Prolog Development

The last few weeks have been about further research on my setting and developing a first draft prolog. It was surprisingly hard to choose precisely where to begin my story. I found myself with three different scenarios which worked in different ways. One of them captured what was physically at stake through depicting a violent crime connected to my mystery. However, I decided this scene was too graphic and dark and failed to reflect the tone of writing I am going for. Another prolog idea captured the emotional state of one of my protagonists. She breaks into a room and realizes that she is too late and that someone special to her has already gone. I liked how I could use this scene to create a little snapshot of how magic works in my universe but I realized that very little actually happens in this scene. Without knowing where the person came from or is going to, the scene comes across as slightly static. 

The scene I eventually chose has very little to do with the actual plot. It simply depicts a creature arriving in Las Vegas to deliver a message. The thing I like about it is that it creates a vivid image and it ends one the note that it is urgent that the creature finds someone. I hope it creates a sense of expectation while adding a vivid drop of color right at the beginning of my story.

I’ve begun to work with a group of beta readers now to refine my ideas. It makes the process so much easier! 

Next week I intend to delve into my first plot related chapter wherein I’ll introduce my central character. I’m a little nervous. she has become important to me. But I suspect this is exactly as it should be.

From story boards to character development

Story boarding done! The plot makes good, solid sense now. I feel so much firmer in my mind, not just on the particulars of this story but also of where I want to go with my characters. At this point I might just jot a few notes on some of the major challenges I’ve had to deal with in order to get to this point.

When I began the process of writing this novel I already knew something of writing, but I was a short story writer. A well told short story, generally speaking, requires one good idea. The stories I wrote didn’t require an ending that provided emotional resolution for the reader. In fact, when it comes to short stories I tend to pursue the exact opposite. I aim for equivocal endings. I often leave it to the reader to decide what actually happened and to ponder how this moment in time impacted on the protagonist beyond the frame of the story.

Transitioning to writing a novel has been challenging. I had my idea - it was a picture really. A succubus trying to survive today, eager to drink deeply from the swirling emotional feast surrounding her, yet forcing herself to scavenge the barest emotional sustenance she needed to survive. If I were to write a short story about this, I’d focus exclusively on that tension and just leave it there, a signature scrawled into the mind of the reader - a thought morsel to chew on, swallow and hopefully remember. Making this idea into a novel requires a story arc, characters to bounce off, a process of learning and change. I set the bar even higher for myself in that I want this character I create to feature in future novels. So I need to not only conceive of a satisfying ending for her first adventure but to have a clear thought on where to take that next.

What I’ve realized is that, while I may have the skills necessary to write a good tale, I lacked the skills needed to fully conceive, pace and plan it. Without that map I was constantly lost and frustrated, writing good scenes but not quite possessing the confidence to build one on top of the other. The story boarding I’ve been doing for the past month has been a big step toward obtaining my own process for crafting the overall shape of a novel length story. I understand a lot more now than I did and I think I can move forward with greater confidence.

The next step for me will be to texture my plot by building on my characters and settings. This will be my challenge for this week. I finally feel as though I am on more solid ground!

 

Homesickness

It’s thanksgiving. I’m taking a day away from writing today, so I thought I would write a blog. Hmmmm… 

I am sitting in the living room in front of “The Parade”, listening to people argue about James Bond. I’ve now been pulled into the fray to google the first Bond movie. … and I’m back. Apparently, Casino Royale (1967) was loosely based on Ian Fleming’s first James Bond novel. So there’s that. OK where was I. Oh  yes. I’m doing the thanksgiving thing. It still surprises me a little how important thanksgiving is on your typical American’s calendar. It really means something here, if my now thoroughly Americanized Facebook feed is anything to go by. It’s so different in Australia. It’s hard to put into words but as a people we don’t tend to celebrate patriotic days - we certainly don’t in a fervent and impassioned way. 

There’s no direct equivalent of Thanksgiving in Australia (for obvious reasons) but I suppose it can be roughly approximated to Australia Day (January 26th) insofar as it is all about how that big chunk of mainly dusty land popped into existence as “Australia”. Sure, we celebrate it, but it’s so laid back compared to here. Nothing much happens in the morning. Basically we all just have a bit of a sleep in. At about eleven or so it’s time to think about lunch. If the propane tank on the barbecue is empty a quick trip to the service station might be called for, where we also pick up a bag of ice. The barbecue is a laid back affair. People show up, (mainly family with the odd waif or stray pulled in). People show up with meat, salads, beer and soft drinks and we just laze around avoiding the heat. Back yard cricket or the beach might lazily present itself as an option in the afternoon. Or it might not.

