What I Wish I Knew Years Ago

The hardest part of writing is figuring out your process. Some of us like to plot everything but dialogue, and some of us can’t work like that. There are hundreds of moving parts, and the process is different for everyone.

I’m halfway through the Balphrahn series (I think). Like all the other novels I’ve written, it’s been an uphill battle because, unlike every other part of my life, I can’t plan much. Compulsive long-term planning doesn’t mesh with my creativity, so I muddle along through the first (and sometimes second) draft before going back to completely retrofit what doesn’t work. It’s messy, and I disapprove, but there it is.

Several months ago, I heard someone say, “The villain drives the plot*.” It was an epiphany but it took some time and thinking about how to implement it. Last week, I figured it out. Book 1 was diagnosed with Weak Villain Syndrome and the person who pointed it out also had thoughts about how to fix it.

The short version of the story is I have to start with the villain. Story ideas are all well and good, but they’re a walk through headspace without the villain. Of course, they’re the hardest part for me, which is probably a better reason to start with them.

It’s still an uphill battle, but if I can nail this, I can do it again. If I’m right about the process, I’ll be able to write better and faster.

I hope.

We’ll see.

Stay tuned.

 

*Google says that quote is attributed to Gayle Linds, but she’s not who I heard say it. I think it might have been Shawn Coyne on the Storygrid podcast.

Reprise: Floundering Again

There really is nothing new under the sun. Life has been less than exciting of late, and this post from last summer (before we had any idea what was about to hit the fan) summarizes where I am these days. Rather than bore you with the mundane, I’ll leave you with this and the assurance that I’m working on “Welcome To Chicago: The Country Mouse Moves To The City.”

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You may (or may not) have noticed I haven’t blogged about writing lately. It’s partly because I’ve been busy with non-writing things like family visits and trying to learn Celtic folk tales to tell at nursing homes. The other reason is that I’m firmly entrenched in the Pit of Despair, otherwise known as Act 2.

When I start a project, I know how it will start and how it will end. It seems logical that the middle would be easy. Just put the characters on the yellow brick road and throw some flying monkeys at them.  Would anyone be shocked to learn that it’s not that cut and dried?

My current book has a love triangle. Three different personalities, three different sets of motivations and agendas. Weaving them into a coherent plot is like herding cats. What I’ve found is that I have to write a scene, and then figure out how everyone reacts to what just happened. From that I can draw another scene or two, and then I have to analyze it again. To further complicate things, I sometimes know when I write a scene that it’s not going into the book. Some of them are only for me. They’re a tool to find the story, and of course I include them in my word count, but I have to force myself to not feel like I’m wasting my time. It’s long and arduous and frustrating. A few days ago, Barbara Scott tweeted that most writers hate the process because it can be painful. It resonated with me because there isn’t much in the process that I enjoy. The great days are few and far between, but I have to write. It’s therapy, it’s a calling, it’s an obsession, but it’s not fun. So I slog through the not so good days, and when I get on a roll, I have a good day. For a while, all the angst is worth it, and at the best of times, the high carries through to the next time.

Welcome to the life of an artist. Does it still look glamorous?

Floundering. Again.

You may (or may not) have noticed I haven’t blogged about writing lately. It’s partly because I’ve been busy with non-writing things like family visits and trying to learn Celtic folk tales to tell at nursing homes. The other reason is that I’m firmly entrenched in the Pit of Despair, otherwise known as Act 2.

When I start a project, I know how it will start and how it will end. It seems logical that the middle would be easy. Just put the characters on the yellow brick road and throw some flying monkeys at them.  Would anyone be shocked to learn that it’s not that cut and dried?

My current book has a love triangle. Three different personalities, three different sets of motivations and agendas. Weaving them into a coherent plot is like herding cats. What I’ve found is that I have to write a scene, and then figure out how everyone reacts to what just happened. From that I can draw another scene or two, and then I have to analyze it again. To further complicate things, I sometimes know when I write a scene that it’s not going into the book. Some of them are only for me. They’re a tool to find the story, and of course I include them in my word count, but I have to force myself to not feel like I’m wasting my time. It’s long and arduous and frustrating. A few days ago, Barbara Scott tweeted that most writers hate the process because it can be painful. It resonated with me because there isn’t much in the process that I enjoy. The great days are few and far between, but I have to write. It’s therapy, it’s a calling, it’s an obsession, but it’s not fun. So I slog through the not so good days, and when I get on a roll, I have a good day. For a while, all the angst is worth it, and at the best of times, the high carries through to the next time.

Welcome to the life of an artist. Does it still look glamorous?