Play

When in doubt, play.

As I sat at Starbucks today, working on an extensive rewrite of Chapter 23, Scene 1, I had no idea what to do with it.  Should it be this, or should it be that?  Should I tell, or should I show?  I stared into space, watched people come and go, and left myself open to whatever happened.

Before long, I had a sentence.  And another.  And another.

At some point, the sentences no longer came.  So I went back to my first sentence–because I knew it was better than what I had before but still not right–and I played around with it.  I changed the order of items in it, that word here and that word there.  Then I moved on to the next sentence and did the same.

By the time I got to the third sentence, I sensed I should break it out into a separate paragraph and elaborate on the idea.  I wrote several more new sentences, all related to the opening one.

I kept going, this time getting not only as far as the first time, but a little further, with another sentence suggesting itself to me.  I knew it wasn't quite right, but I wrote it down anyway.  Having something down is better than having nothing down at all.  Gives me more to play with.

Once again, the new sentences stopped coming, and I went back over what I had to that point, changing what I still didn't like, the structure of what I had so far.  From past experience, I knew reviewing everything again might take me into yet more uncharted territory.

And it did.

This is what I call playing.

Playing is a lot of fun–but only if you take the time, only if you're patient, and only if you have no expectations of what might come out of it.

When in doubt, play.  Be that child again.  Let what happens, happen.  Get out of your own way and, most important, have fun.  That's what it should be.

Walter Mosley's Advice About Dialogue

Every time characters in your novel speak, they should be:  (1) telling us something about themselves; (2) conveying information that may well advance the story line and/or plot; (3) adding to the music or mood of the scene, story, or novel; (4) giving us a scene from a different POV (especially if the character who is speaking is not connected directly to the narrative voice); and/or (5) giving the novel a pedestrian feel.

(From This Year You Write Your Novel, by Walter Mosley, pp. 88-89.)

Where some writing books are long-winded, making writers work to find nuggets of information, Mosley's is short and filled with practical advice.  Check it out.    

Serendipity

Writing is a funny thing.

Last week, I started revisions on Chapter Twenty-Two.  The first draft I had of this chapter, which I wrote probably two or more years ago, was awful and had to be completely rewritten.

What did I have to work with?

Well, I had the basis of the conversation between the two main characters–that is, I knew what they need to talk about, and what needs to come out of that discussion.  I also had an opening line (which is more than I often have, allowing me to build a conversation, one line of dialogue naturally following the other).  And that's it. 

Last week, I crafted the conversation.  When I had that, I realized I didn't have a setting for the two main characters.  Where does this conversation take place?  And does where it takes place contribute more than just a setting to the story–in other words, does it add to, or enhance, the story in some way?

I took a look at a list of potential settings I recorded nearly five years ago, and identified all the ones I could use that I hadn't yet (because I don't want the characters in the same place all the time; that's too boring for the reader, and for me, as the writer).  There were four, and, for some reason, I chose Vancouver's West End, the two main characters walking down a street, on their way to a new condo building.

Why are these characters walking to this new condo building?  Because David, the secondary main character, is going to see the new condominium a gay couple has just bought.  David's previously told, Brian, the main character, that the gay couple are unhappy with a large cement column in the center of their condo, which breaks the sight line between the entrance and the view outside their window at the opposite end of the room.

When I selected this setting, I had no idea why.  But my subconscious has been working on it since.

Both Brian and David are gay men, who are desperate to find love.  But a bunch of obstacles stand in their way, not the least of which is their low self-esteem.

What Brian and David talk about on the way to seeing this condo is an experience Brian recently had with a young woman, Carla, who's a colleague of his (in fact, Brian supervises her).  The young woman is plain, overweight, and obsessively in love with Brian.  Carla is also afflicted with low self-esteem, which accounts, in part, for why she's fallen in love with a man she can never have.  (It's kind of complex, but hopefully I've revealed enough here for it to make sense.)

Here's how I wrote this in my journal:  "Brian's unusual experience with Carla figuratively removes the column in the way of Brian–and David–seeing why they haven't met the right men yet (their own low self-esteem is in the way).  The question is, will they see that?"

I don't know how writing turns out this way, but, over the time I've been working on my novel, it's happened time and again.  I bring together two elements that seem to have no relationship, only to realize later there's a serendipitous connection between them.  

