And for My Next Amazing Novel...
Friday, February 27. 2009
I was thinking about the plot of Bring Me to Life this morning—in the shower, as is my wont—and I realized I won't be answering all the questions about the novel's reality before the end of the book. What's the real nature of Srrmhr (the daemon)? Where did the Devil come from? What happened to the Slow Ones? What are the "ghosts" that inhabit Hades—it seems clear they're not really souls, so what are they? These are some basic aspects of the setting that I don't think we'll ever get around to addressing; they'll remain mysteries.
This situation cries "sequel" to me.
Now, let's lay aside the hubris embodied in even the thought of producing a follow-on to my unpublished first novel. Let's say it might actually happen. That scares me a little bit, because of this: Even if the reader never learns all the answers, I have to know them. And I have to know them now, before the first novel of the trilogy—such fantasy!—is published.
I've often wondered whether George Lucas knew, back when he was penning A New Hope, that many of his main characters were related. Perhaps he was standing in the shower one day after the first movie was in the can, and experienced that flash of, "Now that would be cool!" I've never heard a definitive answer, but I've always strongly suspected the shower scene is the way it went down. If so, it was a happy accident that everything in Episode IV supported the later development of the plot.
The reason I need to understand my story's multiverse down to the quark level (no, really, it does come up) is that I don't want to have something published as "canon," and then have to figure out how to work around any unfortunate choices I might have made. Admittedly, that could be a fun challenge. But I'd prefer to have everything worked out from the start, for complete, unyielding consistency.
So I'm thinking I should be plotting not just this first novel, but the whole tetralogy. Because, if the first novel gets picked up, I have many more tales I could tell in this universe. Unlike my other current effort, 200 PC, which is clearly going to be a standalone story with no potential that I can see for a sequel, BMtL could conceivably live for a long time. I've fallen in love with the setting and with the characters, and I could take them to many, many places.
Of course, it's enough of a task to completely plot just the first novel in this potential series of five. I haven't even finished that yet. But once I have the first draft of this book in hand, I'll review and revise it with an eye toward making sure I haven't hindered myself in any way for the six or seven other books that may follow.
I'll probably have to get an agent somewhere in there, too. Hope she's an ambitious one.
I was thinking about the plot of Bring Me to Life this morning—in the shower, as is my wont—and I realized I won't be answering all the questions about the novel's reality before the end of the book. What's the real nature of Srrmhr (the daemon)? Where did the Devil come from? What happened to the Slow Ones? What are the "ghosts" that inhabit Hades—it seems clear they're not really souls, so what are they? These are some basic aspects of the setting that I don't think we'll ever get around to addressing; they'll remain mysteries.
This situation cries "sequel" to me.
Now, let's lay aside the hubris embodied in even the thought of producing a follow-on to my unpublished first novel. Let's say it might actually happen. That scares me a little bit, because of this: Even if the reader never learns all the answers, I have to know them. And I have to know them now, before the first novel of the trilogy—such fantasy!—is published.
I've often wondered whether George Lucas knew, back when he was penning A New Hope, that many of his main characters were related. Perhaps he was standing in the shower one day after the first movie was in the can, and experienced that flash of, "Now that would be cool!" I've never heard a definitive answer, but I've always strongly suspected the shower scene is the way it went down. If so, it was a happy accident that everything in Episode IV supported the later development of the plot.
The reason I need to understand my story's multiverse down to the quark level (no, really, it does come up) is that I don't want to have something published as "canon," and then have to figure out how to work around any unfortunate choices I might have made. Admittedly, that could be a fun challenge. But I'd prefer to have everything worked out from the start, for complete, unyielding consistency.
So I'm thinking I should be plotting not just this first novel, but the whole tetralogy. Because, if the first novel gets picked up, I have many more tales I could tell in this universe. Unlike my other current effort, 200 PC, which is clearly going to be a standalone story with no potential that I can see for a sequel, BMtL could conceivably live for a long time. I've fallen in love with the setting and with the characters, and I could take them to many, many places.
Of course, it's enough of a task to completely plot just the first novel in this potential series of five. I haven't even finished that yet. But once I have the first draft of this book in hand, I'll review and revise it with an eye toward making sure I haven't hindered myself in any way for the six or seven other books that may follow.
