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Master the Craft

In Over Your Head

house constructionThere comes a point in every home improvement project where I look at the half-assembled collection of raw materials from Home Depot and say “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I seriously question if I’ve exceeded my skill set. The project always takes longer than my initial estimate.

Novel writing is no different. Stringing together one hundred thousand words with coherence is a daunting task. Then there’s character development, plot twists, pacing, setting, and through it all the nagging fear that on a shelf somewhere what you’re doing has been done before. After the initial, exuberant ten to twenty thousand words, that familiar self-doubt sneaks into the writing room. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

A lot of authors I talk to get this feeling, especially those who’ve done a lot of short stories. One beauty of a short story is its brevity. You can plot the three or four scenes the story needs in your head, lay them down on paper, and tweak to perfection. Like building a shed, you know that you’ve raised four solid walls and a roof and all you’re doing is arranging things within.

Not so with the novel. Now you’re building a house. Even with four finished walls, you’re sizing rooms, laying pipe, and running wiring until you type the last chapter. It’s easy to feel lost and overwhelmed.

Your best bet is to just keep plowing ahead. Don’t let the immensity of the project and the endless details, swamp you. Get that first draft finished. If you think of something that doesn’t quite fit with what you’ve written before, just leave a note in the margins to go back and fix it later. Completion gives you a sense of accomplishment and the assurance that you probably do have four walls and a roof. The story now has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Now you can go back and work out the kinks. Some ways to do that:

  1. Look at the overall flow of the story, with two sentences that describe each chapter. See where plot lines intersect. If one story thread goes missing too long, rearrange chapters to keep the thread fresh in the reader’s mind. In a novel like BLACK MAGIC that covers about a week in time, I shifted Thursday events to Monday and they worked better.
  2. Follow one character at a time through the story. Only review the chapters where that character appears. Are that character’s dialogue and actions consistent? Does that character’s story arc progress plausibly? My novel Q ISLAND has multiple POVs. This method let me refine language for each person, give them consistent usage and common idioms.
  3. Near the end, scrub that prose. Read the story aloud to yourself, preferably alone so people don’t think you are insane. This method really unearths repetitive words and structures. It also highlights clunky sentences. If a sentence is hard to read aloud, it’s probably hard to read at all. My novella BLOOD RED ROSES frequently uses archaic sentence structures since it is set in 1864. Reading it aloud really helped tune the meter of those sentences within paragraphs to better evoke the time period.

A novel has multiple facets that make it a success. Fine tune your work from one perspective at a time. Like any DIY project, it will probably take more time than you originally estimated.

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How You Know When To Save It

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This is my 1968 Camaro convertible. I rescued her from outside Wichita. Her name is Dorothy because she isn’t in Kansas anymore. And yes, this post will eventually be about writing.

Now you may look at Dorothy as a candidate for the junkyard. And yes, she needs some work. Well, she needs almost everything. But she has nice options like a power top and a manual transmission. And most important, she has a good frame, the rails that support the car. I can put new fenders, a new top, and new floorboards on a good frame. Without a strong frame, the car would collapse on itself, no matter how many new parts I added.

Along with resurrecting a car, I’m resurrecting a manuscript. It’s not as old as Dorothy, but it’s from a while ago. I re-read the synopsis, remembered how enthusiastic I was writing it, and thought it had promise.

It became slow going. Apparently, I thought adverbs were wonderful back them. When writing monologues, seems I confused “internal” with “Interminable.” I’ve cut so many redundant passages that the 90,000 word novel is verging on novella. After four tedious hours where the story bored even me, I considered giving up and working on one of the new ideas always sitting in queue.

The time had come for the seat-of-the pants writer to turn outliner. This always happens to me, usually about two-thirds into the manuscript. I need to make sure the threads are all weaving into some coherent pattern. I went through each chapter and summarized the main action and what characters were involved. I like to put it in a table like the example below:

story table 2

This way I can follow multiple, overlapping plotlines, like Chapter 5 where Scott and Oates meet.

After looking over the chart, I decided to stick with it. Like Dorothy, the story has a good frame, but here it’s called plot.

So why am I bored by it? Characters without fire, without connection, are killing it. I can fix that. In this action-driven paranormal thriller, that will be the equivalent of swapping out Dorothy’s fenders and recovering her seats. Plot problems, like a rust-weakened frame, requires so much re-writing, I’d rather just start something else that stirred new passion.

