Working the Middle

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It’s easy to get lost in your own story. After all, you’ve created these wonderful characters to spend your time with, and sent them on incredible, if sometimes unbelievable, adventures. You might also have painted lush settings ripe for exploring. Then there comes the day when you pull away from the story, look around and say…

“Where the hell is this all going?”

If you can’t answer this question, you need to stop right where you are and figure it out. Otherwise, you’ll write yourself in circles with material that will all end in your Deleted Scene File (You are keeping a DSF, aren’t you?)

I’m going to throw you a couple of suggestions to help you answer that question. For this next part, I’ll be speaking mainly to the pantsers out there. The outliners don’t seem to struggle as much with this part of the story. Although that shouldn’t stop you from trying it. Just because you have an outline doesn’t mean you have to stick to it.

1.

Try going back to a key turning point in your story. Change what happens, and write about 1,000 words based on the new outcome. Does it work better? Does it resolve the wall you might have bumped into? Whichever scene you decide to go with, throw the other in your DSF. That way you can change it back without the extra work.

2.

Try a character interview. In separate document, throw out a bunch of questions to one of your characters. Of course you’ll ask important questions related to motives and personal goals, but don’t forget to throw in some random questions, too. Ask things like “What is it about your favorite junk food that keeps you snacking?” or “What is your most useless talent and how did you develop it?” Just make sure it’s an open-ended question, and you might be surprised at the gold that can surface. Maybe a character has a talent you didn’t realize that would take you to the next part of the story. These random questions also help jog your brain to look at your story from a new angle. That’s always helpful.

3.

Put the story down and write something else for a while. The worst thing you can do as a writer is to stop writing. If you come to an impasse and can’t find a way out, you probably need more time to find the right solution. That’s okay. It happens. In the mean time, don’t let your craft suffer by not writing at all. That will guarantee a prolonged wait to your ending. Maybe even indefinitely.

These are several things that I’ve used and found helpful. If you have tricks of your own, please share them in the comments. I’d love to try them.

Stuck in the Middle

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This week we’re talking about middles. Not middles as in waistlines. Middles as in that section of your novel that connects your brilliant beginning with your stunning conclusion.

Middles can get murky. They can catch you like quicksand and suck you down to oblivion. Stall you out like the doldrums. Cut you off at the knees.

Okay, enough dramatic cliches.

There are some telltale warning signs you’re headed into a swampy slowdown.

You might be in trouble if:

  • Your character stares out the window, thinking
  • Two characters pass the time talking about what’s happened up to that point, rehashing information they both know but are saying anyway for the reader’s benefit
  • You take up wide swaths of chapters describing the scenery in minute detail while your characters sits at a table doing nothing

Do you see a common denominator? No movement.

The key, I’m quickly learning, to getting through the murky middle is to keep your characters actively moving through the story. In order for them to do so, you’re going to need…

A plot.

I used to be a pantser. I would sit at the keyboard and wait for the story to land in my head and flow through my fingers. And too many times my novels fizzled about halfway through.

I had no plot.

And then I read Save the Cat, by Blake Snyder. And I learned how to map out my story before writing it.

Guess what? It worked.

I’ve written two manuscripts since I learned how to Save the Cat, and both times, I’ve zoomed right through the middle. My stories maintained their energy and the momentum carried them through to the conclusion. Yay!

Now, you might be shaking your head, thinking outlining and plotting aren’t for you. That’s fine. We all have our own processes. But the next time you find yourself stuck in the middle, you should consider evaluating where your character is, where you need him to be, and how to get him there before you write another word. It’s okay. Your character will wait for you. He’s not doing anything anyway. He’s just staring out the window.

In the Beginning, there was a dilemma.

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So you’ve got this really amazing fantasy novel idea. Maybe you sat down to write a short story and it just exploded on you. Maybe you actually did write a short story and your critique group said “this feels more like a first novel chapter” (that one happens to me all the time). Maybe you’ve just got this burning image in your mind that haunts you every time you drive your car or do the dishes.

Awesome, sit down and start writing, right?

Er… yes and no.