I'll probably have to get an agent somewhere in there, too. Hope she's an ambitious one.
This situation cries "sequel" to me.
Now, let's lay aside the hubris embodied in even the thought of producing a follow-on to my unpublished first novel. Let's say it might actually happen. That scares me a little bit, because of this: Even if the reader never learns all the answers, I have to know them. And I have to know them now, before the first novel of the trilogy—such fantasy!—is published.
I've often wondered whether George Lucas knew, back when he was penning A New Hope, that many of his main characters were related. Perhaps he was standing in the shower one day after the first movie was in the can, and experienced that flash of, "Now that would be cool!" I've never heard a definitive answer, but I've always strongly suspected the shower scene is the way it went down. If so, it was a happy accident that everything in Episode IV supported the later development of the plot.
The reason I need to understand my story's multiverse down to the quark level (no, really, it does come up) is that I don't want to have something published as "canon," and then have to figure out how to work around any unfortunate choices I might have made. Admittedly, that could be a fun challenge. But I'd prefer to have everything worked out from the start, for complete, unyielding consistency.
So I'm thinking I should be plotting not just this first novel, but the whole tetralogy. Because, if the first novel gets picked up, I have many more tales I could tell in this universe. Unlike my other current effort, 200 PC, which is clearly going to be a standalone story with no potential that I can see for a sequel, BMtL could conceivably live for a long time. I've fallen in love with the setting and with the characters, and I could take them to many, many places.
Of course, it's enough of a task to completely plot just the first novel in this potential series of five. I haven't even finished that yet. But once I have the first draft of this book in hand, I'll review and revise it with an eye toward making sure I haven't hindered myself in any way for the six or seven other books that may follow.
I'll probably have to get an agent somewhere in there, too. Hope she's an ambitious one.
Am I an Editor or a Writer?
Tuesday, February 17. 2009
Food is all about the presentation, right? So on a lazy Saturday morning, you decide to surprise your Significant Other with a wonderful, beautiful breakfast. Maybe it will make up for the misunderstanding the night before. It totally wasn't your fault, but as always, you'll be the one to offer the olive branch.
Olives. That's what the omelet needs. She loves those, and they'll go great with some feta cheese, fresh tomatoes, a sprinkling of chives. Pour the juice, clip a flower from the garden for the slim vase, and oh, turn off the burner before the eggs burn! You slowly f-l-i-p the main course onto a plate, one of the good ones, and for a wonder it doesn't fall apart. It looks good enough to eat.
Still needs something, though. A little color. The slice of orange you carefully arrange beside the omelet isn't enough. Nor do the two lightly toasted slices of sundried-tomato bread really set off the yellow in the right way. Parsley is what you need. The little bottle of flakes on the spice rack won't do, it'll have to be fresh. You pull on your jacket for a quick run to the market.
Mere moments later, jacket in a heap on the floor, you carefully place the beautiful, deep green leaves atop the dish, and it's truly a work of art. You know she'll be pleased.
Picking olives from the carpet, you try to work out what exactly happened. All right, perhaps the food did get cold. But wasn't it gorgeous? How could she react that way? And the day's misunderstandings begin...
Does prose go bad if it's edited for too long? I so love arranging the words just so, maximizing their impact. And some amount of editing is always necessary. But sometimes I wonder if I lose something in not going with the immediacy of my first output. Or at least the second or third. Further, excessive editing detracts from the time I have available to produce new material.
For the last couple of months, I've been engaged in editing the half-novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo 2008. Just last night, I finally finished updating my outline to match everything in my draft, including that last, frantically conceived text necessary to meet the 50K word count. Of course, I did edit the prose as I went along. But now I'm at the point where I can begin adding plot again. Switch from arranging mode to cooking mode, and try to stay focused on the flavor, not the flower. Here I go...
Food is all about the presentation, right? So on a lazy Saturday morning, you decide to surprise your Significant Other with a wonderful, beautiful breakfast. Maybe it will make up for the misunderstanding the night before. It totally wasn't your fault, but as always, you'll be the one to offer the olive branch.
