WE UNDERSTAND, BUT WE ARE THE FEW

by Stephen Jay Schwartz

 

I finished the first draft of my current novel last week. Ninety-seven thousand words; three-hundred seven pages.

I'm tired. It tires me. I printed it out for the first time and there it is, a big, hulking year of my life.

A friend slapped me on the back, "Congratulations, man! Now what do you do, send it to your editor?"

What part of first draft did he not understand? First? Draft?

Fortunately, it's a pretty solid first draft. That's what happens when you do a year.

It's plot to the nines. It better be, I planned every scene in advance, wrote a beat-for-beat outline and rewrote that a dozen times before writing page one. Spent months and months doing research. It's got the twists and turns and all the psychological shit I could put into a psychological, international thriller.

But, God, if it ain't wooden. Hollow. Sans character. But that, my friends, is what draft number two is about. Character, character, character.

Of course, I wasn't entirely aware of its deficiencies until I handed it to my wife, Ryen, a.k.a. uber-editor, who brought out the red pen. And I realize all over again how much I fucking depend on her. I'm continually reminded that she's the best I've ever seen. I used to fight it, her voluminous notes. They gave me indigestion. I hated not having the final word. But I'm more mature now and I know that she only wants the best I can deliver, and, fortunately for me, she knows how to get it.

I had my glass of wine last week to celebrate, but the next morning I went back to the trenches. Celebrate what? I'll celebrate on pub date. I'll celebrate when I know it's really done. Because nothing's done until it's done. I would, however, find cause to celebrate if I received a million dollar advance. But that's the Lotto dream and I'm too firmly fixed in reality to fall for that one. Again. Of course, they say the third book is the break-out...

I think it will be good, but, then again, I've lost all perspective. I'm drowning in words. Thank God my wife is there with a net. I'm not sure it's for me or the words. Either will do, I suppose.

So, now I'm back on PAGE ONE. Rewrite. Where it all comes together. First chapter rewritten, redone, re-conceived, re-novated. And the characters are real. Finally. They breathe and feel pain and anguish and strive to bring justice to an unjust world. That's what's happening in Chapter One, anyway. Chapter Two is hollow and burdened with plot. Chapter Two is tomorrow's battle. I'll wait for Ryen's notes.

It's a journey. We understand, but we are the few.

I was in a book store recently and the staff asked when my next book would be out. "You should be due for another book by now, Steve."

Simple statement. Accurate expectations. Do they know what this entails? The hours and days and months of struggling against self-doubt to produce sentences and paragraphs and chapters of what would ultimately become First Draft Dreck, after hours and days and months of research and experimentation in style and voice and characterization, writing a hundred pages in third person close, then rewriting in first person, then converting it all again to third person close with alternating chapters of omniscient narration, only to turn those around again to third person close from the antagonist's point of view...

And doing this unpaid. While savings dwindle. Or doing it after hours, under the whip of the deadly day job. Doing it and stopping it on account of sudden family misfortune or financial crisis. Putting it aside for weeks then returning, re-reading, re-working, re-writing.

"Won't you have a book in 2012, Steve?"

The sheen of Debut Year has begun to fade.

I once read an interview with the great screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky (Network, Altered States) where the interviewer asked about his "art." "No one I know calls it art," Paddy said. "We call it our work."

It is work. If we're lucky some will see it as art. Art is hard work. I have a hard time comparing a Rembrandt to a giant blue dot on canvas. One I would consider art, the other, not so much.

I don't know when my book will be out. It's going to take a solid two months of rewrites from this point forward, complete with additional research and input from specialists I know in the FBI and the Amsterdam Police Department. Then I'll get story feedback from several authors. And, of course, never-ending notes from my wife. Put it all together and bring it to boil and there's soup on the table.

After that it goes to my agent -- thank God I've got one of those. If he doesn't love it I'll be rewriting to his notes. Then he'll go out with it. We'll have to find a house to pony up. If-and-or-when that happens, I'll have to deal with an editor's notes. That could go on for months. When said editor is satisfied, when the book is officially "accepted" for publication, it will proceed into production. Ten months after that...voila! It's on the shelves. (Damn, Steve, where did you go these past two years? We thought we'd see a book...)

