Wheat and Chaff.

 
It’s good to sort out what you’ve got, and how serious you are about it.  While I am a firm believer that all writing is useful, there will come a point somewhere down the line where you discover that something you’ve written (be it a short story, a poem – if you’re primarily a prose writer – or an outline for something) doesn’t really fit with the rest of your work, and it may be time to – shock horror – abandon it.  This need not especially be because it’s crap, but because you may have other work which you can invest yourself in more easily, or because it isn’t as marketable as your other work. 

And now that you have your serious marketable stuff, you need to dive head first into editing. 

The Eternal Struggle

 
I have set aside huge swathes of time the past few weeks (easy to do when I don’t actually have a job) to sit down and get some serious editing done.  As Matt mentioned a few weeks back, editing does require a lot of time and focus if you want to do it well.  Editing isn’t something that can be done piecemeal.  And this is what I did. I went back to my most complete project and hammered out the editing for part one (first third of the book).  Now I’m not claiming to be some doyen of the editing process – far from it – but since we are massive list fans here, I thought I’d highlight some of the techniques I’ve used on this ultimate draft. 

1. Be ruthless.  And by this I mean really cut deep.  Down to the bone if necessary.  And when you’re done being ruthless, cut away some more.  I found this to be very useful.  I can meander a lot when I write.  I can be deliberately evasive and get myself into word spirals and just plain confusing at times.  And while when I first wrote it I thought it was ‘big’ and ‘clever’, reading it back now feels, I don’t know, forced and cocky.  If you set out with this mindset, then you are far more willing to go into editing and cut scenes, events, even characters as need be, which leads us to…
2. Streamlining.  I can get very convoluted at times in my writing.  In my defence though, for me it falls into the ‘show don’t tell’ category for me.  And as I was reading through my work I discovered a lot of extraneous scenes that showed what my character does for a living, but in doing so it sort of broke the flow of the narrative, and really, do you need to see the guy do his thing more than twice to really grasp it?  There was one chapter in particular that epitomised this.  The character goes to a club to meet one of his friends.  I spent about four pages just getting him through the door.  And a lot of the material was redundant.  So I slashed it down.  It can be painful, but you have to get used to it.
3. Shake it up.  Move huge chunks of text around.  If you’re not sure it’s going to work, then experiment.  Try switching two scenes over to see if the events work any better.  That’s what Cut and Paste are for.  Again, for me, I had two scenes like this, and the order they were in meant more convoluted back tracking.  So I switched them round and found that the scene worked better.  It was cleaner, flowed smoother and took less time.  As much as it pained me to have to rethink certain parts of it to make the new flow work, I do feel that it is now a much stronger piece of writing, which is the ultimate goal, is it not?
4. Extraneous for a reason.  Ok, so this one I’m not quite so on top of.  Yes, I do have a lot of extraneous encounters that really serve no purpose in the plot, but I throw them in to make the journey a little more noteworthy.  But going back to point 1, I was more ruthless than I have been in the past, and while I didn’t remove the scene entirely, I did streamline it and actually tie it in to a plot thread that comes up later on.  It may be a bit lazy, but as a counterpoint to this…
5. Make it work.  If you are so fond of a scene that you really feel the need to keep it in, then make it work.  I had to get really creative to make this scene work in the larger scheme of things, but in doing so I actually clarified massive areas of the overall plot that I’d kept deliberately vague before, because I wasn’t quite sure how it worked.  All because of this one page scene that I didn’t really want to lose!

So those are my personal tips for the editing process, and they’ve been working for me so far (especially the first one.  Always the first one!)  Of course, if you have any extra points to add, then drop them in the comments below.

Ringing the changes

There are a couple of activities you might go through when editing – types of editing you might say. I’m perhaps oversimplifying here, but you could call them tweaks and rewrites.

Say you’re basically happy with a chapter of your story, and you’re just reading through it for polish. You change the occasional word, fix some spelling or grammar, and maybe move a couple of sentences around – nothing major.

This is obviously what I’m calling tweaking.