So cool.

We have to trust our instincts when we write.  We don't always understand the choices we make, but we've made them for reasons.  Over time, those reasons will be revealed, if we stick with it and have faith.    

Voice

Whenever I feel insecure about my writing, I ask myself this:  How is my voice any less worth listening to than anyone else's?

All the greats took that first step.  They were not fully-formed and amazing from the start.  They believed they had something worth saying, and they had the courage to follow through on that belief. 

So too must all the rest of us.

Our voice is worth hearing.

What we have to say is worth listening to.   

A Helpful Quote

Here's a quote I hope you'll find helpful from Complete Write a Novel Course, by Will Buckingham:

A novelist's job is to raise questions, 

but there is no obligation to fully answer 

these questions [p. 162].

Early August Update

So, from time to time, I'd like to give you an update on where I am in the process of completing my novel.  Here goes:

A few weeks ago, I achieved a milestone.  My first beta reader, Jeanette, and I reviewed Chapter Eighteen.  Over the past two-plus years, we've met from time to time to review in detail each chapter I've written to this point.  We have a few more to go, but we're getting there.

My second beta reader, RG, and I have reviewed Chapter One several times.  A few weeks ago, I sent him Chapters Two to Five.  He wanted to read ahead and see how the characters and story develop.  Chapter Two is ready for a detailed read, but Chapters Three to Five still need more revision to measure up to the new Chapter One.  Work is ongoing here.

Here's where things get a little complicated.  I'll review this chapter-by-chapter for you:

Chapter Nineteen:  A few more rounds of revision are still needed here, but Jeanette and I should be able to review it soon.

Chapter Twenty:  Same as above.

Chapter Twenty-One:  Same as above.

Chapter Twenty-Two:  Recently, I completed a thorough rewrite of this chapter.  The first draft was awful and needed to be brought up to the level of what came before.  That's now done, and many more rounds of edits are needed before it's ready for Jeanette's eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Three:  Last week, I began work on a full rewrite of the three scenes in this chapter.  Some sections will need thorough rewrites, and others won't.  Then I'll have many rounds of edits to complete.

Chapter Twenty-Four:  Only a few rounds of rewrites should be needed here before Jeanette can see it.

Chapter Twenty-Five:  This chapter is nearly ready for Jeanette. 

Chapter Twenty-Six:  I just completed a thorough rewrite on this chapter.  A lot more work is still needed before I can pass it on to a beta reader. 

Chapter Twenty-Seven:  I just finished a thorough rewrite.  Many rounds of edits are needed here.

Chapter Twenty-Eight:  I still have to complete a thorough rewrite on this.

Chapter Twenty-Nine:  More work is needed on a thorough rewrite.

Chapter Thirty:  I haven't started the thorough rewrite on this chapter yet.  But I've looked ahead at the first draft, made a lot of notes, and I'm letting my subconscious work on what I want to do with it, while I work in other areas.

Chapter Thirty-One:  Not much worked is needed here.  I completed most of the rewrites on this chapter some time ago, and, when I chronologically get to the point where Jeanette and I can discuss it, it should be mostly ready.

Chapter Thirty-Two:  Same as above (I finished working on the closing chapters some time ago, so I had a point for all the other chapters to lead to).

As you can see, I have multiple projects going on at the same time.  If I'm bored with anyone area, I can easily turn to another.  I recommend this process.  You'll be less likely to grow tired working on the same thing all the time.  Plus, I'm at different places in each chapter, so I'm always fired up to work on different things at different times.

It should also be noted that, as I continue to send chapters to RG, more work will be needed to bring some, particularly earlier ones, up to that standard I talked about earlier in relation to Chapter One.  But, around Chapter Eight or so, less structural work should be needed, and I should be able to focus on the details.

And that's about it.

Happy writing.

Celebrate Unknown Writers

I don't believe in putting down someone else to make oneself feel better.  Or in disparaging the creative efforts of others.  God knows creating anything is difficult enough as it is.  Just the fact that we do it at all should be celebrated.

But I have to weigh in on this.  I have to say something about what I saw at a local bookstore recently. 

