?
I've got a looooong story that I love.
It's about 12K, and needs all those words (plus some). But since nobody wants to read a forty page short story, I can either cut it to below fifteen or expand it to about three hundred. I was thinking: this particular story isn't done yet. Maybe I could expand.
I was considering: I'd take each page, and expand it to 2K. That would give me an 80K story manuscript totally within the perimeters of the present story.
The big PRO is actually not about the final product though--I thought it might be a a fascinating experiment, a way to push myself deeper as opposed to longer.
The more I think about it, the more I think this might be really good for me as a writer. But *is* it possible to create a readable story like that?
It's about 12K, and needs all those words (plus some). But since nobody wants to read a forty page short story, I can either cut it to below fifteen or expand it to about three hundred. I was thinking: this particular story isn't done yet. Maybe I could expand.
I was considering: I'd take each page, and expand it to 2K. That would give me an 80K story manuscript totally within the perimeters of the present story.
The big PRO is actually not about the final product though--I thought it might be a a fascinating experiment, a way to push myself deeper as opposed to longer.
The more I think about it, the more I think this might be really good for me as a writer. But *is* it possible to create a readable story like that?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Umami
The Washington Post has a Book World this week (!!!)--but, of course, the section doesn't have reviews in it. Instead, it's all lists of the "best" books of the year, and an essay by Ann Patchett about how she never works.
Well, not *never.* But apparently not much. She's shocked by her output, based on how little time she spends writing.
Anyway, she did say something interesting: that writing is an endurance game. "The process of writing books is somewhat akin to a very long police interrogation in which the detective leans over the table littered with the butt ends of cigarettes and cold coffee in Styrofoam cups and says for the 87th time, 'Now let's go over this again.' It is a study in repetition, the ability to read the same page, paragraph, sentence until it could be recited backward and in French in hopes of figuring out which detail is missing, which idea is false."
I've been frustrated for a long while--about a year--because it feels like I pour time and effort into projects, but ultimately create little of worth. What about the law of Conservation of Energy?! Where does all that work *go*?! I'm bewildered by my input v. output ratio.
I'm aghast when I read my (even slightly) older stuff, because my current piece seems so much better. My writing from a year or two ago seems juvenile and angst-ridden. My writing from a year ago seems dry. My writing from six months ago seems jejune. And I just looked at the personal statement I sent to law schools in Fall of 2007 and it was humiliatingly bad. How did I get in?! What has happened between that crap and this story? Not *that* much could have changed in six months, could it?
Is this just a lack of perspective? Or is this what always happens when one puts in 1,000 hours on the same 40-50 pages? Is this story just uniquely good? Maybe (I hope/wish/pray) I've finally crossed some sort of professional line?
Maybe it's just the cumulative writing time I've now put in...I usually put in 2-10 hours of writing a day, and have for a year and a half. And outside of writing, the circumstances of my life have changed significantly; there's a big difference between just-turned-22 and going-on-24. Maybe it's my growing writing experience, paired with my growing life experience resulting in more mature (better) writing?
Not to boast: I mean, improving is great, but success is better.
So: I've still got another draft to go on this story--but it's a clean-up and cut-down type thing. My beta-reader is looking over it again, I'll sort through what he has to say and apply what I agree with, then print this baby up and look for typos.
Yes, I'm IMMENSELY proud of this story. It truly is the best I could possibly do, and as I said before--it feels like it grew from an inspired seed, it still feels touched by the muse. I'm a materialist normally, and that "inspiration/"artiste" language grates--but something feels *right* to me about this piece.
There's no telling whether it'll open the doors I want, but I'm proud of this story--and of myself--regardless.
Well, not *never.* But apparently not much. She's shocked by her output, based on how little time she spends writing.
Anyway, she did say something interesting: that writing is an endurance game. "The process of writing books is somewhat akin to a very long police interrogation in which the detective leans over the table littered with the butt ends of cigarettes and cold coffee in Styrofoam cups and says for the 87th time, 'Now let's go over this again.' It is a study in repetition, the ability to read the same page, paragraph, sentence until it could be recited backward and in French in hopes of figuring out which detail is missing, which idea is false."
I've been frustrated for a long while--about a year--because it feels like I pour time and effort into projects, but ultimately create little of worth. What about the law of Conservation of Energy?! Where does all that work *go*?! I'm bewildered by my input v. output ratio.
I'm aghast when I read my (even slightly) older stuff, because my current piece seems so much better. My writing from a year or two ago seems juvenile and angst-ridden. My writing from a year ago seems dry. My writing from six months ago seems jejune. And I just looked at the personal statement I sent to law schools in Fall of 2007 and it was humiliatingly bad. How did I get in?! What has happened between that crap and this story? Not *that* much could have changed in six months, could it?
Is this just a lack of perspective? Or is this what always happens when one puts in 1,000 hours on the same 40-50 pages? Is this story just uniquely good? Maybe (I hope/wish/pray) I've finally crossed some sort of professional line?