Then there’s that chapter that never quite sat right with you. The character behaves unconvincingly and you always vowed to come back and make him perform some other action here instead. Well you’ve just thought of a way to do it that doesn’t impact other events in the book. Phew, eh? This does necessitate a rewrite of the chapter though.

Then there’s that pesky middle ground (there always is isn’t there). Maybe that character action isn’t such a momentous change as to require a whole chapter rewrite, but it does need several tweaks across 3 pages.

So, fiddle or rewrite?

I came across just such a change this week. It seemed relatively small but I realised it permeated through a longer section.

My instinct was to go through in the tweak fashion, adding a sentence here and there to emphasise the character’s feelings, and foreshadow the choice they were about to make. This would inevitably lead to action on their part, which would need two or three paragraphs extra.

But it was a nasty stop/start process and I knew that I couldn’t make all the component parts mesh convincingly. There are two or three things going on in the story at this point, all interwoven. It worked well, but now I was adding one more. It needed to happen, but it was difficult.

I would keep adding a sentence, then taking it out again, or try moving elements around to make a gap where the new parts could live, but it was like wading through treacle. The problem was I liked it the way it was. I was right to make the change, but the way the piece flowed without it was good.

So tweaking was out, and a rewrite was in. I rewrote the section. Without the existing text (it sounds rather self-important to call something I’ve written a “text”, but there you have it), I was able to write the new bits without distraction and that shoe-horning feeling.

I have yet to try and put it together so we’ll see how that goes, but I was wondering – has anyone had a similar experience where you can’t get going with lots of small changes? Perhaps you always rewrite instead? Any really successful editing stories or techniques would be most appreciated!

I guess that comes as no real surprise, and I knew it already. But I had never felt it as acutely as I did on Sunday.

Half hour hiccup

Due to various things going wrong throughout the day, my juicy two hour window of editing had shrunk, shrunk and shrunk again down to half an hour. This upset me quite a bit. I was now down to the equivalent time I would have on a train journey home during the week.

Now, I can write in half an hour. In fact I find it difficult to concentrate on writing in longer spans than this, possibly because I have become so used to my train writing time. Editing though is a completely different barrel of eels.

This is the speed at which editing does not go! Image courtesy of Richard Taylor on Flickr

Concentrate!

When edit, it means I do a lot of reading, then trying something, then more reading, then mulling it over, swapping some words around, adding a bit, taking it out again immediately… I’m in the work, but I’m pulling and tugging at it, working it into a shape I can be happy with.

It is as laborious as it sounds (if that sounded dynamic and exciting, I apologise – it was a dirty lie), and it requires concentration. If you’ll allow me the indulgence of metaphor, then writing is drifting off to sleep and editing is struggling to stay awake.

I therefore need some time to get to that level of concentration before I can get some serious work done. And I need space for my mind to play with the fragments. Diving in for shirt spells just isn’t cutting it!

wasting away

It has got to the point where I feel like even trying to edit in these short spells is a waste of time. I am conscious when i start that I will not get enough done to feel satisfied and that nagging sensation that I should be doing something else will begin to take over.

Worse, this bitesize editing might be counter productive. I can imagine a scenario when, having gone through my whole document in this way, I finally read it all through and realise I have a lot more work ahead of me. Much of my editing may be missing the point because I’m not giving the process the room it deserves.

So on Monday, after my failed editing attempt of the previous day, I opened my laptop on the train and thought, “I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be writing.”

The write environment for the write task

So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m drawing a line right here. No more editing sessions on the train. It’s not right for me.

So, the plan is broadly similar to how it was in the first place, but slightly refined, and with a dedication to apply it to all future projects. Setting aside time to edit a project and get it finished stays. Editing in little bursts goes. From now on when I finish a draft, I set up some time to edit it later, but immediately start something new on my train journeys.

BOOM! Never knew I could be so decisive did ya?

I don’t know why, but it seems the end of a project – that final rearrangement into what you hope is the last draft, seems to take a lot longer than anything else. Okay, perhaps that’s not the case – it just feels like it. And, alright, I do know why. It’s because editing a project I know feels a lot safer than starting a new one.