I finished the first draft.

Maybe I should celebrate now.

Too good to be true?

By PD Martin

Before I get into today’s post, I wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving to all our North American readers. I know you may be expecting a Thanksgiving-themed post but guess who got Thanksgiving…the Aussie! So I’ve gone with a regular post :) Now, on to ‘Too good to be true’…

While I’ve never been one of those writers who paces for hours to come up with one sentence or spends six months planning out every detail of a book before I start writing, I’ve still always thought of writing as hard work. It is hard work.  

Sure, there’s the fun stuff…writing in your pyjamas, the long commute from bedroom to study, tax-deductible trips to various destinations for research and/or promotion (although you have to be able to afford the flights in the first place), not to mention sitting in a café and writing. And sometimes cake does need to be involved! I don’t think anyone can argue that the above perks of the job are cool…way cool.  But it’s still bum on chair, thinking, creating and writing. And while it’s tempting to get up and procrastinate every time the flow stops, it’s not something I do.

In a post some time ago, I mentioned that I was working on a new book that’s not crime fiction. It’s not even a thriller or remotely related to my past work. I’m still getting my head around what I’d call it, but I think ‘mainstream fiction/drama’ is pretty accurate. The book is about relationships and how people deal with different traumas. I’m also entering another new world, using multiple viewpoints. And some of my subject matter is tense and issues-based…controversial, I guess.

I started writing this book at the beginning of the year, and then it was on hold for months as I took corporate gigs to pay the bills. I started on the project again in October and soon found myself zooming through it. My writing week is often very fragmented as I fit it in around being a full-time mother (to a pre-schooler) and freelance writing gigs. But I’d find I’d have an hour to write…and write 1,000 words. And every Saturday I have four hours to write while my daughter is in classes. The last two Saturdays, I’ve written 5,000 words during each of those four-hour blocks. Two productive sessions, to say the least. 

So, a couple of weeks ago I found myself asking the inevitable question. Is this too good to be true? Can writing really be this ‘easy’? Am I writing dribble that I won’t be able to edit into shape? I’m a write first, edit later kind of girl, so that’s fine. But will my bare bones be barer than usual? Or is it because the subject matter is close to my heart? One of the characters is experiencing something that I went through about eight years ago and I’m finding it easy to tap into that character and the others too for that matter.

I know Gar wrote a post two weeks ago with pretty much the polar opposite sentiment of this one, and I think that highlights the different working processes of writers. But then I’m still left with the question: Too good to be true?

This feeling is compounded by the fact that I came to this project after six months off my own writing altogether, then writing a thriller that I found incredibly hard-going. The writing didn’t seem to come naturally to me and I wasn’t sure if it was the idea/characters or the fact I’d had six months off fiction writing. This new project certainly provides a stark contrast to writing the thriller.

 So now I’m torn between two polar opposites.

1. I’m writing what I’m “meant” to write. (Although this sounds a little cliché or dramatic…or something.) The flow and ‘ease’ is just an indication of that.
2. It’s too good to be true.

Obviously the proof will be in the pudding. I’m now 70,000 words into the first draft, so the end is nigh and soon the major, major editing will start. Then I’ll have a better idea of how bare the bare bones are.

In the meantime, I wanted to throw this out to the Rati. Does good writing HAVE to be a hard slog? And if it flows incredibly easy, is that too good to be true?  

The Creative Process

By Allison Brennan

Tess’s blog on Tuesday reminded me of a blog I posted last year on Murder She Writes about how manuscripts change. I had blogged about one scene from rough draft to final draft. I’d picked a scene that had stayed in the book, not one I had cut. Most of the scenes I cut either on my own or during the revision process I wouldn’t want to share because they lead the reader down the wrong story path. The exercised showed that the first, lean draft (for me) can have the same rhythm and content and voice . . . but be so much stronger with layers and depth and editing.