Olives. That's what the omelet needs. She loves those, and they'll go great with some feta cheese, fresh tomatoes, a sprinkling of chives. Pour the juice, clip a flower from the garden for the slim vase, and oh, turn off the burner before the eggs burn! You slowly f-l-i-p the main course onto a plate, one of the good ones, and for a wonder it doesn't fall apart. It looks good enough to eat.
Still needs something, though. A little color. The slice of orange you carefully arrange beside the omelet isn't enough. Nor do the two lightly toasted slices of sundried-tomato bread really set off the yellow in the right way. Parsley is what you need. The little bottle of flakes on the spice rack won't do, it'll have to be fresh. You pull on your jacket for a quick run to the market.
Mere moments later, jacket in a heap on the floor, you carefully place the beautiful, deep green leaves atop the dish, and it's truly a work of art. You know she'll be pleased.
Picking olives from the carpet, you try to work out what exactly happened. All right, perhaps the food did get cold. But wasn't it gorgeous? How could she react that way? And the day's misunderstandings begin...
Does prose go bad if it's edited for too long? I so love arranging the words just so, maximizing their impact. And some amount of editing is always necessary. But sometimes I wonder if I lose something in not going with the immediacy of my first output. Or at least the second or third. Further, excessive editing detracts from the time I have available to produce new material.
For the last couple of months, I've been engaged in editing the half-novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo 2008. Just last night, I finally finished updating my outline to match everything in my draft, including that last, frantically conceived text necessary to meet the 50K word count. Of course, I did edit the prose as I went along. But now I'm at the point where I can begin adding plot again. Switch from arranging mode to cooking mode, and try to stay focused on the flavor, not the flower. Here I go...
Olives. That's what the omelet needs. She loves those, and they'll go great with some feta cheese, fresh tomatoes, a sprinkling of chives. Pour the juice, clip a flower from the garden for the slim vase, and oh, turn off the burner before the eggs burn! You slowly f-l-i-p the main course onto a plate, one of the good ones, and for a wonder it doesn't fall apart. It looks good enough to eat.
Still needs something, though. A little color. The slice of orange you carefully arrange beside the omelet isn't enough. Nor do the two lightly toasted slices of sundried-tomato bread really set off the yellow in the right way. Parsley is what you need. The little bottle of flakes on the spice rack won't do, it'll have to be fresh. You pull on your jacket for a quick run to the market.
Mere moments later, jacket in a heap on the floor, you carefully place the beautiful, deep green leaves atop the dish, and it's truly a work of art. You know she'll be pleased.
Picking olives from the carpet, you try to work out what exactly happened. All right, perhaps the food did get cold. But wasn't it gorgeous? How could she react that way? And the day's misunderstandings begin...
Does prose go bad if it's edited for too long? I so love arranging the words just so, maximizing their impact. And some amount of editing is always necessary. But sometimes I wonder if I lose something in not going with the immediacy of my first output. Or at least the second or third. Further, excessive editing detracts from the time I have available to produce new material.
For the last couple of months, I've been engaged in editing the half-novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo 2008. Just last night, I finally finished updating my outline to match everything in my draft, including that last, frantically conceived text necessary to meet the 50K word count. Of course, I did edit the prose as I went along. But now I'm at the point where I can begin adding plot again. Switch from arranging mode to cooking mode, and try to stay focused on the flavor, not the flower. Here I go...
Could You Change Your Oil Without a Wrench?
Friday, February 13. 2009
Then how can I be a writer if I can't think of the word I want?
This tiny little problem, which rears its ugly head with dismaying regularity, probably has me most self-conscious about my ability to consistently and reliably put out good fiction. I can come up with plots, interesting characters, great spec-fic ideas, and, on a surprisingly regular basis, some pleasing turns of phrase. But once in awhile, I find myself hitting this pothole. I'm motoring along in the fast lane, eating up words and sentences and paragraphs in a wonderful rush of creativity, enjoying the day with the windows cranked down, probably singing along to something by Moby or Blue Man Group or Imogen Heap, and there it is, that huge, unavoidable sinkhole crossing all the lanes, there's no way around it, and I come to a crashing halt.
I can't find that <shatner>one damned word.</shatner>¹
Some wonky neuron chooses that moment not to fire on schedule, and I know the idea I want to express, I can feel the edges of it, so I can tell the little cell's brothers are all on the job, probably nudging him to wake up and do his part, but he keeps hitting snooze. The non-word of this week was...well, I still can't think of it. It's when you have to answer to someone for something you've done— accountability! Hah, that's it. Wow. Now I know the solution to this particular mental block: blog about it.