But still, it’s a problem. I’m currently finishing a story – adding some extra bits to flesh out certain aspects. After that, I’ll put it all together in the right order and go through for a final cutting/correction session.

Will it be STOP or GO? Image courtesy of R/DV/RS on Flickr.

But it feels difficult, and so I catch myself time-wasting. I’ll daydream, or read over what I’ve done to get myself in the mood, or as if I’m mulling over my next move. That’s all crap though. I only write within small windows of time, and what’s actually going on is I’m wasting just enough of it to convince myself to stop. Oh, look at the time, I’ll think. There’s no way I can possibly get enough done now. I’ll just read a book. Reading is a GOOD THING for a writer to do.

Know what else is good for a writer to do? WRITE! And bloody finish something once in a while!

So I’m wondering who has a similar problem and what they do to get around it. Oh, and look! I’ve made a list! These are the approaches I could take to get the bloomin’ thing over with:

1. Just carry on – it will get finished eventually.
2. Set some time aside, grab an energy drink, and just go at it until it’s done.
3. Put it away for a while, to return to it when I feel more motivated.
4. Start another project and do the two alongside each other. One of them is bound to get done!

Right, they were in no particular order – just numbered for easy reference. Looking at them now, number 1 looks silly, if I did number 3 I’d probably never come back to it, and a second project would no doubt take over completely. Which leaves 2.

But what do you think? Have you ever run out of steam at the end of a project, or does it get you all fired up? If you struggle to finish, what helps?

Well, as fun as it is throwing ideas around, developing plot lines, characters and making endless amounts of notes, there does come a time when you have to stop procrastinating (though in this case it was somewhat useful, trying to get everything sorted before the real work began) and just get down to it. 

So yes, this week saw the birth of the first draft of the actual script.  Joy. 

Is it Drafty in here?

This did however throw up a debate, which got me thinking.  My first sprint through gave me about 15 pages of script in my first session, which I then sent to my collaborator.  I’ll be honest here, while I think it’s going well, a lot of the dialogue is questionable.  But hey, first draft script, it’s meant to be, right?  That’s what redrafting is for, isn’t it? 

Yes, it is drafty in here! Image courtesy of Sharon Drummond.

My collaborator read through it and agreed that it was going in the right direction, but wanted to stop and work on the dialogue, especially in the two scenes which I found most troubling to write.  And here is where we hit the debate. 

I personally want to plough through to the end, get the first draft finished, and then go back and work out the kinks.

He wants to work out the kinks as we go, just to have a more solid ‘first draft’. 

So which is the right way to go? 

For Sake of Argument…

 
Well this is writing of course, and there aren’t really any right or wrong answers.  It’s all about what works for you.  But let’s look at both sides of the discussion. 

If you do stop and toil on scenes, getting them just right (or at least to a very high standard) then you’re obviously going to feel better about how that first draft turns out.  You don’t have to do so much fretting about redrafting (which we all know is a pain in the arse anyway).  You get a clearer definition of what is going on, and it can feel more ‘finished’. 

Not wanting to take sides, this isn’t how I personally write (though my own methods are probably pretty flawed anyway) I err on the other side. 

I want to sprint through to the finish, get to the end while I still have the drive and the impetus to do so.  Hell, I know it’s not going to be perfect, in fact I know there are some scenes that I’m going to have to rewrite (and I spend some time working on that in the back of my head) but as I’m sure you’re aware, I am a serial drafter.  I don’t want to stop and go back and agonise over the details of a scene unitl the end, because I feel it breaks the flow.  My collaborator feels that there is no point in leaving scenes behind, and having wooden characters and stilted dialogue early on, so why not perfect it now?  Well, I should say ‘deal with it’ now. 