Maybe it's just the cumulative writing time I've now put in...I usually put in 2-10 hours of writing a day, and have for a year and a half. And outside of writing, the circumstances of my life have changed significantly; there's a big difference between just-turned-22 and going-on-24. Maybe it's my growing writing experience, paired with my growing life experience resulting in more mature (better) writing?
Not to boast: I mean, improving is great, but success is better.
So: I've still got another draft to go on this story--but it's a clean-up and cut-down type thing. My beta-reader is looking over it again, I'll sort through what he has to say and apply what I agree with, then print this baby up and look for typos.
Yes, I'm IMMENSELY proud of this story. It truly is the best I could possibly do, and as I said before--it feels like it grew from an inspired seed, it still feels touched by the muse. I'm a materialist normally, and that "inspiration/"artiste" language grates--but something feels *right* to me about this piece.
There's no telling whether it'll open the doors I want, but I'm proud of this story--and of myself--regardless.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Max Beta
A beta-reader got back to me about my story last night. There were certain things I was really nervous about--one plot issue, a political correctness problem, a slow pace at the beginning. He didn't talk to me about any of them.
Beta-Reader's List of Biggest Weaknesses:
MAIN CHARACTER IS UNLIKEABLE:
That weakness really crushed me, because I have a tendency to create unlikeable characters. I don't know why other people find them cold or nasty or self-interested--*I* love them! And it gets difficult hearing that other people hate "somebody" that you love.
The character's mother is dying, which I thought might garner some sympathy. Apparently not enough....so I also had her do something kind in the beginning. I also had her come to someone's aid at the climax. And for her to consider how her actions effected others, near the end.
HOW DOES THIS STORY CHANGE *HER*:
At the climax originally, Supporting Character X was in danger--but got lucky.
At the climax in the next rewrite, Supporting Character X was in danger--and had a horrible thing happen.
In the CURRENT draft, Supporting Character X is in danger--and when Main Character tries to save him, disaster strikes HER. I'm much happier with this version because:
1. it shows Main Character's agency--and agency is vital to creating a compelling character
2. the plot now makes more logical sense--there's now a reason for her particular injury and her next period of growth as a character. It clears up the story's theme.
3. This is *HER* story, goddamnit--why should Supporting Character X get all the glory?
THE AUTHOR FLINCHED:
Sometimes, such as during the above climax, I'd give the before and after, but hide my eyes during the middle. It's a tendency of mine--and I think pretty common--to shy away from showing the really horrible or gut-wrenching part of a scene, for the same reasons we'd avoid seeing or experiencing those things in real life. BUT space = importance to a reader. If something is meant to be the heart of the book, it should be given plenty of attention. Which means the author's flinching confuses the reader's understanding of the story. I went back and worked some more on that... though it's difficult for me to find the line between graphic, extraneous violence and necessary detail.
There were a couple areas where it seemed, on the other hand, that I was providing too much detail. Sadly, there weren't enough of those; this story is 12,500 words and still growing. At this point, I wonder if I should work to expand it to novel-length.
On the one hand, it feels like a complete story. On the other, there are tons of places I feel I could improve the story by expanding. Right now, I need to knock it down to under 12K (at the least), but after I send it out as a (short--ha!) story, I think I will expand those parts.
In the meantime, I'm going to send it to him again and see how he feels about the character's arc now. I also want to make sure all the supporting characters have arcs of their own, and that the whole thing is pretty (and about 500 words shorter). Otherwise, I think I'm done!!!!!
Beta-Reader's List of Biggest Weaknesses:
MAIN CHARACTER IS UNLIKEABLE:
That weakness really crushed me, because I have a tendency to create unlikeable characters. I don't know why other people find them cold or nasty or self-interested--*I* love them! And it gets difficult hearing that other people hate "somebody" that you love.
The character's mother is dying, which I thought might garner some sympathy. Apparently not enough....so I also had her do something kind in the beginning. I also had her come to someone's aid at the climax. And for her to consider how her actions effected others, near the end.
HOW DOES THIS STORY CHANGE *HER*:
At the climax originally, Supporting Character X was in danger--but got lucky.
At the climax in the next rewrite, Supporting Character X was in danger--and had a horrible thing happen.
In the CURRENT draft, Supporting Character X is in danger--and when Main Character tries to save him, disaster strikes HER. I'm much happier with this version because:
1. it shows Main Character's agency--and agency is vital to creating a compelling character
2. the plot now makes more logical sense--there's now a reason for her particular injury and her next period of growth as a character. It clears up the story's theme.
3. This is *HER* story, goddamnit--why should Supporting Character X get all the glory?
THE AUTHOR FLINCHED:
Sometimes, such as during the above climax, I'd give the before and after, but hide my eyes during the middle. It's a tendency of mine--and I think pretty common--to shy away from showing the really horrible or gut-wrenching part of a scene, for the same reasons we'd avoid seeing or experiencing those things in real life. BUT space = importance to a reader. If something is meant to be the heart of the book, it should be given plenty of attention. Which means the author's flinching confuses the reader's understanding of the story. I went back and worked some more on that... though it's difficult for me to find the line between graphic, extraneous violence and necessary detail.