I wonder whether this affliction is peculiar to me. Oh, I know other people are affected from time to time, but what about other writers? (Writers, as opposed to people, of course.) A mechanic would lose entirely too much time if he spent half the day every other day looking for a tool he had misplaced; he'd be fired unless he could organize himself more effectively. How do I smack my brain into better vocabulary recall? Mayhap I have too many words crammed in there, and I need to let a few out.
Maybe I could do that by writing...?
¹ Thanks to wood for that evocative formatting; it might not be original to him, but his was the first tweet I saw that used it!
Then how can I be a writer if I can't think of the word I want?
This tiny little problem, which rears its ugly head with dismaying regularity, probably has me most self-conscious about my ability to consistently and reliably put out good fiction. I can come up with plots, interesting characters, great spec-fic ideas, and, on a surprisingly regular basis, some pleasing turns of phrase. But once in awhile, I find myself hitting this pothole. I'm motoring along in the fast lane, eating up words and sentences and paragraphs in a wonderful rush of creativity, enjoying the day with the windows cranked down, probably singing along to something by Moby or Blue Man Group or Imogen Heap, and there it is, that huge, unavoidable sinkhole crossing all the lanes, there's no way around it, and I come to a crashing halt.
I can't find that <shatner>one damned word.</shatner>¹
Some wonky neuron chooses that moment not to fire on schedule, and I know the idea I want to express, I can feel the edges of it, so I can tell the little cell's brothers are all on the job, probably nudging him to wake up and do his part, but he keeps hitting snooze. The non-word of this week was...well, I still can't think of it. It's when you have to answer to someone for something you've done— accountability! Hah, that's it. Wow. Now I know the solution to this particular mental block: blog about it.
I wonder whether this affliction is peculiar to me. Oh, I know other people are affected from time to time, but what about other writers? (Writers, as opposed to people, of course.) A mechanic would lose entirely too much time if he spent half the day every other day looking for a tool he had misplaced; he'd be fired unless he could organize himself more effectively. How do I smack my brain into better vocabulary recall? Mayhap I have too many words crammed in there, and I need to let a few out.
Maybe I could do that by writing...?
¹ Thanks to wood for that evocative formatting; it might not be original to him, but his was the first tweet I saw that used it!
This tiny little problem, which rears its ugly head with dismaying regularity, probably has me most self-conscious about my ability to consistently and reliably put out good fiction. I can come up with plots, interesting characters, great spec-fic ideas, and, on a surprisingly regular basis, some pleasing turns of phrase. But once in awhile, I find myself hitting this pothole. I'm motoring along in the fast lane, eating up words and sentences and paragraphs in a wonderful rush of creativity, enjoying the day with the windows cranked down, probably singing along to something by Moby or Blue Man Group or Imogen Heap, and there it is, that huge, unavoidable sinkhole crossing all the lanes, there's no way around it, and I come to a crashing halt.
I can't find that <shatner>one damned word.</shatner>¹
Some wonky neuron chooses that moment not to fire on schedule, and I know the idea I want to express, I can feel the edges of it, so I can tell the little cell's brothers are all on the job, probably nudging him to wake up and do his part, but he keeps hitting snooze. The non-word of this week was...well, I still can't think of it. It's when you have to answer to someone for something you've done— accountability! Hah, that's it. Wow. Now I know the solution to this particular mental block: blog about it.
I wonder whether this affliction is peculiar to me. Oh, I know other people are affected from time to time, but what about other writers? (Writers, as opposed to people, of course.) A mechanic would lose entirely too much time if he spent half the day every other day looking for a tool he had misplaced; he'd be fired unless he could organize himself more effectively. How do I smack my brain into better vocabulary recall? Mayhap I have too many words crammed in there, and I need to let a few out.
Maybe I could do that by writing...?
¹ Thanks to wood for that evocative formatting; it might not be original to him, but his was the first tweet I saw that used it!
Man in E-Motion
Thursday, February 12. 2009
I'm either a sensitive guy or a wimp. I cry at weddings, funerals, movies, sometimes even birthday parties. The threshold for choking me up is quite low, compared to the national average. My "F" is off the scale (in Myers-Briggs speak).