Counter-Intuition all over the place

 
He feels it is very counter intuitive to do this, while I feel it is counter intuitive to do the opposite (and so a healthy working relationship is born!)  While I do understand his point, and where he’s coming from, I come from a more prose-y background.  Writing a script (while far from easy) doesn’t feel as heavy as writing a book.  As I said, I got through about 15 pages of script in a little over an hour.  How long would it take me to write 15 pages of prose?  Significantly longer, I feel.  While I do tend to go back and redraft more while writing prose (if for no other reason than as an avoidance tactic to delay writing new stuff) when scripting I prefer not to.  The way I look at it is, it doesn’t matter how ‘perfect’ you think you might get a scene, by the time you get to the end, there is a good chance you’re going to have to go back and change it all anyway. 

Looking back at some of my other work, particularly my scripts, there is very little material remaining from my original draft.  Even what I thought of at the time as golden, just capturing the essence of what the scene is, and needing no changes… Well, yes, I had to go back and change most of it. 

It is like this for most writing, no?  It’s a wonder anything gets done. 

I’m not saying that I want to completely ignore everything once it’s been written. Even during the first draft, I will go back and do little tweaks here and there. But I don’t want to get bogged down with just one or two particularly problematic scenes, when there’s the rest of the script to get through. 

So now I turn the discussion over to you.  Which course of action do you follow, or do you feel is most effective?

Image courtesy of Markus Rödder

Lists are good. We like lists. They keep things simple and to the point. So, bad reasons for not showing your work:

1. Someone will steal my ideas. You know what, you’re right. If you don’t show anyone your work, no one can steal your ideas. But you may struggle to complete it, or make into a great piece. And let’s face it, you want people to read it, don’t you? You’ve got to show it to someone at some point.

   And if I may make another point on this, if you’re showing people for feedback, and you’re worried about them stealing it, you don’t trust them. If you don’t trust them, you probably don’t trust their feedback either. So you shouldn’t show it to them. But don’t let that stop you from showing it to someone else that you do trust.

2. What if no one likes it? Well, you’d rather know wouldn’t you? Seriously, if none of the trusted people you’ve asked for feedback like it, there is likely something very wrong with your story. They can help you find that out, and maybe even fix it.

   There are many variations on this theme, by the way. If you’re worried your story’s too “out there”, that people won’t “get it”, that your main character is unlikeable (and on, and on), see above.

3. It must be perfect first! And you want your book to be published when exactly? It will be a long time before anyone sees anything you write if you wait until all your work is perfect, especially if you’re doing it on your own. The vast majority of us need help to make our stories the best they can be.

   And what’s perfect, anyway? What seems perfect now might not tomorrow, and you can’t put it off forever. Of course we should strive to be as good as we can be, but if you love your story (sheds tear), you have to let it go.

So if you’re sweating over whether to show your work to someone or not, stop and think. Ask yourself what you’re afraid of and whether that’s really a valid excuse.

Additions to the list are welcome, so pop them into the comments for discussion. I’ll add ones I like to the list above (with credit of course).

I started to do some work on it, then left it alone, to work on other things.

But as I said, recently, I dug it out again. Scrapped pretty much everything I’d developed for it and decided to start afresh. New back story, new direction, shed those excess characters. In doing so, I found a new freedom. And this was in some ways… terrifying.

Facing the Fear

Lets be honest, writing is a daunting process. There are times I look at the book I’ve written, wondering how I ever managed to write the whole thing. I look at the book I’m writing, and wonder if I’ll ever reach the end (based on my current productivity rate, I’m going to say no). I believe it was David Mamet who once said something along the lines of “Ninety percent of your first draft will get scrapped”. Which makes things even more daunting. Not only do you have to somehow motivate yourself to get through a project, but you have to do so knowing deep down that only about ten percent will make the final cut. Tough odds.

This is kind of what I did with this project I went back to. This is a screenplay though, so it doesn’t have an excessive word count, like most of my writing. I’d split it into three parts, just to make it more manageable, and looking at it, parts two and three are terrible. Like, how could I ever even think that this was good writing? And what I had left I’d changed to such a degree that I have been reluctant to work on it because frankly, I have no idea where I’m going with it. While before I had a group of characters working towards a roughly common goal, now they’re all off doing their own thing. And I know exactly why this has happened. I have been subconsciously influenced (or perhaps inspired) by Mass Effect 2.

