An Embarrassment of Riches

Okay, I admit it. I have way too many books. I have four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed full, with some of the shelves double-stacked. And if all my books would fit into those shelves, I'd be very, very happy. But alas, they do not. (Even after I've carried four enormous bags full of books to the library in the past month!)

I have at least enough books scattered around the house to fill another shelf unit. There are tons stuffed down in the utility cupboard in the laundry room. And my active TBR pile has formed a serious urban sprawl along my side of the bed, a veritable fortress of words which I must breach each night just to get some sleep. I like to think there is some benefit from sleeping surrounded by all those words and stories, but who knows...

About a third of these books are research books, the lifeblood of my work. But the others? ::shakes head slightly::

My nightmare is that we have to move someday and I have to decide what to do with all these books. I really need to begin deciding if they are all truly keepers, and if not, why on earth am I saving them?

Even so, all my books make me very happy. When I gaze fondly at those shelves, I can't help but feel like a very rich woman, indeed.

The Muse Works In Mysterious Ways

I know just how odd a duck my muse is, but I am still surprised by it sometimes. Take this weekend, for example. I had basically 20 days to finish Beastologist III and turn it in, yet my muse was OBSESSED with cleaning out every closet in the house. Now normally, one could look at this as an avoidance strategy, except my muse doesn't normally operate that way. Plus, trust me, there are a lot of things I would pick over de-cluttering as a means of procrastinating.

I did try to write. I got a measly few hundred words done and gave up because my mind was totally focused on all the junk sitting in our collective closets. It was calling to me. So I gave in and spent three days de-cluttering, muttering the entire time, "My muse better know what she is doing."

And of course she did. I woke up Monday and began writing and pretty much haven't stopped since, knowing exactly what has to happen and dribbling little additional bursts of inspiration in the margins as I go. Very cool.

The thing is, sometimes I think what our muse needs is exactly a good house cleaning or closet thinning or gardening binge. Some activity our active mind can focus on and give the subconscious some privacy to work out stuff. It can also act as a mental feng shui kind of thing, cleaning out the corners to let all sorts of new energy in. Either way, it worked for me as a most excellent mental pump priming. And I got clean closets out of it, to boot!

Jump Starting

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a big believer in writer’s block. However, I am a big believer in the fact that sometimes we just don’t know enough about our stories to write the next part yet. And sometimes, we don’t even have a clue of what should happen next. For me, stewing and fermenting in my subconscious is a big part of my process, and when writing on contract I don’t always have the luxury of time enough for that. For me, not know what comes next happens most frequently in the third quarter of the book. This is the section that always takes the most left-brain work for me to make it right.

I think the reason is that in the first half of the book, I’ve spun out all the story threads, laid down the first steps of the arcs, and raised all sorts of dramatic questions. I’m now standing at the midpoint, staring up that long steep slope to the climax. By virtue of what I have written in the first half, I am somewhat committed to certain paths and choices. But I also want for the events to happen in the most cause-and-effect, increase-the-tension sort of way. AND, as if that’s not enough, I need to continue getting the character’s internal arc, incremental baby steps on the page. That’s where the left brain stuff comes in. When I’m not writing on contract, I usually do a discovery draft first, but when I’m short of time, I have to jumpstart things.

Now let me just say, if you don’t have to do this stuff, my hat’s totally off to you. I envy all you instinctive writers out there! But I also think it can be seductively easy to kid ourselves as to how gripping or well constructed our own writing is, so in addition to helping me actually get words on the page in the first place, this process also comes the closest to letting me look at my own work objectively.

So for the last couple of days, I’ve been brainstorming and playing what happens next. I don’t really even try to make a daily word count at this point because it’s the underlying stuff that I’m working on; the bones and sinew rather than the muscle and skin. (Sorry about that analogy—I’ve been immersed in dragons lately, and that’s pretty much how they see people…)

The other thing is, while I might not know what happens next, I do have this vision in my head of what I want the story to be like when it’s finished; this great glorious vision; one that the story will never ever look like, but even so, I use that blueprint, that mental impression, as a touch stone. Which of all these options before me will most closely recreate on the page that ethereal impression I have in my head?

So in my wip, Phil and Nate Fludd have entered the wyverns cave in search of an intruder. I know they face dangers in the cave as they search for this intruder, but I have only the vaguest impression of what those dangers are. So I make a list of what’s in the cave; infant wyverns, yearlings, and two year old wyverns, and the dangers and risks each present. I also need to design the cavern system so I can see in my minds eye the actual terrain they are traversing and what physical complications and difficulties they might run into.

Then I look at this list and sort of poke at it, wondering which is scarier, a wyvern yearling or a two year old, because during this section of the book (from the midpoint to the climax) I think it is critical to keep winding that tension up, to create a true build to the climax. For myself as a reader, this is most often where some books fall short and it is too easy to put them down.

As I poke at each kernel of a scene, I look for ways to up the tension. For example, let’s have the feeding pit scattered with old bones and carcasses to incorporate some of the conflict in the actual setting and description. When they enter the cave, there is lots of atmosphere, and the apprehension of coming face to face with wyverns for the first time, but is there something else I can do to up the stakes? Hm, yes. Let’s have Nate break the ladder by accident so that they now have no way back out should things get too rough.

That’s the sort of thing I take a couple of days to do. So I’ve basically spent my time designing wyvern caverns and recording the wyvern maturing process from infancy, as recorded in the Fludd family Book of Beasts. As someone who was consistently dinged for daydreaming and making stuff up as a kid, can I just say, I LOVE MY JOB!