There were a couple areas where it seemed, on the other hand, that I was providing too much detail. Sadly, there weren't enough of those; this story is 12,500 words and still growing. At this point, I wonder if I should work to expand it to novel-length.
On the one hand, it feels like a complete story. On the other, there are tons of places I feel I could improve the story by expanding. Right now, I need to knock it down to under 12K (at the least), but after I send it out as a (short--ha!) story, I think I will expand those parts.
In the meantime, I'm going to send it to him again and see how he feels about the character's arc now. I also want to make sure all the supporting characters have arcs of their own, and that the whole thing is pretty (and about 500 words shorter). Otherwise, I think I'm done!!!!!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Draft 99
I've worked on this story for 10 days straight, and I think I've taken it to the end of the line.
There is still one major plot kink to work out, and I wish my Beta(s) would get back to me about the pacing...BUT I've only got three or four more hours, tops, worth of work left on it.
On the one hand, I'm gutted. This story is maybe the best thing I've ever written, as imperfect as it is, and I don't want to let it go. So I build castles in the air: what if I expanded it into a novel? And I'm becoming very snappish and obnoxious and stressed. In my innermost heart I know that's because I'm nearly ready to say goodbye and send my baby into the world.
On the other hand, I'm so RELIEVED. This story's deadline is Monday, and now it seems it will be done on time (PHEW). There were certainly times when I thought I'd never finish. (And maybe it's better not to count my chickens; I'm not done yet).
But this is the only real fear I've got left: Am I 100% confident that this story will be successful in the way that I need it to be? Any given piece usually receives the reaction I expect. There are certain pieces that I've sent out knowing full well what would happen to them--that they'd get published, get produced, win a prize, etc. A person usually knows when she's produced a winner. I'm not sure if I feel that certainty for this story.
When I wrote it, it felt right. Something about it still seems right--"right" as in: it feels completely *mine.* It feels organic, but polished. It feels like the love-child of inspiration and hard work. Rather, it feels that way to *me.*
The stakes are so high this time, and as ever, my judgment doesn't truly matter. What if this story doesn't connect?
There is still one major plot kink to work out, and I wish my Beta(s) would get back to me about the pacing...BUT I've only got three or four more hours, tops, worth of work left on it.
On the one hand, I'm gutted. This story is maybe the best thing I've ever written, as imperfect as it is, and I don't want to let it go. So I build castles in the air: what if I expanded it into a novel? And I'm becoming very snappish and obnoxious and stressed. In my innermost heart I know that's because I'm nearly ready to say goodbye and send my baby into the world.
On the other hand, I'm so RELIEVED. This story's deadline is Monday, and now it seems it will be done on time (PHEW). There were certainly times when I thought I'd never finish. (And maybe it's better not to count my chickens; I'm not done yet).
But this is the only real fear I've got left: Am I 100% confident that this story will be successful in the way that I need it to be? Any given piece usually receives the reaction I expect. There are certain pieces that I've sent out knowing full well what would happen to them--that they'd get published, get produced, win a prize, etc. A person usually knows when she's produced a winner. I'm not sure if I feel that certainty for this story.
When I wrote it, it felt right. Something about it still seems right--"right" as in: it feels completely *mine.* It feels organic, but polished. It feels like the love-child of inspiration and hard work. Rather, it feels that way to *me.*
The stakes are so high this time, and as ever, my judgment doesn't truly matter. What if this story doesn't connect?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Cut the Creatures and Cue the Social Conflict
So this story I’ve got with these weird vampire creatures?
I think the creatures were just stand-ins for the actual cultural problems I wanted to talk about, but which I was still too ignorant to discuss.
The creatures weren’t really around much, except at the climax. Otherwise it’s a pretty realistic story—or at least, non-supernatural.
When I gave the story to my critique partner, she said I needed to foreshadow the creatures more. I agreed, so I tried to bring them into other parts of the story. But then I stayed away from the thing for a week or so while I worked on something else…and when I came back, I realized the reason I couldn’t put the creatures anyplace new was because they were just place-holders.
So, I’ve been doing research into the region in which the story takes place (The Democratic Republic of Congo), as well as neighboring countries (namely, Rwanda). I’d started out wanting to write a story set in Africa because I love reading stories set there. Problem was/is, I don’t know much about the continent—just as much as any layman American does, I’d guess.
Thing is, even if I’m an ignoramus about the continent, many (most?) people aren’t. It’s important to get my information as correct as possible. And while I don’t think it’s necessarily the cheap and easy route for a story to go for magical (realism), it was in this case—instead of finding out more about the actual world my story was taking place in, I substituted fake stuff.
Which was doubly stupid both because the real world is more interesting and more complex than my fake one AND because that complexity and richness was the specific reason I was drawn to stories set there. If I wanted to write a fantasy story about vampire creatures, why not put them in a familiar (to me) locale? Why set a story in the Congo and then not make it AT ALL CONGOLESE? It seemed like a waste. Of course, it was only in draft three that I realized how I was setting up something very interesting (a story about wildlife exploitation and ownership in the Congo) and then transforming it into something quite boring (a story about fake-ass vampires).