If a story isn’t feeling right, take the time to ensure the plot clicks. It is a lot easier for those of you who outline compared to pantsers like myself. By the way, this is an example of why my advice is don’t be a pantser. Way too time consuming, with lots of writing dead ends. I read an interview with a prolific author who said he used to be a pantser and had to switch methods to keep his volume up.

Back to work. Two projects to finish. Of the two, Dorothy might take a little longer.

 

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Characters to Care About

Last week, I came across an excellent example of poor character creation, and its impact.

GrimmBy the nature of our lifestyles, my wife and I DVR a lot and then get caught up later, so forgive me for being behind the curve on this. We were just getting caught up on Grimm, a show about a cop with unique talents who hunts criminal human/animal hybrids. In this episode, a new character was introduced, a young woman who also had his special ability.

Half an hour in, the character had demonstrated that she was rude, unappreciative, combative and self-centered. I said to my wife, “I already hate this new character.” To my surprise, she answered, “I agree. We can stop watching this anytime you want.” She hated her enough to switch the program off.

We’re big Grimm fans, but both of us were ready to bail on the show because of this new addition to the cast. That’s exactly the opposite of the response a writer shoots for. Obviously, this character was being set up for some change arc across episodes, but I didn’t care to see it. The cops filled me in on her foster care childhood and I’d seen her attacked by the bad guys, yet I had no compassion for her. Why? Because while she’d been in sympathetic circumstances, she’d displayed no sympathetic qualities. A character has to do at least one small thing like wash the dishes or rescue a cat from a tree so viewers can see there’s a real human being inside her that deserves their emotional energy.

I think her impact on the other characters in the show made it even worse. Nick, our hero cop, and his girlfriend take her in, then Nick takes her to a crime scene (credibility stretched past breaking) where she nearly reveals his secret gift. In a lame bit of dialogue, Nick addresses her by her given name and she responds that most people call her Trouble. So Nick calls her that from then on. It sounds stupid every time he says it, and no caring person would reinforce another’s low self-esteem with such a nickname. So not only was the character unlikable, she had a negative impact on how we saw the characters we do like, onscreen friends we are emotionally invested in.

We skipped the rest of that episode, and the next one, praying that either Trouble would die or hurry-the-hell-up and finish her transformation, an event we couldn’t care less about witnessing. Her part in the season finale looked like she’d made it.

The TV series didn’t lose us for good, mostly because my wife is a Monroe/Rosalie devotee. But in a book, this kind of mistake would be fatal. The cover would close, never be reopened, and the reader would send out warning flares for the rest of the world to stay far away. So keep in mind that that character who goes from flawed to fabulous, or that villain who goes from evil to excellent, needs a little something for us to hook onto early, something to foreshadow their potential, to make us root for the underdog part of their personality to win out.

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A Few Notes on that Final Step

This week I reviewed the copy edits from my upcoming Samhain Horror novella, Blood Red Roses. Finishing the process, there are two insights I want to share with other authors, especially indies.

1.      You need a copy editor.

You don’t think you do. Hell, I don’t think I do. But every manuscript I get back from my publisher proves me wrong. And I don’t mean you need one for minor typos, though you do. The copy editor is the master of mechanics, the one who, day after day, works with the grammatical nuances of our mother tongue. We butcher these details in our everyday speech, and as a result, like a toxic spill, those shortcuts leech in and contaminate the wellspring of our writing. With each line edit, I curse myself for mishandling the language, for forgetting one of English’s equivalents to baseball’s infield fly rule. Then I vow to never repeat that Freshman Comp mistake again. But I do.

 

2.      The copy edit phase is cool.

You say you hate it. The fun, broad strokes of creativity you loved to wield in your first draft are already painted. This is just scut work. More than likely, by now you’ve shepherded the story through three drafts plus, and you are much more excited about whatever new project simmers on the front burner.

But this is the chance for detail. The editing process also raises questions of continuity, of clarity. Did you really mean this? Didn’t your character previously say that? With a bit of your earlier unbridled enthusiasm banked, you can take a final, detailed look at those passages in question, and go break out the dusty thesaurus for the perfect word. Look at this as one last polish, the brush of the dust speck off the hood before you roll a classic car before the judges. Here you have final say on the finished product, something many movie directors and rock stars don’t have. Enjoy it! 

That’s all. Back to that new story that has captured my imagination.

Can’t wait to see the copy edits.

BloodRedRoses cover