The problem is that fantasy contains too many $*(#&$#$ variables. Granted, if it’s urban fantasy, you’re probably good to go (and I hate you, because I just don’t write urban and it would make my life much easier if I could). But otherwise, you’re kind of SOL, because you can’t write a story set in a world you don’t know anything about. Well, you can, but chances are excellent it’ll end up completely crappy and derivative, and if obvious crappiness is the sort of thing that bothers you, you’ll end up wasting a lot of time trying to remedy your issues in subsequent drafts (says the weary voice of experience. Be smarter than me, please.). Half-assed, Medieval Times world building will hem in your story in unpredictable ways. It will deny you fully-rounded characters and plot possibilities.

Hey Nonny Nonny Myrtle Beach Piggly Wiggly

Now, I’m not saying I’m against swords or sorcerers. Hell, if I get peckish while I’m reading I’ll most likely grab a mid-book snack of bread and cheese and apple; the only thing saving me from straight-up Hobbitry is that I’m too lazy to be frying any mushrooms. Sad but true.

So it would be fair to say I like high/low/epic fantasy best, and that is why I’m especially critical of it.

The problem with diving head-first into writing fantasy is that you’re gonna get stuck if you don’t do the homework. What’s the climate like? Terrain? Major food sources? Technology levels? Population density? Physical traits (what do these people look like)? Religion(s)? Politics? History? Gender equality? What is a normal family unit? Is queerness a nonissue, or will it get you run out of town? What social taboos are there, then? What about art, music, literature, and other expressions of culture? Figure all that out and you’ve got one race/culture. One. Then you get to suck it up and do it three or four more times, because even if people of other countries/races/cultures do not currently figure into your plot, their existence will inform your work in unconscious ways, especially if you have a large city in there anywhere.

And that’s not even touching the magic, which has to have some rhyme and reason to it, or languages (Though I love etymology, I’m not a big conlanger myself, and thus of the opinion that just making a working vocabulary is enough, so that you can consistently name people and places and create a few good swears).

Even if you end up making a lot of choices that cause your world to resemble medieval Europe, reasoning that this is an alternate earth or is actually our world but set incredibly far in the future, your setting will still have an inherent genuineness to it.I mean, let’s face it, there’s only going to be so much that is strange about your world as it’s hard to get away from oak trees and rabbits and sheep without getting into the weird smeerp thing anyway (warning! that link leads to TV Tropes, see you in six hours). It gets exhausting, so the main thing is to develop the cultures, and not worry too much about the rest. I mean, bread is bread, unless it has some sort of specific quality that makes it different from bread as we know it. Like, it makes you telepathic, or is actually made of the ground up bones of Englishmen. You get the idea.

Worldbuilding is a lot of work, something that is magically onerous and fun simultaneously. But if you want to make a world or a city that people remember, a Middle Earth or a Bas Lag or a Hogwarts or an Oz, you have to do the homework. If an idea for a fantasy novel is burning a hole in your head, by all means dive in, but do your worldbuilding in tandem, and save yourself some grief in the long run.

500 Club (2/2)

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Hello. Welcome to today’s 500 Club. We’ll be taking off for our destination momentarily. Today’s cruising speed will be 500 words and we’ll be flying at an unlimited altitude. The sky is the limit. As we taxi away from the gate, we’d like to review the guidelines for flying with PLC airlines.

  1. Write a 500 word response to one of the prompts below.
  2. Post your story on your blog.
  3. Put a teaser in the comments below, and include a link to where we can read the rest of your story.

Now, please fasten your safety belts and secure your tray in its upright position.

Prompt #1: Write a story involving flying. The concept of flying is open to your interpretation. Focus on description.

…Or…

Prompt #2: Write a story about a missed flight. What is the consequence of missing the flight? Focus on emotional content.

We hope you enjoy your flight. And thank you for choosing PLC airlines.

Beginnings In the End

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There are only three parts of the novel that are the hardest to write: the beginning, the middle, and the end. And to keep these posts from going into epic fantasy lengths, we’ve sectioned it out over the next three weeks. To keep things chronological, we’re tackling Beginnings first.

Little side note: The easiest part of writing? The ideas. Everybody gets them. It’s taking that idea and translating into words for others to read where most trip up. Because, really? Where do you start?