That really is about it. 

It’s unusual to feel surrounded by more earnest and motivated traditions. I enjoy it, but it definitely makes me think of my laid back, sardonic, patriotically unpatriotic homeland. 

Homesickness is an energy though. Next week I’ll be digging into that particular sweet pain to gouge out some inspirations for the protagonist of my novel. Nothing should be wasted!

Breathe

I spent the weekend gnawing around the edges of my novel. Several snippets of ideas found their way into Evernote, none of them spectacular, but all grist for the proverbial mill. My plan had been to be looking at a more or less complete story board by Friday last week. By mid-morning on Friday I had actually been in good spirits: the fractured scenes I’ve been working on for months all meshed together and I could hold in my head a story line which pretty much works.

But something happened.

I began to realize that I wasn’t happy. That familiar "yes, but" crowded in. As my eyes scanned the neatly ordered progression of cards I could see the chaotic rot peeking out from behind them. That sick, discordant feeling grew. I'm not there yet. My story doesn't quite track.

It hit me again how emotional the writing process is. At the point that I became conscious of my unease it was hard not to panic. Not again, my mind whined. Could all this work on ruthlessly refining my ideas have actually led me full circle back to a point of being hopelessly overwhelmed with plot points and motivations that don’t quite fit together? It’s hard at that point not to just shut the computer down and walk away.

But I didn’t! Instead of panicking and skulking to the kitchen in a frustration fueled carb frenzy I sat back and looked again, forcing myself to see calmly. Yes, I was disappointed in my story for valid reasons but I immediately saw that at the same time I HAVE come a long way and that my week was well spent after all. The plot has holes. The characters’ motivations are still opaque at times and I’ve worked and reworked the middle so much that it has become muddy. Further ruthlessness will absolutely be required. At the same time, there's good in there; a lot of good, actually. My villain is truly villainous. My hero is relatable. Most importantly, I feel that the universe I've built is fun and reflects me. There are twists and beats and unexpected collisions for which I'm beginning to feel genuine pride and ownership. All that has to be good!

What really struck me as my working week wound to a close was that pulling myself out of that hole was every bit an emotional challenge as an intellectual one. I had to force myself to remember that moments of disappointment are just part of the creative process. It is OK that I can see that my efforts haven’t led to a perfectly stitched up and compelling story. It is OK that this is an effort for me and that I’m still reaching and learning. Not to sound too self congratulatory but this moment felt like growth for me as a writer.

These realizations percolating I sat back and realized what I need to do next. My plot is close now and gratifyingly, the large amount of material I have tucked away in my notes conforms neatly to the major story beats I know I need to hit. What I need now is crispness. I need clarity at key parts in the story on what needs to have been established:

* what do the characters need to have worked out?
* what does the reader need to be aware of?
* what presents itself as the next challenge the main characters need to overcome in order to move forward?
* what is the emotional state of the key characters at this point in the tale?

So, I will return to my ever expanding story board and at key points, I’ll insert a green card which neatly summarizes where I need to be. Armed with this clarity I hope to go back and further refine each scene. If I can have this done by mid week I think I’ll be in a really strong position to resume my writing process.

I also feel a little more durable to disappointment. It will happen. This is part of this. Breathe.

Magic, Coffee and Corkboards

So this week is less about meeting a daily word quota and more about making some big, lasting decisions about the universe I’m building.

Today I’m cork boarding. That is to say, I am going to sit down and think about my whole story arc and make sure everything makes sense, is paced well and conforms to the characters I have in my head. I’ve discovered I’m really, really bad at this part. I end up creating cards that are incredibly broad or which delve far too deeply into detail. Still, this is a learning exercise. I’m reminding myself constantly that the slow, painful steps I make with this story will hopefully become the ... ermm... somewhat less slow and marginally less painful steps of story number two.

If cork boarding is the grueling cold water swim that excites me least about the writing process then the raw, anarchic freefall of inventing something new excites me most. I’m talking magic. I need to think more deeply about how magic works in this hybrid fantasy / reality world my characters are inhabiting.

Key questions are:
- what limitations exist on magic. What can’t it do?
- what are the risks of using magic?
- will there be different “flavors” of magic and if so, how will they interact?
- how are magical abilities acquired? or are they simply innate?
- a more writerly question is, how do I make sure that my version of magic is not trite and hackneyed. Eek!

I have the beginnings of answers to these questions, but now is the time to really begin to make firm, binding decisions. Decisions that will inform not just how this story works but how my entire series of stories will work. No pressure or anything.

While I am thinking about all this, I’m dwelling heavily on three approaches to magic that other writers have used, simply because I admire how effectively their rendering allowed their stories to progress.