Arcs

Okay, I'm going to get all math-ish on you here, but bear with me a moment. And I say this as a person who hated geometry. (I liked algebra because it mimics life--in life we are always trying to solve for the unknown--but that's the subject of a different post...)

In geometry, an arc is the path between two points. It is exactly the same with a character arc. A character arc marks the path between your character at the beginning of the story and your character at the end of the story. The change in the character does not happen all at once, it happens gradually over time, a series of small steps before the final climax when the character is remade into his new and improved self.

Think of a baby chick or a butterfly. It pokes and wriggles, attempting to free itself from the egg or the cocoon, until the very end where it makes a heroic final burst and breaks free. And as any naturalist will tell you, it is hugely detrimental to help the creature break free too early because it is in the actual struggle itself that the chick or butterfly will gain the strength to make that final valiant effort that frees it from it’s old trappings. That pretty much sums up a character's internal journey and arc.

This is actually a good picture of a character arc:


You can see the small, incremental steps, moving things forward and upward as well. Small points on the graph eventually build to a whole new place.

By plotting out your character’s growth toward change (either consciously or instinctively) you create a forward momentum in your story, a sense of true movement. Those small steps build on each other. As a writer, knowing and understanding those changes that have to occur help us to design or shape our scenes so they pack the most punch.

Sometime the small steps will be incredibly subtle, as subtle as a shift in perception by the character, a recognition that there is a problem, or that the best friend doesn't have her best interests at heart, or the first time she ever, even tentatively, told someone no.

The good news? You should have a ton of material now for these baby steps if you've been following along in the plotting discussion.

Thinking Outside the Box(es)

I have a confession to make. I have a thing--yes, that sort of thing--for graph paper. In fact, I’m a bit of a graph paper trollop. I love the basic 8x11 size and have about three pads of it on hand at all times, but I also have little flings on the side with 11 x 17 size graph paper and the enormous 17 x 22 size as well, although I admit to indulging in that last size only a couple of times a year.

You can get a pretty clear indication on how overwhelmed I’m feeling by the size of the graph paper I’m using. When I pull out the 17 x 22, you know I’m sinking fast and frantically trying to grasp all the elements of the plot that I’m struggling with.

So how on earth did a writer develop such a whopping crush on graph paper, of all things?

It began small at first, as most addictions do, with an occasional pad of 8 x 12. There was something very special about those little squares, all neatly lined up. There is something freeing about not being constricted by lines on a page. It makes the writing itself more visual, and it allows for more clearly designated groupings.



Sometimes I draw actual diagrams.



Other times, I lay out more sequential time lines.

Sometimes I just scribble things down madly and randomly and then play with the connections. This is usually in the most early stages of the drafting process.




Other times I’ll measure out careful sections of the sheet and list scene log lines so I can “see” the plot at a glance.



Or create a master character graph so I can get a handle on all the character arcs, beats of internal growth for each by act number, so I can be sure I’m making a logical progression and get a sense of the different growth arcs intersect.



Or plot arcs:




Colored pens are a must, too, but that’s the subject of a whole ‘nother post.

The Many Faces of Discipline

A lot of attention is paid to the need for discipline in pursuing writing, specifically, the discipline to put one’s butt in the chair and simply write.

But it’s occurred to me lately that discipline issues come in many shapes and sizes. We need discipline not just for B-I-C, but also:

~ for learning the craft
~ for finding the fortitude to do One. More. Stinking. Draft. To get it right.
~ to block out creative distractions—new ideas that beckon seductively or the temptation of learning what certain publishers or agents think is “hot” and therefore selling
~ The discipline to cleave to our own unique creative vision, no matter how much we doubt it or it scares us or that annoying internal editor whispers we’ll be damned if we write that. (Can you tell I struggle with this one a lot?)
~ not coveting thy neighbors publishing deal or marketing plan. This one is also hard, especially with so much information available on the web as to who got how much for what deal and the cyber evidence of how much certain publishers are promoting certain titles.

All of those are death to our writing. And it occurred to me this week that while I’ve been smugly chortling over NOT needing discipline in keeping my butt in the chair, I very much DO lack discipline in some of those areas. So how about you? What areas do you struggle with?

And because this is kind of a brave, public admission, we’ll have a special drawing for everyone who leaves a comment on this post!

Research Geekiness

Okay, one of the things I adore about research is how I always find these great serendipitous connections, and I had to share this latest one.

I’m currently working on the third Nathaniel Fludd book, The Wyvern’s Treasure, which takes place in Wales. And one of the fun, geeky things I’m doing in each book is weaving Fludd ancestors into the history and culture of this different geographic areas. So, I was researching Wales, where Nate and Phil Fludd go to deal with rampaging wyverns, working on creating my fictional history of how Fludds came to have a covenant with these wyverns. And what do I find? In one of the earliest myths about a Welshmen taming a dragon, the Welshman’s name is . . . Lludd. Which is EXACTLY how I was going to Welshify Fludd (that double L thing just screams Welsh). And the name already exists historically, exactly where I need it to!

God, I love my job!

Edited to Add: And the winner of this months drawing is ASPIRING WRITER. The random number was generated in a most scientific fashion, one that involved me calling out to my husband, Pick a number between 1 and 59, and he said 17, which was AA. Email me with your snail mail address AA, and I will get a copy of Character and Viewpoint out to you ASAP.