Image courtesy of Abulic Monkey

Fractals

Which leads us onto fractal writing. I felt that this is what I’d done with my script. I’d taken each of these characters, and really, what I could do is write each of their stories separately, and the choice could be made to follow one character’s path through the narrative, or another. Fractal writing like this has already been done, to a very limited extent. Remember Fighting Fantasy books? You’re in Scorpion Swamp and you can choose to go east or west? Well, each direction results in a moderately different story. The same (albeit on a (seemingly) more advanced scale) is apparent in the writing of video games, especially RPGs. You can make choices, which influence the way the game unfolds. Or at least you’re given the illusion that the choices you make have a huge impact on the turn of events. In reality, it wouldn’t be possible to provide an unlimited number of outcomes (it would require far too much in terms of both writing and programming), so while on a small scale you can be given far more options, in terms of the big stuff, it’s essentially yes or no, good or bad. I was given further food for thought on this topic when reading about the fourthcoming release of L.A. Noire, which has a script that runs up to 2200 pages. People who know me and my writing will look at this figure and think that’s probably just a normal script for me. But since video games are becoming a more mainstream form of entertainment, and they are becoming bigger and more complex, then you do need more options in terms of dialogue, and that is where the writers come into it.

So how do I relate this back to more ‘regular’ writing? Well, I’m sure I’m not the only one out there who has written something, and then during the drafting process, made a small change which has resulted in a whole different branch through which the story can unfold. So which way do we go? Well, naturally, since we writers can be a lazy bunch, we tend to try and stick as close to what we’ve already written as possible. This is what I was trying to do with this project. Only thing is, as we all know, it sucked, so a change has to be made. I guess I feel I’ve gone a little overboard with wanting to follow every path though.

Experimentation

Fractal writing need not be such a bad thing though. It is obviously hugely experimental, that’s for sure. While those Fighting Fantasy books were very limited, they did at least provide different paths to unfold (albeit to the same destination). I know Matt has tried various writing experiments over the years, some involving branching narratives, but has anyone else tried? And had some degree of success? I remember back at university reading 253 by Geoff Ryman, which is probably as mainstream a fractal book that I’ve read. The major problem of course is the sheer volume of writing you’d end up with. And of course the number of different endings.

I wonder if it can work in any other medium than in video games. Obviously the degree of interactivity means that it is certainly the most forgiving medium for fractal writing. Does it have any place in the others though? In literature? Or cinema?

Has anyone else experimented with fractal writing, taking different paths, different narratives within the same story? I’d be interested to know.

Showing early

So, for the sake of argument, let’s say you show people early; as early as you can in fact. We’re going first draft reveal people, hold on to your ego!

Show your work before this happens? Image courtesy of Sharon Drummond.

Advantages

• Maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with your story. Perhaps the idea’s been done, or just plain doesn’t make sense. If the advice you get is “dump it and do something else,” and you end up agreeing, you’d rather not have wasted any more time on it.
• Similarly, your structure or approach, or chosen perspective might be so far off that you need to rewrite the whole shebang. Again, knowing sooner saves you time.

And that’s all I’ve got. It basically boils down to “you get to fail quickly,” which in this hectic, time-strangled time we live in, is no bad thing. But here’s a list of things that make me pull a face when thinking about sending people first drafts.

Disadvantages

• My first drafts are abysmal, and apparently I’m not alone. Quite apart from the embarrassment, I don’t hate anyone enough to make them read through that. These people are doing me a favour after all, and it would feel disrespectful to make them waste their valuable time on it.
• I often know there are problems with my first draft. Therefore I have a fair idea what’s going to be in the feedback I get, and finding out what I already know is a distraction. True, there is a chance that someone will spot several things that I didn’t, but it’s slim, and when I know there’s going to be another round, I’d rather get fixing and ask them later.
• There’s a chance of being put off for the wrong reasons. If you get truly awful feedback, along the lines that have already been described, you could get put off the project altogether. That may be a good thing. But the dark side to the advantages above is that you may be tempted to throw away something of worth. Of course, this depends largely on who you choose for feedback and how you deal with it.