So, on to the research—which has already been helpful in my re-imagining the climax, and the theme of the story. I like how both my current stories are turning out, but JESUS CHRIST, I’m on draft one million of both of them. Or rather, draft three.
I always thought I did a lot of drafts, but looking at it now, it seems that I just did an awful but very labor-intensive second draft of all my work, then stopped in disgust. Re-writing really is reimagining, and it really is where the story takes shape. I'll never stop before Draft 5 again!
I think the creatures were just stand-ins for the actual cultural problems I wanted to talk about, but which I was still too ignorant to discuss.
The creatures weren’t really around much, except at the climax. Otherwise it’s a pretty realistic story—or at least, non-supernatural.
When I gave the story to my critique partner, she said I needed to foreshadow the creatures more. I agreed, so I tried to bring them into other parts of the story. But then I stayed away from the thing for a week or so while I worked on something else…and when I came back, I realized the reason I couldn’t put the creatures anyplace new was because they were just place-holders.
So, I’ve been doing research into the region in which the story takes place (The Democratic Republic of Congo), as well as neighboring countries (namely, Rwanda). I’d started out wanting to write a story set in Africa because I love reading stories set there. Problem was/is, I don’t know much about the continent—just as much as any layman American does, I’d guess.
Thing is, even if I’m an ignoramus about the continent, many (most?) people aren’t. It’s important to get my information as correct as possible. And while I don’t think it’s necessarily the cheap and easy route for a story to go for magical (realism), it was in this case—instead of finding out more about the actual world my story was taking place in, I substituted fake stuff.
Which was doubly stupid both because the real world is more interesting and more complex than my fake one AND because that complexity and richness was the specific reason I was drawn to stories set there. If I wanted to write a fantasy story about vampire creatures, why not put them in a familiar (to me) locale? Why set a story in the Congo and then not make it AT ALL CONGOLESE? It seemed like a waste. Of course, it was only in draft three that I realized how I was setting up something very interesting (a story about wildlife exploitation and ownership in the Congo) and then transforming it into something quite boring (a story about fake-ass vampires).
So, on to the research—which has already been helpful in my re-imagining the climax, and the theme of the story. I like how both my current stories are turning out, but JESUS CHRIST, I’m on draft one million of both of them. Or rather, draft three.
I always thought I did a lot of drafts, but looking at it now, it seems that I just did an awful but very labor-intensive second draft of all my work, then stopped in disgust. Re-writing really is reimagining, and it really is where the story takes shape. I'll never stop before Draft 5 again!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
just another brick in the adobe
The last couple days have been packed with procrastination, and I'm sick of how that feels. Today is NaNo catch-up day.
I'm fine in terms of the official word count, but I'd planned to write 2.5K each day for the month, in order to get an entire draft done. Since my drafts seem to be better when composed in condensed time-frames, I figured NaNo would be the perfect opportunity to get a long-held and long-loved idea (finally) down on paper.
NaNo's upsides:
--It's easy to explain a group project like this even to people not especially into writing. And since lots of lay-people are doing it, it doesn't seem impossible or silly for me to try, too--even to people who otherwise forget I write.
--Lots of support. I never thought the forums would help me as much as they have. Hearing about other "nobodies" working to stack up high word-counts and struggling with the day to day drafting process has been great. And the counter at the top of my page--even joining the site at all--has given me a sense of accountability.
NaNo's downsides:
--Because the support and fellowship of NaNo are what brought me to it in the first place, I feel tied to the NaNo timetable; meaning, this is a November project, and it doesn't matter that this November is an incredibly stressful time for me.
--I don't know if such a speedy draft is best for this particular project. On the one hand, speed seems to work well for my writing in general--or at least, it has in the past. On the other, this level of speed doesn't allow for a "perfect" first draft..which, in a project like this, that I've already outlined and thought about, seems a shame. I wonder if a slower first-go might result in a better finished project? Maybe I've outgrown the need to silence my inner-editor by burying her under a mountain of words? Maybe I'd be better off letting her speak a bit during my drafting?
I'm not sure if keeping to my old NaNo inspired style of speed drafting is a way of refining my process or of crippling it....
I'm fine in terms of the official word count, but I'd planned to write 2.5K each day for the month, in order to get an entire draft done. Since my drafts seem to be better when composed in condensed time-frames, I figured NaNo would be the perfect opportunity to get a long-held and long-loved idea (finally) down on paper.
NaNo's upsides:
--It's easy to explain a group project like this even to people not especially into writing. And since lots of lay-people are doing it, it doesn't seem impossible or silly for me to try, too--even to people who otherwise forget I write.
--Lots of support. I never thought the forums would help me as much as they have. Hearing about other "nobodies" working to stack up high word-counts and struggling with the day to day drafting process has been great. And the counter at the top of my page--even joining the site at all--has given me a sense of accountability.
NaNo's downsides:
--Because the support and fellowship of NaNo are what brought me to it in the first place, I feel tied to the NaNo timetable; meaning, this is a November project, and it doesn't matter that this November is an incredibly stressful time for me.