This aspect of my psyche, coupled with the perennial close-to-the-writing issue all authors face, makes it very difficult for me to determine what's genuinely moving in my fiction.
A prime example (and one that's now close to hand) is the excerpt from my current novel-in-progress that I posted recently. When I was writing this scene, it made me emotional. Not in a boo-hoo sort of way, but in a chokes-me-up sort. Back when I did music, I'd have a similar reaction when a public performance really came together, when, well, "everything had seemed to align in a perfect way, and [I'd] thought perhaps [I] could do anything." Evan's words. Read the excerpt, then come back.
Even on re-reads (assuming I haven't read it within the past day or two), this scene pulls emotion up from inside me. I want my novels to have a succession of such experiences, spaced out appropriately, with entertaining "down time" between them. Add an engaging plot and interesting characters, a set of questions to pull the reader along, and some fun, slanted takes on reality, and for my money, you have the winning bet for great speculative fiction. That's what I'm trying to write.
Can't tell whether I'm really succeeding. Again, I'm too close to it. But it "works for me." I wonder whether it will work for the reader-at-large?
I'm either a sensitive guy or a wimp. I cry at weddings, funerals, movies, sometimes even birthday parties. The threshold for choking me up is quite low, compared to the national average. My "F" is off the scale (in Myers-Briggs speak).
This aspect of my psyche, coupled with the perennial close-to-the-writing issue all authors face, makes it very difficult for me to determine what's genuinely moving in my fiction.
A prime example (and one that's now close to hand) is the excerpt from my current novel-in-progress that I posted recently. When I was writing this scene, it made me emotional. Not in a boo-hoo sort of way, but in a chokes-me-up sort. Back when I did music, I'd have a similar reaction when a public performance really came together, when, well, "everything had seemed to align in a perfect way, and [I'd] thought perhaps [I] could do anything." Evan's words. Read the excerpt, then come back.
Even on re-reads (assuming I haven't read it within the past day or two), this scene pulls emotion up from inside me. I want my novels to have a succession of such experiences, spaced out appropriately, with entertaining "down time" between them. Add an engaging plot and interesting characters, a set of questions to pull the reader along, and some fun, slanted takes on reality, and for my money, you have the winning bet for great speculative fiction. That's what I'm trying to write.
Can't tell whether I'm really succeeding. Again, I'm too close to it. But it "works for me." I wonder whether it will work for the reader-at-large?
This aspect of my psyche, coupled with the perennial close-to-the-writing issue all authors face, makes it very difficult for me to determine what's genuinely moving in my fiction.
A prime example (and one that's now close to hand) is the excerpt from my current novel-in-progress that I posted recently. When I was writing this scene, it made me emotional. Not in a boo-hoo sort of way, but in a chokes-me-up sort. Back when I did music, I'd have a similar reaction when a public performance really came together, when, well, "everything had seemed to align in a perfect way, and [I'd] thought perhaps [I] could do anything." Evan's words. Read the excerpt, then come back.
Even on re-reads (assuming I haven't read it within the past day or two), this scene pulls emotion up from inside me. I want my novels to have a succession of such experiences, spaced out appropriately, with entertaining "down time" between them. Add an engaging plot and interesting characters, a set of questions to pull the reader along, and some fun, slanted takes on reality, and for my money, you have the winning bet for great speculative fiction. That's what I'm trying to write.
Can't tell whether I'm really succeeding. Again, I'm too close to it. But it "works for me." I wonder whether it will work for the reader-at-large?
Do I Have Woman Problems I Don't Know About?
Wednesday, February 11. 2009
I'm a bit self-conscious about the way I portray the leading women in my stories. I worry that my writing might be offensive in some way—and also predictable. Both of the novels I'm working on (200 PC and Bring Me to Life) have male protagonists, both of whom have attractive female love interests. I can name many other parallels between the two:- Both protags are somewhat clueless, with regard to life in general and to women in particular.
- Both women are self-assured and powerful, though in different ways and for different reasons.
- I give the protag opportunities to admire these women physically in prose from time to time.
- Both women have beauty that is beyond skin-deep, and both protags recognize this from very early on.