Showing Late

So from this we can infer the advantages and disadvantages of showing your work later – at the 2nd or 3rd draft, say. You get arguably more useful comments, and you don’t waste people’s time. But, if a project is truly not salvageable, you’ve wasted your own (technically not true I suppose. It’s highly unlikely that during that “wasted” time you’ve learnt nothing, for example).

But there’s another problem. When does late become too late?

Everyone else thinks your book looks like this.

This might differ from person to person, and I guess there may never be a “too late”. Imagine an example whereby, having hit an impasse, you abandon a project. It is never too late to revisit that project, work on it, an then show it to someone.

“Too late”, then, is never. But as it’s impossible to reach that stage, we need a better line in the sand. For a project that is worth saving (one that is important to you, and you wouldn’t want to shove in a drawer and forget about), when does it no longer become useful to keep it to yourself? Let’s do another list.

You’ve waited too long to show someone a project when:

• You are no longer learning anything from working on it yourself.
• You are no longer improving the work. Maybe you’re just shuffling bits about, or tweaking.
• You’ve been at an impasse for longer than you’re comfortable with. Sometimes we all need a little help. Often, in getting someone else to look at a problem, you arrive at a solution yourself.
• You’re sick to death of the project. This might be the time to shove it in a drawer. But showing it to someone else might rekindle your affection for the story.
• You think it’s finished. It probably isn’t.

Over to you

So, when do you show people your work? Have you been stung by showing something too early? Is a project languishing because you won’t let it out? And where do you think the sweet spot is? Answers on a postcard, please! Or you could just use the comments section.

Adventures in SciFi Publishing

I was just finishing off the second draft of a 10,000 word story. The draft was mostly to get rid of some embarrassingly bad prose that I knew was in there. I was expecting to do a rewrite after I had had it back from friends, but realised that I was settling for a good story when what I need is a great story!

I’ve found a new favourite podcast. Adventures In Sci-Fi Publishing has some great discussions and interviews. On the February 11th episode was an interview with Ferrett Steinmetz. Although Ferrett calls himself a “beginning writer”, he’s good enough to be up for the John W. Campbell Award for best new writer, and is currently a slush reader for Apex Magazine.

Good vs. Great

Nobody gives a crap about good stories. They want great stories

Ferrett Steinmetz

Ferrett reads a lot of stories. He also reads a lot of good stories. That’s the first thing to note – there are a lot of good stories out there. Another good story is not going to stand out. As Ferrett notes, you will get to the end of a good story, but you won’t remember it.

You want to write a story that people are going to be thinking about three days later

Ferrett Steinmetz

I also got the impression that a good story is written by a capable writer, but that it’s not the writing as such that’s the problem. There is a lot of talk about good stories having worthwhile prose and dialogue. But that’s not enough.

Thankfully, he does get specific about the difference between good and great, but before we get to that, I’d like to clear something up.

Why didn’t I know my story was only good?

I agree, it does seem silly that I should need a shove from a podcast to know that my story wasn’t up to scratch. But I do think it’s an easy trap to fall into.

Like so much in life, I think it came down to a subconscious decision I made.

I was concentrating on getting the story done. In enforcing this mindset, I had somehow made the decision that I was going to do a certain amount of work on this story, and that would be it, at least for a while, so I could go onto the next one.

What I hadn’t realised was that making the story great lay outside these perimeters. Hearing the podcast allowed me to take a different view – one where I was looking down at the story from above, rather than looking out of the story from within.

What distinguishes a great story?

Anyway, back to the main event. We have already seen that a story can be good, but it’s not necessarily the writing that makes it great. There’s some discussion about the central idea being the distinguishing factor, but even that won’t satisfy Mr. Steinmetz:

… a lot of it is not only just having that idea, but finding away to focus it, so it’s really interesting…

Ferrett Steinmetz

So it seems an idea can be good but not great, as well. Fair enough. So what is it about an idea that can be great and really elevates your story? Ferrett Steinmetz calls it specificity.