--I don't know if such a speedy draft is best for this particular project. On the one hand, speed seems to work well for my writing in general--or at least, it has in the past. On the other, this level of speed doesn't allow for a "perfect" first draft..which, in a project like this, that I've already outlined and thought about, seems a shame. I wonder if a slower first-go might result in a better finished project? Maybe I've outgrown the need to silence my inner-editor by burying her under a mountain of words? Maybe I'd be better off letting her speak a bit during my drafting?
I'm not sure if keeping to my old NaNo inspired style of speed drafting is a way of refining my process or of crippling it....
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Steppin Up
Yesterday, my collaborator and I made our version of a step-sheet.
We started out with a long walk in which we argued about pacing (Me: FAST! BIG! Her: SLOW! UNDERSTATED!), and character (Me: specific motivation! Her: theme!)
Talked about the few scenes we'd discussed previously and wrote one-sentence summaries for each, which we put on note-cards and taped to a foam-core board.
Looked at them and tried to put them into a three-act structure. Found out we were writing a detective story.
I said: don't detective stories follow five-act structure? And, as a tv writer wanna-be, five act is actually sort of my thing.
We brainstormed for a while, and made a lot of random cards and finally (FINALLY!) found a solid, interesting, specific motivation for our main character. He came to life!
I went back to an old plotline we'd liked, and a five-act version of it sprung out of my mind. It worked!
We re-configered the cards on the board so they were in five acts.
Act by act, we talked about what happened to the main character. At the end of each act, he had to make a decision.
In my head, and a book on mystery writing (I *think* it's based on the act structure in You Can Write a Mystery by Gillian Roberts, but if not--someone please correct me?) the five-act structure for mysteries is:
1. Problem/Decision
2. Easy solution--FAILS!
3. Discover *real* problem
4. Figure out how to solve it
5. Solve it! (or not)
We went through all five acts, and got extremely happy with our main character's journey/the A-story. YAY!
We went back through each act and planted clues that would later be important, or added scenes with characters that had slipped out of sight for a time (for instance, the love interest is kept from the hero for the length of an act, and we'd almost lost sight of her. Likewise, one character is important at the end, so we had to show him for a bit at the beginning).
I wrote it all down in a word document, and we had a forty-scene, five-act stepsheet.
Wow, a whole movie officially plotted, and it only took five hours.
The plan now is: we each have three scenes from the first act (the entirety of the first act, put together) that we're writing today. Tonight we'll put them together and see how they look. Talk about how we felt the first act went, and if we have any changes we want to make to the second and third acts before we assign and write them. At the end of the third act, I have the feeling we'll have a major plotting session again to hammer out every little detail of the fourth and fifth acts, which are bound to change in the drafting process. Then we'll write the rest, and celebrate that we'll have a FULL DRAFT OF A FABULOUS SCREENPLAY!
So, it was a hard, exhausting, but definitely productive day. My favorite kind.
We started out with a long walk in which we argued about pacing (Me: FAST! BIG! Her: SLOW! UNDERSTATED!), and character (Me: specific motivation! Her: theme!)
Talked about the few scenes we'd discussed previously and wrote one-sentence summaries for each, which we put on note-cards and taped to a foam-core board.
Looked at them and tried to put them into a three-act structure. Found out we were writing a detective story.
I said: don't detective stories follow five-act structure? And, as a tv writer wanna-be, five act is actually sort of my thing.
We brainstormed for a while, and made a lot of random cards and finally (FINALLY!) found a solid, interesting, specific motivation for our main character. He came to life!
I went back to an old plotline we'd liked, and a five-act version of it sprung out of my mind. It worked!
We re-configered the cards on the board so they were in five acts.
Act by act, we talked about what happened to the main character. At the end of each act, he had to make a decision.
In my head, and a book on mystery writing (I *think* it's based on the act structure in You Can Write a Mystery by Gillian Roberts, but if not--someone please correct me?) the five-act structure for mysteries is:
1. Problem/Decision
2. Easy solution--FAILS!
3. Discover *real* problem
4. Figure out how to solve it
5. Solve it! (or not)
We went through all five acts, and got extremely happy with our main character's journey/the A-story. YAY!
We went back through each act and planted clues that would later be important, or added scenes with characters that had slipped out of sight for a time (for instance, the love interest is kept from the hero for the length of an act, and we'd almost lost sight of her. Likewise, one character is important at the end, so we had to show him for a bit at the beginning).
I wrote it all down in a word document, and we had a forty-scene, five-act stepsheet.
Wow, a whole movie officially plotted, and it only took five hours.
The plan now is: we each have three scenes from the first act (the entirety of the first act, put together) that we're writing today. Tonight we'll put them together and see how they look. Talk about how we felt the first act went, and if we have any changes we want to make to the second and third acts before we assign and write them. At the end of the third act, I have the feeling we'll have a major plotting session again to hammer out every little detail of the fourth and fifth acts, which are bound to change in the drafting process. Then we'll write the rest, and celebrate that we'll have a FULL DRAFT OF A FABULOUS SCREENPLAY!