- Both novels end (well, are projected to end) with protag and lovely lady in a committed relationship.
I don't see anything wrong with these scenarios, but I'm afraid I might be too close to the writing to see the flaws. I posted a short story on Critters some time ago which presented a paradise wherein the protag (who is male and somewhat clueless—hmm, see a pattern developing?) was provided with the "perfect" mate. More than one Critter had a comment on the order of, "We get it already, she's hot, why belabor the point?"
I don't want this blog post to devolve into psychoanalysis, but I do feel compelled to think about why it is I write this way. I enjoy exploring the less self-assured male "hero" who turns out to have a starring role in saving someone or something. I think this guy tends to have a certain way of relating to women, and I think I probably understand that way quite well. Consequently, the way I portray my protags' attitudes toward their leading ladies is, I believe, realistic and understandable. It could be that the situations I concoct might not be entirely believable—but to some extent, that's the nature of fiction. It could also be that some readers would be offended by my chosen portrayal of these women...but frankly, there will always be some readers offended by something or other.
Do I make my women too beautiful? Do I spend too much time admiring my work? Do I belittle them (or anyone else) in this manner? Do I go out of my way to create unrealistic situations for the purpose of exploiting the femininity of these characters?
No, no, no, and no, I trust. But perhaps I'm too close. It won't be very long (I hope) before I'm ready to send one of these novels through the queue, and we'll see what the Critterati say then. But I'm not going to change my writing style; it's hard enough to write as myself, much less as someone I'm not.
I'm a bit self-conscious about the way I portray the leading women in my stories. I worry that my writing might be offensive in some way—and also predictable. Both of the novels I'm working on (200 PC and Bring Me to Life) have male protagonists, both of whom have attractive female love interests. I can name many other parallels between the two:
I don't want this blog post to devolve into psychoanalysis, but I do feel compelled to think about why it is I write this way. I enjoy exploring the less self-assured male "hero" who turns out to have a starring role in saving someone or something. I think this guy tends to have a certain way of relating to women, and I think I probably understand that way quite well. Consequently, the way I portray my protags' attitudes toward their leading ladies is, I believe, realistic and understandable. It could be that the situations I concoct might not be entirely believable—but to some extent, that's the nature of fiction. It could also be that some readers would be offended by my chosen portrayal of these women...but frankly, there will always be some readers offended by something or other.
Do I make my women too beautiful? Do I spend too much time admiring my work? Do I belittle them (or anyone else) in this manner? Do I go out of my way to create unrealistic situations for the purpose of exploiting the femininity of these characters?
No, no, no, and no, I trust. But perhaps I'm too close. It won't be very long (I hope) before I'm ready to send one of these novels through the queue, and we'll see what the Critterati say then. But I'm not going to change my writing style; it's hard enough to write as myself, much less as someone I'm not.
- Both protags are somewhat clueless, with regard to life in general and to women in particular.
- Both women are self-assured and powerful, though in different ways and for different reasons.
- I give the protag opportunities to admire these women physically in prose from time to time.
- Both women have beauty that is beyond skin-deep, and both protags recognize this from very early on.
- Both novels end (well, are projected to end) with protag and lovely lady in a committed relationship.
I don't want this blog post to devolve into psychoanalysis, but I do feel compelled to think about why it is I write this way. I enjoy exploring the less self-assured male "hero" who turns out to have a starring role in saving someone or something. I think this guy tends to have a certain way of relating to women, and I think I probably understand that way quite well. Consequently, the way I portray my protags' attitudes toward their leading ladies is, I believe, realistic and understandable. It could be that the situations I concoct might not be entirely believable—but to some extent, that's the nature of fiction. It could also be that some readers would be offended by my chosen portrayal of these women...but frankly, there will always be some readers offended by something or other.
Do I make my women too beautiful? Do I spend too much time admiring my work? Do I belittle them (or anyone else) in this manner? Do I go out of my way to create unrealistic situations for the purpose of exploiting the femininity of these characters?
No, no, no, and no, I trust. But perhaps I'm too close. It won't be very long (I hope) before I'm ready to send one of these novels through the queue, and we'll see what the Critterati say then. But I'm not going to change my writing style; it's hard enough to write as myself, much less as someone I'm not.
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