I know the publishing industry is hurting.  I know publishing isn't what it used to be.  Nor are music and movies.  Technology has given us options for experiencing them, radically changing the industries that produce them.  In some respects, we've taken steps forward.  But, in other respects, we've taken steps backward.  As a result, the publishing industry is looking for books they can count on, books that will get people buying–and, not just buying, but buying a lot.  In short, books that will make huge amounts of money.   

So back to the local bookstore.

There I was, almost when I walked in, standing face to face, or face to display stand, full of E. L. James's latest book Grey.  There must have been more than a hundred copies, in a single location, which I assume was intended to make an impression on me, so I'd grab a copy and take it to the cashier. 

But I don't think that was the worst. 

Most of us know about Harper Lee's new release Go Set a Watchman, the follow-up to her classic, beloved To Kill a Mockingbird.  While I haven't read Watchman (I have no intention of reading it), I've read several reviews of it, and most aren't favorable, to say the least.  Entertainment Weekly, the smart and generally accurate bible of pop culture, a couple weeks ago gave it a D+, and called it a "cash grab."  The fact is, Watchman was basically the first draft of Mockingbird.  It was the primer Lee, encouraged by her editor, used to flesh out the real story she wanted to tell, the one that's deservedly sold more than 40 millions copies worldwide over the past fifty-plus years.

Yet, there's Watchman, on display stands all around Chapters stores, trying to get people's attention, trying to generate sales, trying to save the publishing industry.  A first draft.

What occurred to me, as I walked past yet another display stand with copies of Watchman on it, is how insulting Grey and Watchman are to all those wonderful writers who write their asses off, day after day, produce extraordinary books, and never see their work celebrated in the same way.  The sad fact is, the work of most writers never finds an audience and ends up on remainders tables, where it languishes until it's eventually destroyed.     

Yet, James's dreck and Lee's first draft, two poor excuses for writing, are positioned to save the publishing industry.

We can do better than that.  I know we can.            

You Better Work

 

 I have one thing to say,

You better work.

Rupaul, "Supermodel," 1993

Early in my relationship with Chris, we adopted an expression, intended to be used in relation to each other, that was as much funny as a warning.  And that expression Rupaul sings at the close of his hit song "Supermodel." 

You better work.

Before Chris, I'd had enough experiences with gay men in general to know that a number of them look for free rides (no pun intended) from the men they're interested in.  There are plenty of gay men out there willing to let someone else do all the work, so they can have all the fun.  Fortunately, at the time, Chris and I were both employed, in secure positions.

 

Even now, if we think the other one is slacking off, taking the easy way out, not pulling his weight, we'll haul out the old expression and use it again. 

 

You better work.

 

Over the years, these three little words have had a lot of applications.  They still encapsulate how we feel about someone, anyone, not doing his fair share, expecting things to happen without any effort on his part, so he can have all the fun and take all the glory.

 

During summer, one of my favorite TV shows is "So You Think You Can Dance" (although don't get me started on some of the changes this season, including the Street versus Stage teams, not renewing Mary Murphy's contract as a judge, bringing on the ditzy Paula Abdul, and giving a judging position to Jason Derulo–will he have anything of value to say?).  As I watch this show, particularly the rehearsal videos, showing how hard the dancers work to master the routines choreographers give them, what comes back to me again and again is this:

 

You better work.

 

It applies to me in a lot of ways, and I continuously remind myself I cannot expect to get a free ride.  In many ways, I must continue to add value.  That's just the way it is.  That's the way it should be.

 

But this expression also applies to my writing.

 

Sometimes, when I'm in despair, I ask myself over and over again why writing is so much work.  Why do I have to go through all this to achieve what I want to?

 

Because.

 

Because I do. 

 

Why shouldn't I?

 

Why should I think writing a novel, and making it the best it can be, should be any easier to accomplish than what the dancers on "SYTYCD" have to do to learn and master routines?  Or what athletes have to do to earn a position on Olympic teams?  Or what anyone has to do to be the best in the world at something?  It shouldn't be.  To accomplish what I want, I should have to work every bit as hard, as anyone who struggles to make something happen.   

 

No one gets a free ride.  Or no one should.  

 

So I'll continue to remind myself "You better work," because I better.  That's the only way to get anything done–anything worthwhile, that is.