Revisions usually make an "okay" scene stronger. I love revisions—not just my own edits before I turn the manuscript into my editor, but editorial revisions and even line edits which, for me, tighten and strengthen the story.

Every writer has a different process, and most of us are stifled when our process is forced to change. Our process is as much part of writing as the writing itself. Meaning, some of us plot extensively, some of us plot loosely, and some of us don’t plot at all. When I say don’t plot I mean it literally—I start with a premise or situation, a “What If” scenario, and at least one character I kind of know (or think I do) and start from there. This is why my beginnings (the first act) take me twice as long to write as the second and third acts combined. I write and rewrite until something clicks, then I finish the rough draft, usually with only light editing until my editor sees it. I usually revise once with her notes (sometimes extensively, and sometimes not), then another clean-up edit to tighten, fix errors, add more layers to a scene if necessary, ultimately making sure each scene is as strong as it can be.

Some writers—published and unpublished—love to tell people that their process is the best way, or the “right” way, or some other such nonsense. I’m telling you right now: my process is mine. It’s not better or worse than anyone else’s (though I sometimes wish it were easier . . .) The process works if you put words on paper (or screen) and write the best story you can. Process isn’t talent, it’s not voice, it’s not anything except how you create.

When I get the page proofs back, I don’t make major changes (though I have been known to add or cut a scene or three and I probably make a mark on nearly every page.) I read the proofs out loud because it helps me make sure the rhythm of the book works. (See Alex’s fabulous post yesterday on voice—the rhythm of the book is part of the author’s voice.)

I’m not looking for how the book sounds as much as how it feels when I read it. I’ll catch the obvious typos and repetition, but more important, I’m making sure the dialogue is natural, that the characters aren’t just talking heads but there is action even in the most sedate scenes. That when I’m in deep POV, I feel like I am that character. If I need to add an internal thought here or there to deepen the POV and make it more immediate, I will.

Another thing I do is take a visual assessment. This isn’t conscious on my part, but when I see a lot of text on a page, I’m looking for obvious breaks that I have missed. This is where I’ll break apart paragraphs—sometimes I’ll add a single sentence paragraph between two larger graphs if I missed it before. This might be weird, I don’t know, but see my comments regarding process. It’s mine, it doesn’t have to be yours. I don’t like big blocks of text.

My “clean” rough draft, which is usually what I send to my editor knowing I’ll be working on revisions, is usually short. It’s mostly the meat of the story with no dressing. My descriptions are vague, if there at all, and my ending is usually rushed (because I’m excited to figure out crime!) Case in point: my first draft of LOVE ME TO DEATH was 78K words. My revised draft was 117K, and the final draft 120K. My first draft of KISS ME, KILL ME was 86K, my final draft 96K.

And what is my point? That writing is rewriting. That very few writers, if any, write a perfect first draft. Writing is practice. I believe in writing every day, because for me if I don’t write for a day or two, it always takes me a day or two to get back into my rhythm. If I write every day, I can keep up the momentum for a longer time, and my final product is always better.

As I was writing LOVE ME TO DEATH, I knew it was about a vigilante group killing sex offenders. Originally, I had the group using Lucy to draw them into a trap ala Dateline’s TO CATCH A PREDATOR, but instead of exposing them on film, the suspected sex offenders were killed. But I had a bit of a moral dilemma with the set up (innocent until proven guilty.) Lucy was having some issues with it as well, and no matter how I wrote it, she was either too cold and criminal, or stupid because she didn’t catch on.

I was wrestling with that problem when I toured Folsom State Prison with my FBI Citizens Academy group (fellow thriller writer James Rollins was also there.) During the tour, the warden told us that with the tight budget cuts, parolees were rarely, if ever, sent back to prison because of parole violations. They usually had to be convicted for a new crime before they went back (while waiting trial, most accused are in jail—funded by counties—rather than prison, which is funded by states. Though I’m sure all states have different processes, I only know mine.)

That tidbit of information solved my problems. Lucy would have no problem targeting paroled sex offenders. Sex offenders, particularly those who prey on children, have a high recidivism rate. She happily set them up to go back to prison . . . and when she found out some of them were being killed, she could have a moment’s pause. That maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

Of course, vigilantism breeds anarchy and it’s a slippery slope to complete lawlessness.