That in itself can be a daunting question. After all there’s so much emphasis on a story’s start. Books have been written solely on the importance of the first five pages. I can totally understand wanting to get it right. Those pages will be the ones judged on whether a reader will want to continue. Blow it, and it’s pulped. Own it, and you’ve made at least one new fan. I can see how this thought stymies most ideas from ever becoming novels.

Again I ask, where do you start?

Here’s my answer: It doesn’t matter. When you’re all done with the novel, your first chapter will have changed a MINIMUM of two times. Some might find this intimidating. For me, I found it the most freeing realization.

…permission to write bad.

When I first started writing, I used to write the first chapter over and over and over trying to get it just right. Was I telling too much? Did I keep too much hidden? Is it starting in the right place? Funny thing happens when you write and rewrite the first chapter again and again. The rest of the story never gets written.

So here’s what I did. I gave myself permission to write bad. This did two things. First and foremost, it got me writing. It’s impossible to gain momentum if you’re not moving forward. The second thing it did was take the pressure off creating brilliance on a first go-around. It might also keep you from sharing your work before it’s really ready, but that’s a topic for another week.

It’s like when I first learned how to drive stick. It wasn’t pretty seeing my dad’s ‘82 Montero lurch, buck, and stutter as I ground down first gear attempting to get out of the driveway. Once I got going, though, third and fourth were easy enough. If you only saw me drive by at cruising speed, you’d have no I idea I burned out the first two gears getting that far.

Remember all those questions I had earlier, the circular ones that kept me on chapter one? Sitting in front of a finished first draft, I could answer them all. I knew if it was too much or not enough, because I had the rest of the story there to reference. More than likely there were a number ideas that sprouted during the middle and end that I wanted to elude to back at the beginning. I could see the full story arc and decide if I started a chapter one too early, or need to tack on an extra chapter before the original. These are things I wouldn’t have know if I didn’t write right on through.

It comes down to not letting the beginning bother you in the beginning. It’s the ending that always makes it clear on how the beginning should be.

500 Club (1/26)

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Another Thursday brings us another 500 Club! Scroll down for two more prompts waiting to be explored.

Here’s what to do:

  1. Write 500 words based on one of the two prompts below.
  2. Post it to your blog.
  3. Give us a small taste in the comments below along with a link to the full text.

And now on to the prompts:

1. Attracting Opposites: In 500 words, convincingly combine two opposite elements. Blend fire and ice, love and hate, or space travel and deep-sea diving. Pick one of those or choose your own, just make sure they’re extreme opposites and make them coalesce.

2. Things Out of Place: Write a short story about something out of place. Maybe stacks and stacks of book, but not in a library or book store. Or, a full working kitchen at the heart of a cave. Make it believable and make it in 500 words.

*Feel free to change the name or sex of the characters as needed.

Auspicious Pudding, Part II

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This week we’re writing a Round Robin Story. Each of us are shooting from the hip to put a story together for your (and our) enjoyment. If you haven’t already, check out Part I here. Back? Good. And the story continues…

Part II

“The weald,” answered Jasper. He turned to Ty, a little exasperated. “Has the stomach rot gotten to your ears? I just said that.”

Ty’s stomach flipped at the mention of it. The pain didn’t last long as his attention quickly focused on the trees. The trees that shouldn’t be. That couldn’t be there.

They most certainly were there.

A clump of moss gave easily way when Jasper pulled it from the bark of the closest tree. Redwood? Was it even possible for a tree to grow that big?

Ty watched as Jasper sniffed the moss, nodded to himself ,and proceeded to smash the clump in his gnarled hands.

“What are you doing?”

Jasper just hummed to himself. The cuffing of his hands pounding the moss punctuated his song. The tune was only vaguely familiar to Ty. Just when he thought he could place it, Jasper stopped, picked up a sprig of pennyroyal and pressed it between moss-mushed hands. He gave it a good squish and then presented it to Ty.

“Nice. I’m impressed. No, really,” the sarcasm was like a candy coating over each word. “I just feel bad for leaving the Forestry Craft Badge at home. You so earned it.”

Ty went on to say more, but Jasper shoved the sprig in Ty’s mouth. Before he could spit it out, the old man had one hand on the back of Ty’s neck and the other covering his mouth.