So, it was a hard, exhausting, but definitely productive day. My favorite kind.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Creative Calisthenics
My strengths:
--dialogue
--action
--ambiguously moral characters
--HUGE plots/premises
My weaknesses:
--interior monologue
--recognizable heroes/villains
--description.
I have the feeling my weaknesses stem from three causes:
1. natural tendencies/taste (hey, I was the archetypal Buffy-verse fan-girl for god's sake--no surprise my stories are packed with talking, fighting, and ammorality).
2. script-writing. In college, most of my focus was theatrical writing, and it (especially television) speaks to me in a way prose doesn't.
3. agent blogs and "how to" writing guides. Reading them has made me so fearful of boring the reader or padding a story or babbling that I've become much MUCH too harsh with my editing. This isn't a new revelation; I gave up reading "how to" books six months or so ago, and agent blogs since mid-summer.
Agents seemed, to me, to give off the impression that they're judges, arbiters of taste, and that my job is to please them. Which requires following the rules and keeping them entertained and blah blah blah. Now, I don't mean that agents feel this way, but rather: in my insecure, people-pleasing, out-of-touch way, I gave up my own agency (!)--my artistic identity and destiny--and tried to pass the responsability of my work to agents by listening to them to my work's detriment. I got scared of making my own rules and going my own way, and tried to use theirs, go theirs. I put them on a pedestal, and ruined my last novel.
Which I'm still coming to terms with. I've spent God knows how long on the edits, and it turns out my rough draft may be better.
So, in my quest to turn that into a good novel instead of a wordy script, I've decided to write in an entirely different way for my NaNo project.
The premise for my NaNo work is something I've wanted to "find time" for since early summer, and I love working on it.
And:
Unlike my previous manuscript, this one is in first person, and only has one main character.
It has clear villains, though they aren't black-hearted black hats (of course)
There is as much description and internal monologue as I can stuff in.
I've already learned that I have much more latent/instinctive knowledge about plot structure than I'd realized, that internal monologue and scene description aren't as frightening or foreign as I'd thought, and that "prep" becomes busy work relatively early in the writing process.
Of course, it's only the middle of week one, and I'm only about 10,000 words in...but so far I've been very pleasantly surprised with what "playing to my weaknesses" really means. Whether or not this manuscript ever comes of anything, it's doing wonders for my confidence and my sense of self as a writer.
--dialogue
--action
--ambiguously moral characters
--HUGE plots/premises
My weaknesses:
--interior monologue
--recognizable heroes/villains
--description.
I have the feeling my weaknesses stem from three causes:
1. natural tendencies/taste (hey, I was the archetypal Buffy-verse fan-girl for god's sake--no surprise my stories are packed with talking, fighting, and ammorality).
2. script-writing. In college, most of my focus was theatrical writing, and it (especially television) speaks to me in a way prose doesn't.
3. agent blogs and "how to" writing guides. Reading them has made me so fearful of boring the reader or padding a story or babbling that I've become much MUCH too harsh with my editing. This isn't a new revelation; I gave up reading "how to" books six months or so ago, and agent blogs since mid-summer.
Agents seemed, to me, to give off the impression that they're judges, arbiters of taste, and that my job is to please them. Which requires following the rules and keeping them entertained and blah blah blah. Now, I don't mean that agents feel this way, but rather: in my insecure, people-pleasing, out-of-touch way, I gave up my own agency (!)--my artistic identity and destiny--and tried to pass the responsability of my work to agents by listening to them to my work's detriment. I got scared of making my own rules and going my own way, and tried to use theirs, go theirs. I put them on a pedestal, and ruined my last novel.
Which I'm still coming to terms with. I've spent God knows how long on the edits, and it turns out my rough draft may be better.
So, in my quest to turn that into a good novel instead of a wordy script, I've decided to write in an entirely different way for my NaNo project.
The premise for my NaNo work is something I've wanted to "find time" for since early summer, and I love working on it.
And:
Unlike my previous manuscript, this one is in first person, and only has one main character.
It has clear villains, though they aren't black-hearted black hats (of course)
There is as much description and internal monologue as I can stuff in.
I've already learned that I have much more latent/instinctive knowledge about plot structure than I'd realized, that internal monologue and scene description aren't as frightening or foreign as I'd thought, and that "prep" becomes busy work relatively early in the writing process.
Of course, it's only the middle of week one, and I'm only about 10,000 words in...but so far I've been very pleasantly surprised with what "playing to my weaknesses" really means. Whether or not this manuscript ever comes of anything, it's doing wonders for my confidence and my sense of self as a writer.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
doomed if you don't
Sure, I started NaNoWriMo on time like the consceincious little A-student I am, but it wasn't that great. 1.5K in, and writing it out was a chore.
But yesterday I decided to try and get back to my personal quota-- 2.5K/day. Which meant I was supposed to have five thousand words down by close of business yesterday. I packed them in.
About half were inserted between words that were already there: long digressions about the characters' feelings, backstory, sensory detail, BLAH BLAH BLAH. The other half were mostly centered on meals; a picnic lunch and cold-leftovers for dinner. But it was FUN. And I'm actually pretty excited by what I have down.