My story took off, and also gave me a strong sub-plot that had theretofore been weakly connected to the main story.

What did that revelation ultimately mean? You got it—a near complete rewrite of the first 100 pages of LOVE ME TO DEATH, before it ever went to my editor. But the story ended up so much stronger, it was worth it.

Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Practice is part of everything we do. Musicians practice daily. Artists draw daily. Athletes exercise daily. And often, what they all do when they’re not practicing or playing, contributes in some way to their talents. I wasn’t writing when I took the Folsom Prison tour, but it was instrumental to my creative process.

Next month, I’m going on another fun FBI excursion, this time back to the former McClellan AFB to participate in SWAT training exercises. I was a “victim” last time . . . I might ask to be a bad guy this time. It might just fuel my muse.

How 'bout those resolutions?

By Alexandra Sokoloff

Yike, a month gone already.  I’m still trying to get the hang of the new year. 

Well, good excuse for a check up on things, so I’m going to be eclectic today.

First, I would not be a human being if I did not say that I have been riveted and awed by the power of the Internet as used by the citizens of our planet as a tool for revolutionary change in the last few weeks.  I would never disparage our own quests to create art and entertainment; it’s one of the ultimate promises of a free society.   At the same time, anything I talk about today pales in comparison to what’s going on in Tunisia and Cairo.   I feel unworthy to use Facebook or Twitter.

That being said - an update in no particular order.

As part of my New Year intentions, I said I wanted to dance more this year, and that, at least, is one resolution (I mean intention) I’ve kept.  I signed up for a two-hour, three-day a week college jazz class. 

College dance classes are no joke.   So many people want in that you’re only allowed two absences.   Considering my schedule, which I am afraid these days even to look at, this is a HUGE commitment.

And yes, I am sore.  

I remember this feeling.   Specific pain, unspecific pain, a nagging worry about hairline fractures in the top arches of both my feet…. mitigated a lot by the fact that all the other dancers in the class are constantly discussing their specific and unspecific pains in detail, a topic of conversation second only to sex, of course, and dance shoes as always coming in a close third.

On the other hand, after just a week of this, I feel my center all the time.   I enjoy every move that I make – sitting, standing, walking, driving – everything in my body feels the way movement should feel like.   One of the all- time great feelings on the planet. 

And at least for 6 hours a week and the few hours after class, I am calm.  The absolute immediacy of dance relaxes me in about the same way that sitting in sand and staring at the sun on the ocean does.

I also have to say that anyone who thinks college is the peak of a human being’s physical power is delusional.  At twice the age of some of these kids, even with possibly broken bones in my feet, I am still about ten times stronger.   It makes me worried for them out on the street, actually.

But beyond just musculature, I don’t have to struggle with the thing that makes dance or any art so hard:  doing everything all together at once, without having to think of the component parts every single second.  In dance they call it “muscle memory”.   And I wish there was a term for it in writing.   Well, maybe there is, I’d love to hear it!

I don’t know at what point in my career that kicked in for me, the point I realized I can always finish a script or book – that no matter how bleak it looks I will be able to pull it off.   No guarantee (actually no hope) of perfection, but completion, for sure.   All elements pulled together into a whole that is recognizably a story.   That’s a good thing to remind myself of today, before I start writing, because I’m doing something I haven’t done before and it’s VERY uncomfortable, like trying to do a triple turn (on the left!) when you’re used to doing doubles. 

What I’m doing is a double point of view, when all my other books have been a very close third person from a single focus.   Actually, that’s not true – The Shifters alternates between the female lead and the male lead, but this feels completely different, much, much harder.  I guess because even though I am inside both characters’ heads, I am holding back so much information inside one of the characters.  Not exactly an unreliable narrator, but an opaque one.   And I’m not sure if that character’s POV should be present or past tense.  And then there’s the nagging feeling that I might need to have another character’s POV as well, which feels completely overwhelming.