[...] if I tell you, there’s this guy and [...] he’s gonna be stuck in a haunted house for a while, that’s not really gonna stick with you. But suddenly you take, here’s a recovering alcoholic, he’s previously abused his family, he’s got a son who has problems and his wife’s passive aggressive, and they’re gonna go to the overlook mansion where they’re gonna be snowed in [...] that specificity brings you to [...] the Shining.

Ferrett Steinmetz

When put like that, it’s easy to see how specific details create a situation that’s unique to your story and that is far more interesting to explore.

There are many more points raised in this podcast episode so I encourage you all to go and listen. Even if you’re not interested in Sci-Fi specifically, their discussions are broadly about writing anyway and you are sure to get something from them. For example, this particular episode also features a discussion on how many drafts you should do (also of particular interest to me at the moment).

How I’m making my story great

So, back to me.

My story was good(ish). Its themes were well-realised, but what it really lacked was heart – an “emotional centre” as Ferrett calls it.

Here we go again! Image courtesy of Sharon Drummond.

My central character was an observer only, pretty much. No one reading the story would truly care what happened to him, because even though he witnesses what takes place he didn’t have much to say or do about it. He was bland.

Also, the antagonist in the story does things that are not altogether explained and the reader can be left wondering what exactly his motivations were (in a bad, confusing way rather than a good, thought-provoking way).

The answer? Specificity!

So I wrote out a series of questions about these characters that I would have to answer. The theme of these questions was basically, “why the hell should we care”? Which itself boiled down to, “why does this character care?” What is it that ties them painfully to the events and themes in the story, what drives them to do the things that they do?

Free-writing the answers to these questions gave me a rough backstory that I could draw upon. Now I’m ready to hack away at it again.

Incidentally, freewriting is a great way of world-building. I am constantly surprised at what I can come up with by giving myself a few prompts and then just bashing away at the keyboard. I am now adding this method to the prep I do before writing a story. I addition to this freewriting, character/world-building exercise, I will also ask myself the following questions:

Is this a great story idea?

• If I were to read it, would I give a crap?
• Is the idea specific?
• What is the emotional centre of the story?
• Have I picked the right moment for the story to take place? What are two other moments where it could take place, and are they better?

This is a list I will likely add to over time, and it’s worth pointing out that I may not have all the answers before I start writing. So much that is new comes out of the process of actually writing the thing, and I don’t want to bog myself down in prep, just get myself to think a little more deeply before I begin.

More important, is what my answers might be at the end of a draft. So, I will ask myself the same set of questions at the end of a story, too, and see what’s changed.

That’s it for this week. I hope you get a chance to listen to the podcast (I mayself am going to slowly make my way thruogh the previous episodes as well). If you’ve listened to it already (or even if you haven’t), I’d love to know your thoughts on this topic, so comment away! There’s a few useful links below.

Useful Links

• Adventures in Sci-Fi Publishing
• The episode in question
• As Below, So Above by Ferrett Steinmetz
• Ferrett Steinmetz’s blog (not all about writing)

Well, I’ve hit a bit of a snag with this.

Unfortunately, not all crossroads in life are clearly marked. That's deep that. Image courtesy of Mark Smallwood

There are dangers to this kind of writing.  Both Matt and I have discussed this before, but I’d like to take a direct look at the dangers myself here (since I have recommended freeform writing in the past) 

The Dangers

Danger One of course is ending up with a hulking great brick of a manuscript – a tangled mess of various ideas which don’t really gel together and require massive amounts of redrafting.  This is obviously where having a plan comes in really handy.  Even if you have just a most basic outline, then it can help.  I discovered this while thinking about my first book.  Now this I have completed, and have redrafted many times.  But I have fiercely kept some material which I liked almost from draft one, and since the project has evolved, it doesn’t really fit together.  Now, do I work some magic and smooth it over, or do I amputate the (admittedly less mature) material in another huge overhaul?  I can’t even bear thinking about that.  But I’ll go into that more in danger three.