Here are the great things about writing a long ass novel:
-- There's room to play.
-- Going inside the narrator's head is fair game.
-- It's ok not to know where you're going until you get there.
-- Or, conversely, it's ok to know where you want to go and let the path wander in no kind of straight line.
For me, writing yesterday was all about the way space can loosen inhibitions and waken the imagination. My story felt new and alive.
And the shorthand of saying: "I'm doing nano" is sure nice, too.
Ok, yeah, I'm a convert. Sometimes being a follower is kind of nice. Going on the warpath: at least not having to martial the troops gives a grunt more time to enjoy the journey.
But yesterday I decided to try and get back to my personal quota-- 2.5K/day. Which meant I was supposed to have five thousand words down by close of business yesterday. I packed them in.
About half were inserted between words that were already there: long digressions about the characters' feelings, backstory, sensory detail, BLAH BLAH BLAH. The other half were mostly centered on meals; a picnic lunch and cold-leftovers for dinner. But it was FUN. And I'm actually pretty excited by what I have down.
Here are the great things about writing a long ass novel:
-- There's room to play.
-- Going inside the narrator's head is fair game.
-- It's ok not to know where you're going until you get there.
-- Or, conversely, it's ok to know where you want to go and let the path wander in no kind of straight line.
For me, writing yesterday was all about the way space can loosen inhibitions and waken the imagination. My story felt new and alive.
And the shorthand of saying: "I'm doing nano" is sure nice, too.
Ok, yeah, I'm a convert. Sometimes being a follower is kind of nice. Going on the warpath: at least not having to martial the troops gives a grunt more time to enjoy the journey.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Novel Revelation
I've tried to read manuscripts before--whole ones, from people who have been working on them for loooong periods. And I've been burned.
The ones I've read have been by people who have never written anything before, and who don't think of themselves as writers. Not to say they weren't dedicated; after all, they'd drafted AND revised a novel-length manuscript, and gone to the trouble of taking a local class/joining a writing group/finding a critique partner.
BUT their manuscripts have generally not read like books. Reading one and commenting on it could become a huge chore, because they weren't novels, they were fictionalized reports. Usually, they'd come from a very smart person in an interesting field, who wanted to write an account of their work without breaking confidentiality or ruining their security clearance. So while the facts were often fascinating, there was little word play, few actual scenes, and tons of barely integrated facts.
What these people *really* wanted was to process their experience, and used fiction to do it.
Which, I suppose, is what all writers do to a degree; they work through things using their fictional characters and fictional situations. The difference isn't whether writing CAN be therapeutic, because it always CAN be--it's whether therapy or understanding is the aim, or if storytelling is.
And though therapeutic writing *can* be powerful and interesting, it's not especially suited for novel-length stories. At best, it lacks momentum, and at worst, it's inaccessible to anyone outside the writer's head.
Which is why reading the manuscript I'm "critiquing" now is such a revelation. I can only hope this is how my own manuscript reads: like a story. Sure, it's a draft, and there are flaws. But it's got the *flavor* of a book; this is the story of the most important and defining period of a fascinating man's life, and he's living in his own world, telling his own story, as opposed to operating in a pale shadow the writer's. This feels like it has its focus on the *audience* as opposed to the writer.
I started reading it yesterday, and I'm finished now--because it was *fun* to read. The story exists in its own world, with its own characters, and I love both the place and the people; when I'm gone from them for too long, I start longing to go back. That's artistry, as well as craftsmanship, and that's why this feels like the beginnings of a professional effort, and not an amateur one.
So, in a nutshell: is the difference between professional and amateur storytelling the difference between a story existing for the audience's pleasure and benefit as opposed to, for the author's?
The ones I've read have been by people who have never written anything before, and who don't think of themselves as writers. Not to say they weren't dedicated; after all, they'd drafted AND revised a novel-length manuscript, and gone to the trouble of taking a local class/joining a writing group/finding a critique partner.
BUT their manuscripts have generally not read like books. Reading one and commenting on it could become a huge chore, because they weren't novels, they were fictionalized reports. Usually, they'd come from a very smart person in an interesting field, who wanted to write an account of their work without breaking confidentiality or ruining their security clearance. So while the facts were often fascinating, there was little word play, few actual scenes, and tons of barely integrated facts.
What these people *really* wanted was to process their experience, and used fiction to do it.
Which, I suppose, is what all writers do to a degree; they work through things using their fictional characters and fictional situations. The difference isn't whether writing CAN be therapeutic, because it always CAN be--it's whether therapy or understanding is the aim, or if storytelling is.
And though therapeutic writing *can* be powerful and interesting, it's not especially suited for novel-length stories. At best, it lacks momentum, and at worst, it's inaccessible to anyone outside the writer's head.
Which is why reading the manuscript I'm "critiquing" now is such a revelation. I can only hope this is how my own manuscript reads: like a story. Sure, it's a draft, and there are flaws. But it's got the *flavor* of a book; this is the story of the most important and defining period of a fascinating man's life, and he's living in his own world, telling his own story, as opposed to operating in a pale shadow the writer's. This feels like it has its focus on the *audience* as opposed to the writer.