Anxiety is a constant companion right now.   It always is in a first draft, though, I have to keep telling myself that.   Also the world situation, not to mention the publishing industry situation, might have a bit to do with it.

But it doesn’t make writing any easier when in a way you have to teach yourself how to write every single novel – from scratch.   You have no idea of what the real problems are going to be until you’re actually in there fighting them.

Still, I sit down every day, and I do the pages, and if I have to do a lot more structural rearranging in the second draft, that’s doable. 

And I have to remember, the story chose ME, right?   Not anyone else.   I have to have a little faith that it knew what it was doing.

Another new thing this year – I am back in school in a completely different way: I’m teaching a class on story structure at Otis Parsons, the LA art school.   And for those of you who wonder what’s the point of blogging, I was asked to teach because the chairman of the Digital Media Department read my blog. 

While I’ve been teaching several workshops a year across the country, they have been very short intensives, geared toward adult aspiring and professional novelists.   I’ve never taught a college class before, so it’s a huge luxury to have a whole semester to explore story – and specifically visual storytelling - with such bright and committed young filmmakers.   (But thank God it’s only a half day a week!).

Because of the class I’m watching a lot more movies these days (TCM is the world’s greatest film school, if you ask me), and I can’t help thinking that this intense, targeted exposure to film is going to work a profound change in my creative process and product, just as the discipline of taking an intensive jazz class three days a week will have a profound change in my dancing and body makeup.  And that’s an exciting thing.  I don’t know what those changes are going to be, but if you’re not constantly growing as an artist, you’re dead.  So I’m really grateful that even in the fog of confusion that was last year, I have been put in places that I know will take my work to the next level.

And it must be said – I’m grateful for Southern California weather.

So I’d love to get reports on everyone else’s New Year, so far.  How are those resolutions?  Or did the year decide to make some changes for you all on its own?

And I’ll copy Brett’s reminder:  to anyone in or around Los Angeles on Monday, it’s The Mystery Bookstore's final day, and there will be a party starting at 6 - if not earlier - and going until whenever.  Brett, Rob, Steve, and I will all be there along with a lot of other writers and fans.   And they’re giving away some fabulous prizes.   Hope some of you can make it!

- Alex

If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It

 by JT Ellison

I had to make an executive decision about my writing this week. As I’ve discussed here before, I switched from Word to Scrivener, and tried writing my 6^th book in it. Things went well up to a point, but in the end I caved and went back to Word.

Then I went to Pages. Then back to Scrivener. Then back to Pages. Then back to Word. When we started revisions, I needed to restructure a few things, and I cursed myself, because if I’d stuck with Scrivener, it would have been so easy to just drag and drop to reorder the scenes...

I spent days pulling my hair out because I couldn’t figure out the most effective tool to use for my writing.

In other words, I was royally screwing around with my process.

I got the book done on time, and all was well. But for book the 7^th, I decided that come hell or high water, I was going to write the whole thing in Scrivener. I started the outline, populated the character lists, dropped in research, even started a book journal. Looking back over that journal, there is a consistent theme – this isn’t working. Oh, I couched it in all kinds of different terms – Taylor isn’t speaking to me, the story isn’t holding up, I’ve been swamped with THE IMMORTALS book release – but what it really says is Scrivener is messing with how you write, drop it and go back to Word. NOW.

We all have different ways up the mountain. One of the biggest mistakes new writers make is finding another method that sounds cool, trying it, and suddenly finding themselves blocked because something isn’t right, something isn’t working. I daresay that with seven novels under my belt, people wouldn’t categorize me as a new author, but sometimes I feel like just that, a newbie who’s trying to find her way.

 The joy of connecting with our fellow writers, with writing blogs and conferences and Tweets and books on writing etc., is finding out that everyone has a different way of doing things. I used to be intractable about my process. Open a Word Document. Put in the header. Start writing at Chapter One, and finish at Chapter Last. Plug away every day, 1,0000 words at a time, and poof, solid first draft in a few months. Then I started meeting other writers and hearing how they do it. I tried shaking things up. And boy, oh boy, was that a mistake.