Patric Rothfuss - The Kingkiller Chronicles. The mental process involved in making magic is so crisply articulated in these books. The author manages to make the reader so aware of the constraints and limitations of magic in his universe that when something “big” happens, the reader has an “oooh” moment.
Kevin Hearne - The Iron Druid Chronicles. I love how fallible and imperiled the protagonist is in this series. He frequently uses magic to augment his abilities, but ultimately his survival is dependent on his wit and personality.
Naomi Novik - Uprooted. The guiding metaphors for two kinds of magic are at odds with one another. One is rigid and formulaic, requiring rote memorization and years of practice. The other is akin to foraging in the woods, finding a way that is different every time. These conflicting approaches form a solid foundation for character development.

So, with these beautiful approaches in mind it’s time for me to try to come up with something equally compelling yet completely mine. Hmm, may require much coffee.

Checks and Balances

This week was a pretty good week for writing, all things considered. I have my brand spanking new MacBook Air set up for writing and little else. This business of little else is key. If I’m sitting in front of bells and whistles I will tweak and twiddle, tirelessly. I’ve set a target of 3000 words per day and since getting back into the swing of things I’ve met that goal all days but one.
So let me jot down a few ideas about the book I’m working on right now. Forgive me if I’m a little vague here and there. I’m secretive! My story is an urban fantasy, set in Las Vegas (more on that later). A creature formerly in hiding is drawn into a mystery about men going missing around town. It’s a simple plot for a range of reasons, chief among them being that I can feel to my bones that it would be a mistake to be too ambitious for this first in what I hope will be a series of stories. The bulk of my effort right now is in building good characters, developing their motivations and defining their limitations. This last point, I think, is going to be especially important. The problem with magic in a story is that it can draw color and life out of a plot if not used judiciously. It’s really important to me that the abilities of my protagonist are not so game changing that she can get herself out of any predicament with the wave of a hand. Where’s the fun in that?
Next week I’ll be doing a lot of brainstorming to fine tune how magic works in this universe I’m creating. I’ll also be thinking a lot more about the map I’ll be drawing from. Yes, I’m setting my story in Vegas but it’s not quite so simple and literal as the Vegas you’ll find on a map. My version of urban fantasy will require that some people can travel to places that others can’t reach. Whole slabs of city, from back alleys to stores to entire casinos, will exist around corners and through doorways speckled throughout the streets of Vegas. Gah. It’s exciting but a little daunting.
Tomorrow I think I will write a little more about magic: the inspirations I’m drawing from and how I intend to construct my own unique rule book of checks and balances.

Act Natural!

So I mentioned in my first post that I consider the partial paralysis of my face to be an important catalyst for my beginning to take writing seriously.

Going back a few months to when it all began, the ER doctor explained to me that I have bell’s palsy. The sympathy in his eyes was not because I was dying, or that I could expect to remain disabled for life, thank Gnarlak. It’s simply that I can expect to be mightily inconvenienced for anything from six months to several years. Bell’s Palsy is therefore exponentially better than a permanent disability and significantly worse than the flu, rot gut or a mildly burned scrotum.

I won’t bore myself or you with a detailed catalog of the various inconveniences an unresponsive mug creates, but for the big one. It severely hampers my ability to communicate. Oh I’m much better now, but when my tribulations began I couldn’t really speak without planting a finger firmly on the left side of my mouth. it was the only way I could get that elastic tension needed to make words. I’d dribble, my lips would twist and careen off to the right. The sound “f” would come out as a whooshy gushing exhalation of futility, like a bicycle pump nozzle trying to inflate a kitchen sponge. Raising my voice would send my lips into a pathetic bubbling frazzle of burbling meaninglessness. The moment I attempted to raise my voice AND attempt to say "f" (take as an example, "Fuck I hate my failure to form fluent phonemes") my immediate vicinity would become completely drenched in spittle and my body would be drained of half its fluids.

I got sympathy. THAT was the thing that enraged, embarrassed and humbled me. I’d see a flash of it in peoples’ eyes when I spoke to them - oh shit poor guy. He’s had a stroke. Quick, act natural!” Again, this is not me complaining. I’m way more of a bitch when I’m sorry for myself trust me! But it made me realize that so much of who I am, so much of what I enjoy and pride myself in is bound up in being able to talk to people. I’ve always wanted to write but I never understood just how deeply this forms me.

I need to do this, and if waking up with paralysis does anything for a person, as surely as velvet trousers are a poor choice in hiking attire, it wakes them up with a start. So here I am, fully awake, mildly lopsided and ready, as we Australians say, to give it a red hot go.