“You can thank me later,” offered Jasper.

The grime on Jasper’s hand felt slick and coarse like wet sand paper on the back of his neck. His thoughts whirred from his now grim-streaked neck, to wondering how hands so old and knobby could still be so strong, to the horrible thing in his mouth. To say it tasted like minty dirt would be like calling the moon a rock. It combined the flavor of fresh lawn clippings with the grit of under-stirred hot cocoa. Sure there was an underlying hint of mint, but that silver lining was too thin encompass this gray cloud.

“Now would you stop struggling so I can talk to ya’ proper?”

Ty hadn’t realized he was jerking about, and when he did, he felt wholly justified. He kept it up for just a second longer as to not let Jasper think it was him telling him to that he stopped.

“That should settle your stomach for a bit. Yes, I know. Kinda’ feels like it’s going to do the opposite. It won’t though. Just chew a bit.”

Jasper’s grip loosen, but didn’t let go. He waited to see Ty’s jaw work the mush before going on.

“Good. Good. Now mind you don’t eat it. In small doses it’ll calm the rot. Swallow the whole of it, and we’ll be stopping at every other tree with a soft leaf.”

Ty didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel the knot untie itself in his gut. He didn’t fool himself. It was still there, only loosened.

“I can see it in your eye. It’s working.”

Jasper let go, leaving a mossy hand print in his place. He wiped the remainder on his pants and started rolling his sleeping bag and stowing his gear.

“How… Where did you… I mean,” Ty couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t even know where to begin. The trees? Magpies? The minty grit in his mouth?

“Can your auspex do that, too?” He finally asked.

Ty’s tone said jest, but his eyes begged for something to hold on to.

“Not just any auspex, that’s for sure. Now stop gawpping and roll up your bag. We got things to do and no telling how long to do them in. Move it now. Move.”

Whether by Jasper’s design or not, Ty was grateful for the busy work, moving in the familiar motions of breaking camp, rolling this, packing that. He didn’t know how longer Jasper had been talking before he started listening.

“—to see this. It’s good though. Very good. Maybe lucky even.”

“Jasper?”

“Son, if I told it all now, how am I to enjoy the look on your face when we get there?”

His smile was as much sincere as it was concealing.

Tune in this weekend for the stunning conclusion! (No pressure, Amy.)

500 Club (1/19)

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Happy Thursday, y’all! It’s time to write some flash with the 500 Club!

How do you play? Here’s the rules.

  1. Choose one of the prompts below. (or get crazy and do both)
  2. On your blog, write a 500-word story or scene based on the prompt.
  3. Post the first line or two of your story in the comments below with a link to the rest.

Here are today’s prompts:

1. Alien Invasion. They’re here, and they’re not what you would think. Twins? Cats? Cars? Only our narrator knows the truth (or does (s)he)?

…or…

2. Go pull one of your favorite books off the shelf. Flip around and blindly pluck out five lines at random. Write a flash fiction inspired by at least one of the lines.

Here are my lines, chosen at random from The Graveyard Book

Bod had never walked anywhere as a sightseer before.

He was going to have to fall straight down, he decided, onto the steps, and he would just hope that the ghouls wouldn’t notice that he was making a break for it in their desperation to be home and safe.

Mrs. Owens said simply, “I cannot. My bones are here. And so are Owen’s. I’m never leaving.”

“I wanted to go to Acadia Avenue.”

“First we put you somewhere safe. Then we deal with them.”

 

Happy writing!

Auspicious Pudding, Part I

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Pianos. Penguins. Pandas. Ty rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh my God.”

Jasper wormed around in his sleeping bag. “What’s up?” he said muzzily.

“If a flock of crows is a murder,” Ty said quietly, “And a flock of rooks is a parliament, what’s a flock of magpies?”

“A tidings. Or a charm.” Jasper fumbled about in the grass next to his head, located his wire-rim glasses, and hooked them over his ears. “Or sometimes, also a murder.” He looked up. “Holy God.”

“That’s what I said,” muttered Ty. The trees circling their campsite were covered in a flock of black and white birds. Branches swayed and sagged beneath their weight as they quorked and shat and preened. Endless pairs of dark eyes stared down and through him.