When you’re thinking about your method, you aren’t writing.

And when you aren’t writing, you’re going to have serious problems. Because if you’re not writing, you just might be thinking about how to fix your method again. Cue roiling circle of hell.

I spent months telling myself that if I just tried harder with Scrivener, learned more about it, figured out all its little quirks that I’d be able to whip the manuscript into shape. Guess what? That’s not the case. There’s nothing I can do in Scrivener to make the software adapt itself to how my head tells a story. If I had only figured that out months ago instead of agonizing over the process, I’d be done with the book by now.

(Note: that’s the kind of thought process that starts its own roiling circle of hell in your head, whilst you beat yourself up for being stoopid. Stop that immediately. Pronounce Immediately with upper class British accent for maximum effectiveness – im-MEE-dgiat-ly)

The writing’s been on the wall for a while now, but I am loathe to admit defeat in any form, so I’ve been slogging away at it, hopeful that things will come together. Being mean to myself, taunting my fragile psyche with nastiness: Writers write. That’s what they do. Your equipment doesn’t matter, it’s just getting words on the page. You aren’t much of a writer if software is messing with your game. You suck. Etcetera.

But is that really true? Does the equipment matter? I know in golf it does. I was recently gifted with a heavenly driver, a Calloway Diablo Edge. This is a sweet club. It’s beautiful, like a newborn, all black and red and sexy. I paraded it in my bag proudly. But every time I hit the thing, it either sprayed off to the right or dropped well short of my usual spots. I tried all my tricks, but nothing worked. No matter what I did, I couldn’t hit it as far as I hit my current driver, a 460cc offset King Cobra 10 degree. Finally, I admitted defeat, went back to my Cobra and gave the club to my father, who promptly took it for a test drive, hit it straight as an arrow down the middle, with extra distance. What didn’t work for me worked perfectly for him.

But did that convince me? No. Physical prowess and mental acuity are two different things, right?

But then I took a large chunk of work to my critique group last week. As I was reading it aloud, multiple typos were springing up. Frustrating, and embarrassing – my group knows my weaknesses, but this level of mess isn’t normal. I’d read this all the material. I’d edited it. Yet I’d missed a ton of errors. Why? I was editing in Scrivener. Which doesn’t have the same kind of grammar and spell check system that Word has, which means my dyslexic typing skills were being hidden in the program. So now I had physical proof that the program was causing me double the effort, because I had to go back and fix all the stuff that Word would have automatically fixed for me. Grr.

I’ve also been having a terrible time keeping track of where I am in the story. Pacing is vital to a thriller, as is story structure and narrative flow. I wasn’t getting that in Scrivener, I was seeing the story as a whole broken into multitudes of scenes (I used Scriv to outline this one… another mistake. I get B.O.R.E.D. when I know what’s going to happen.) I figured that’s been my problem all along, this inability to get excited, when in fact it’s simply that I had no idea where I was in the story.

But the final straw came when Apple released Word 2011 for Mac. It is a glorious program, much more like what I used on my Vaio. I nearly cried when I saw the editing tools, and the beautiful floating screen that blocks all distractions, and the ease of reading two pages at once. I spent two hours moving everything out of Scrivener and back into Word, saw how many actual manuscript pages I have, knew where the transitions needed to go, and suddenly, I’m back working on a book like I should be.

Phew.

I bring all this up because NaNoWriMo starts Monday, and Scrivener for Windows is just releasing, and the Scrivener 2.0 is releasing for Mac. I’ll probably buy the upgrade, just to see. I don’t want to turn anyone off of Scrivener, I know a bunch of writers whom I greatly respect who couldn’t write without it, and it’s a terribly cool program. But I’ve finally realized that my brain doesn’t work in segments, and never will.

Now maybe I’ll be able to make my deadline.

Have you ever tried to force your square peg self into a round hole? What was the result?

Wine of the Week: Bodegas Montecillo Crianza

Please bear with me if I'm slow to respond this morning - darling husband is having his wisdom teeth out. Send ice cream! And lots of Percocet.