Danger Two is that you may get to a certain point and not know how to progress.  This is the danger that has hampered me with my newest project.  It’s the new book I was writing, which inspired me to write about improvisational writing in the first place.  Yes, I had a vague idea of where the whole story was going to end up, but having completed part one, I’ve stalled.  I have to get the story from point A to point D, but I have no idea where points B and C are, or what happens there.

So how to remedy this?  Brainstorm?  Come up with a plan?  Some writers would suggest that you do the latter option even before you start the project.  But what if, like me, you have all this material already?  You have the start, and you have the destination, so take some time out and plot out the journey.  Yes, that is the sensible option. 

But how about something more radical?  More out there?  More… foolish?  This struck me while thinking about it.  How about scrapping the destination altogether?  Yes, I knew where this was going, but that was when the journey first started.  Since I started writing, and new plots and characters developed, this ultimate destination seemed to get further and further away (which results in Danger One of course).  So screw the original plan and pick a new destination. 

As I said, very very foolish. 

Danger Three is multi-booking.  How do you see this project working out?  Now, I’ve never been a fan of trilogies for trilogies’ sake.  That was of course until I dove into my first book and yes, I get it.  Spending so much time, effort, energy, blood, sweat, tears and other less mentionable bodily fluids mapping out characters and situations, you can get attached.  And obviously, once you’ve gotten attached it can be hard to let go.  ‘Hey, I don’t need to!’ You might say, ‘I’ll just write another book with these characters.’ 

Which of course can be a blessing and a curse.  Obviously, if your aim is to get published, then it’s good to have ideas for more books down the line.  And let’s face it, its easier to write a second or third book in a world you’ve already mapped out, with characters you already know.  Publishers like this too, because if the first book is a success, then there is a pre-built fan-base for the second and so one.  But the curse of it?  How much do you plan out for the series?  Now this depends on genre.  With crime fiction, I’m guessing it’s a little simpler.  Establish your detective/detectives, then throw new cases at them every book.  I don’t think like that though.  Unfortunately, I’m all about the bigger picture.  It’s the one area where I will plan out in advance. 

So you have an idea for a multi-book storyline.  How much of it do you throw in to that first book?  If I can briefly divert into film territory here, film trilogies can do this a lot.  The first film in a trilogy can essentially act as stand alone (Lord of the Rings, The Matrix, Back to the Future), while films two and three will often be one story split across two films, which you can’t really watch without having seen the others.  Can you do the same with books?  Well it’s a different medium isn’t it?  A film you digest in a few hours, a book can take anything from a few days to a few weeks.  So there is less room for (seemingly) extraneous material, especially in that all important first book. 

So how do you deal with this?  Personally, I have tended to map out the story for book two in a series (and even begun writing it) before the first book is even finished.  Yes, this is stupid, and pointless, and can definitely hinder you if you want to go mad and ditch the destination as I suggested in Danger Two.  But really, if you do have a multi-book idea, then you do definitely need to chart it out.  In detail.  Have an overarching plot that runs through all the books, and then introduce smaller plots that emerge in a book by book basis.  You cant just freeform a multi-book plot.  Trust me, I’ve tried in the past and it blows up in your face. 

Cul-de-sacs

Sometimes you just have to throw things out. Image courtesy of Sharon Drummond.

So this is where I am.  I am hitting dead ends everywhere, and am failing to see a way to progress.  Part of me deep down (a sick twisted part of me that I really shouldn’t listen to) is telling me that to take a time out and do some actual planning is dumb, because it’s time being wasted on planning, when I could be using that time writing.  But then, if I’m not doing the writing in the first place… 

Another part of me is telling me to just bin everything and start from scratch.  It’s all well and good moving chunks of text around to try and get them to all fit so you can open up a way forward, but it doesn’t help in really pushing me to progress.  Whereas if I got rid of all of those blocks, I might be able to see a path. 

A third part is telling me to take a step back, breathe, and next time I start a new project, make it something small and simple, two girls sitting on a beach or something.  No aliens, no government plots, and no multidimensional creatures intent on destroying the universe.