“There must be at least a hundred of them.” He looked more closely. Most of the birds were clutching green sprigs in their talons or beaks, maybe for their nests?

“An auspex would count them, and tell us the future.”

Ty glanced at Jasper, who was fastidiously settling his deerstalker on his bald head, his long fingers quivering. Jasper hoarded obscurities like they were two-for-one coupons. Was he taking the piss, as Effie would say?

“Don’t need an ‘auspex’ to tell us that,” said Ty, thinking of the twisted mass growing in his gut. In the movies, an alien would just hatch and burst out of your chest. Over quick. Industrial light and magic.

“I could do it, I think. There are several instructive folk rhymes to that purpose. Presuming the total number of birds divided cleanly into a number between one and ten. The real question is; what are they doing here?”

“Creeping me out?”

“Magpies are not indigenous to the area. They’ve come from somewhere else.”

Jasper unzipped his bag and stood. The magpies launched into the sky, a swirling flock, buzzing the old man like a swarm of bees.

Ty reached up and tugged Jasper to his knees. “Mistook you for a scarecrow,” he half-yelled over the burr of wings, “They’ll be gone in a minute.” He watched the birds circling directly overhead, wincing, then punched himself twice on the arm, trying to shake off the dread infusing his bones. That’s two for flinching.

“I should have counted them,” Jasper said, distraught.

“Call it a hundred. Ten by ten, nice and round. What’s ten?”

“Gold. Or a time of joyous bliss. Or, the Devil himself.”

Ty shook his head. Never one answer when three would do. Something plopped on his shoulder: a leafy sprig. More bits fell in a sudden pelting storm.

“Oh what the hell,” Ty shouted in exasperation. Both men ducked under the barrage. The rain of greenery was gentle, almost like a blessing. Ty found himself thinking distractedly of rice thrown at weddings. And then it was done.

Jasper picked up a bent blade adorned with small circular leaves. “Pennyroyal. Pudding grass if you want to get colloquial. I don’t know what they’d want with it; certainly not to eat.”

“Just saving it to heckle—” Ty exhaled as his stomach cramped tight. He rode out each pulsation of pain, biting the side of his tongue and clenching his fists. Jasper watched him worriedly, the unasked question plain in his pursed lips and half-raised eyebrows.

“Fine,” he managed, straightening. “No problem.” His eyes widened. “I take that back. Big problem.”

The unimpressive stand of birches they’d camped in had transformed into a hardwood forest, ancient trees rising forbiddingly tall, bedecked in verdant lichen and moss. The light overhead had taken on a cool quality, filtered through the layers of canopy.

“It’s a weald. Well, now we know from whence the magpies came.”

“Which is?”

To be continued on Wednesday….

I’m Open

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Most years I have one or two books I’m absolutely can’t wait to get my hands on. A book that’s makes me retire early to bed just so I can get a few extra minutes flipping pages under my dim book light. Alas dear reader, this year is different.

There’s nothing on the “To Be Released Must Read” list this year. For one, my go-to author has not announced a book release this year (yet, I hope). And two, nothing has really caught my eye in the past year to make me mark my calendar.

I need to clarify that I’m still excited about books. I always have at least one on my bedside table and another cued up on my iPod. I’ve just found myself in a unique situation where the things I am currently reading either don’t have a follow-up book or I’m so far into the author’s backlog of novels, that I’ll have quite a while before I need to start vying for new content from them. So  I am excited about certain books to read this year. They just don’t happen to be waiting for release.

As for my go-to author, Jim Butcher. It’s been eleven years now that he’s published at least one new novel each year in his Dresden Files series. Two in 2010 if you include his collection of short stories in the same world. For a number of those years, he’s also produced a second or third novel. So it comes with a little disappointment that there is no official release date for his next novel. Although according to Wikipedia and his Livejournal blog (define stalking), the title of book fourteen in the Dresden Files is Cold Days. There’s also talk of a steampunk book he’s working on. I will say, however, if the man publishes a book, I’ll buy. Hardback. The week it’s released. No man-crush jokes.

So with the exception of a possible late release date from my go-to author, the rest of my reading time is open. Speaking of open, I’m open to suggestions. If you have any, please leave them in the comments below.