I started reading it yesterday, and I'm finished now--because it was *fun* to read. The story exists in its own world, with its own characters, and I love both the place and the people; when I'm gone from them for too long, I start longing to go back. That's artistry, as well as craftsmanship, and that's why this feels like the beginnings of a professional effort, and not an amateur one.
So, in a nutshell: is the difference between professional and amateur storytelling the difference between a story existing for the audience's pleasure and benefit as opposed to, for the author's?
Friday, October 30, 2009
the criticism dovetailed beautifully
I'm hoping NaNo will save my writing. I figure, with the high daily word quota and the rule against using pre-NaNo work, I'll be FORCED to blather a bit each day. Which will, hopefully, do wonders for my pacing.
It's awful; I'm so proud of the outlining and plot-work I did on my last manuscript, but now that I've gotten it as tight as it can possibly go, it turns out I've got to insert some breathing space. WHA?
How can that even be done? Where is there room for marshmellow gooeyness, and how can I find it? What do I even blather *about*? As it is, I figure you see everything you need to see, know everything you need to know...but everyone who reads it says it moves WAY too fast--they can't keep up, and they don't really want to. Wow, that's a blow.
And what makes it worse is that they all think my dialogue and language and even premise is really strong, that the problem is: the world I've created is an unfriendly one, that they don't want to be a part of. The characters are apparently all unlikeable, and the place is confusing, and things are flying around too fast.
The problem probably began in me constructing SUCH a tight, complicated outline, in me thinking like a scriptwriter and not a novelist. So while I'll have to re-edit for "story" (as opposed to plot) and GOD KNOWS what else.... I've decided to write a new manuscript using completely different methods.
That new method is: knowing the characters fairly well, knowing the premise fairly well, and letting the plot take shape. It might mean there is much less of a plot at all--but frankly, maybe novels are better off focusing on one thing well, as opposed to big screen style action.
So of course, I'm now wishing November first would never come. How am I going to go from analyzing the sh*t out of structure to just letting it flow?
In some ways this is an outgrowth of my summer-time decision: to be as authentic and truthful and even whimsical as possible. I think that vow was a good one; it brought out a lot more creativity and emotion--in my life, as well as my writing--than would otherwise have been possible. Now's the time for even more trust, even more wonder, even more serenity.
UUUUUUUUUUGH! I'll have to trust my own mind and the characters to take me through this novel, and that's tough for an over-educated over-analyzer like me.
It's awful; I'm so proud of the outlining and plot-work I did on my last manuscript, but now that I've gotten it as tight as it can possibly go, it turns out I've got to insert some breathing space. WHA?
How can that even be done? Where is there room for marshmellow gooeyness, and how can I find it? What do I even blather *about*? As it is, I figure you see everything you need to see, know everything you need to know...but everyone who reads it says it moves WAY too fast--they can't keep up, and they don't really want to. Wow, that's a blow.
And what makes it worse is that they all think my dialogue and language and even premise is really strong, that the problem is: the world I've created is an unfriendly one, that they don't want to be a part of. The characters are apparently all unlikeable, and the place is confusing, and things are flying around too fast.
The problem probably began in me constructing SUCH a tight, complicated outline, in me thinking like a scriptwriter and not a novelist. So while I'll have to re-edit for "story" (as opposed to plot) and GOD KNOWS what else.... I've decided to write a new manuscript using completely different methods.
That new method is: knowing the characters fairly well, knowing the premise fairly well, and letting the plot take shape. It might mean there is much less of a plot at all--but frankly, maybe novels are better off focusing on one thing well, as opposed to big screen style action.
So of course, I'm now wishing November first would never come. How am I going to go from analyzing the sh*t out of structure to just letting it flow?
In some ways this is an outgrowth of my summer-time decision: to be as authentic and truthful and even whimsical as possible. I think that vow was a good one; it brought out a lot more creativity and emotion--in my life, as well as my writing--than would otherwise have been possible. Now's the time for even more trust, even more wonder, even more serenity.
UUUUUUUUUUGH! I'll have to trust my own mind and the characters to take me through this novel, and that's tough for an over-educated over-analyzer like me.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
crawling inside is a slow but endlessly rewarding process
The following are my "lecture" notes for the Oct. 27th workshop I led in Baltimore.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
Monday, October 26, 2009
notes from the underground
STRUCTURE: PLOT-CENTRIC OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
Saturday, October 24, 2009
i'm going 85 in a 25mph zone
Today, my class workshoped my manuscript's first chapter. This chapter has been my bane for nine months or so, and after having it workshoped four times, I figured this was it-- this was the chapter at its finest.
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thoroughbred
On Tuesday, I led a workshop in Baltimore-- my first time leading an entire workshop on my own. It's for ex-offenders, and I guess the career center that sponsors it considers the workshopping at least vaguely therapeutic... but my professor introduced it to me a couple years ago when all my writing experience was shaped by college, and I've always thought of it as a class rather than an ex-offender-focused artsy version of AA.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
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