Pigs with Pencils
  • Writing
  • September5th

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    Oh…how many times have I mentally played out chapters four five and six…I have multiple copies of each of these chapters floating around in numbered drafts. But at last, for whatever reason things became clear this afternoon. I had an interesting dream this morning that paved the way for it I believe. Anyway, now I know what to do. And it is a major rewrite from my draft, a rather big deviation that kicks the story into overdrive. Very good if you felt the read was dragging. Reveals and yet leaves much hidden. Still more revealing to do, should keep the interest going. It drops several scenes from my original outline, but add a lot more in terms of complication and deeper motivation.

    Now to get it down on paper. I can Frankenstein it, from the multiple versions  I have going, only having to add the cap to the three chapter series in order to complete a solid rough draft of it. What you are looking at there is chapter arcs. Chapters 1-3 and 4-6 each complete a major piece of the puzzle.

    Exciting. I’m not a fan of book writing. Too much work for very little pay off, but getting a personal break through like this, where it feels very right–like how it should have been all along had I 20/20 vision at  day one–is truly gratifying. It gives me hope that I might come out of this alive instead beaten and half dead. The beginning to a very complicated yet intriguing tale is within my grasp.

    And I’ll admit it. On days like today, knowing how vast and how many things there are to explore in my paper universe…I sometimes think of completing the further ideas that will never fit into this one volume, saying the words that I know my characters would say if they got the chance to speak their minds, more in depth. Outside of this, outside of days like today—I am convinced I will never attempt book writing again.

    It’s like my beautiful portrait. That thing brings me incredible joy and satisfaction each and every time I look at it. Sometimes I look at it and think that I should try again and paint another. Oh, but it was daunting. Maybe, somehow, I learned skills I didn’t have before. Maybe that’s true here as well. But, only a fool thinks one success means you’re a master.

    Anyway. Going to go back and paste together my rough and not worry any farther ahead than the words on the lips of my paper people. They’ve been waiting a long while on me.

  • August21st

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    is done.

    Six weeks of rewriting the first three chapters and I believe the first one is done, with maybe two to three sentences that need to be looked at. Its about 2500 words–really short. I chopped about a page out of it in editing today.

    So that’s what I am going to write about–what is it that I chopped out?

    First, realize that this new first chapter is actually half the plot line of my original first chapter–it’s double the length in words to tell half of what happens in chapter one of the submission draft. When I rewrote this chapter, I added two critical things–one, description. A tighter description of place and action. Second, internal dialog, but speaking to motivation–as opposed to a running dialog of thought.

    What did I cut? Internal thought. Motivation. There is one paragraph where my character thinks about something and passes judgment on it. That’s it. I do not describe what she feels or thinks with words from her POV. This is in order to prevent myself from weighing down the prose with explaining–telling. It’s okay to do this with my opening scene, it keeps things active, vital, engaging and lends mystery.

    I ask the readers to infer. I did not say she was, happy, sad, scared, unsure–even if I supposed that she might well think some of those things throughout the scene. Its hard not to, because in some respects, it feels like this kind of telling why someone feels a certain way–is, well, showing. It feels like it adds to the scene–but does it really?

    I chopped it out because it doesn’t advance the action. This scene is about action. The next scene is about action. The scene after that is dramatic conflict. It is slower. There is action, physical action..and mental reaction. Here’s where I might falter a little. I know perfectly well what’s going on and so does my character. I’m just wary. Here’s my bet, and why I’m keeping multiple versions…I’ll chop too much. In rewriting these chapters I changed the entire under structure of this character’s life. In the second and third draft of what I’ve been working on these six weeks, I’ve filled the gaps of hows and whys–and in this fourth draft, I’m chopping back them out, leaving only the bones of the beast, hoping the flavor of the meat still resides in the stew.

  • July18th

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    Sometimes I wonder if maybe all setting when viewed through POV isn’t personal symbolism for the character. I mean think about walking through your own house for a moment and describing what you find inside. Sure, some writers are going to tell me that they have a house with four bay windows, the rooms inside are painted white, and three people live inside…factual detail. They are going to argue with me that these details are simply that–details, something that is unchangeable, immutable, unemotional truth.

    Maybe so. Does it make for a good  story though?

    Maybe this same house, where the rooms are painted all in white, is on the market. The rooms have just been recently repainted. This family of three is breaking up–the fresh white paint, the empty rooms, the house for sale–everything trying to cover up a failed attempt at marriage. But even that doesn’t work  for the POV character who tells the story, even the new smell and fresh color is a constant and painful reminder. Fresh paint, fresh pain.

    Facts or personal symbols?

    Seriously. How hard can this be to understand? Nothing in fiction is accidental–or shouldn’t be. If you don’t see it when you write it–then pick it out when you do the redraft. Find the subtext. Create the symbol. Not everything of importance runs directly through the thoughts of the character. It doesn’t have to be specifically said in dialog to be true.

    The wife doesn’t have to cry into her cornflakes at breakfast and scream at her husband who is sitting across from her for the reader to get it. The vase of wilted half dead flowers on the table will suffice–and that’s shouting it to the rooftops. It could be far more subtle. If you write it, it’s looked at as significant. Readers are always “reading in” to your words. They are looking for meaning. Don’t waste that by just writing anything–don’t use non-specific detail because it hurts your brain to get up close and personal to the setting–make it work for your story–make it extremely relevant.

    Want to argue with me that setting is dead facts, a still photograph? Show me that same photograph and I’ll find a story in there. No people or dialog needed. Complete with guaranteed conflict of the life and death sort.

  • July17th

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    I think at heart, I’m a fantasy purest of the most awful kind. A topic for an upcoming post.

    Right now setting and character. Some people seem to have the mistaken idea that writing is just about the emotional journey of the characters and that setting is irrelevant: put them on a beach, in space ship, in the desert south west, in a fantasy world—it’s all the same.

    No. It’s not. Say this to me, and I will think that you don’t write well–or haven’t written much. Remember this little piece of advice:

    Place, more than anything else, helps to explain who the characters are and why they are different. The Universality of human emotion is what draws us to them, but it is place that keeps us reading. It is place, that if done well enough, will stay with us after the book is closed.

    Never forget, we are in this particular place, at this particular time, to experience the story through this particular character. Place can only be experienced through POV, point of view. It’s not like a photograph, some kind of still objective picture of facts–no, this is a reality colored through the character’s perceptions, biases, fears, hopes and dreams. Many, many writers fail to understand that the detail you put into your setting can only be the detail that matters to your character. Setting is not props. Setting is a reflection of your character. Don’t believe it? Write the very same scene from two different POV characters. Things change meaning, depending on who is telling the story.

    Writers who don’t understand that setting isn’t just props are missing a critical tool, especially in learning how to describe  effectively. You can describe and at the same time, reveal subtext, underlying theme, and important personal symbolism through simple word choice.

    I wonder sometimes if anyone even pays attention to craft anymore. It takes time to write something well. Frustrated that there are so many mediocre books out there? Book that out right fail? Books that have everything and still don’t satisfy? This is why. It takes time and it takes care, and maybe it takes insight too–something people don’t have, and don’t seek out, and then take as invalid if it doesn’t fit into their poorly constructed stories.

    Learn to listen writers….take everything you hear as seriously as you can–flattering or not. Stop worrying about getting published. Start worrying about what you are writing. Focus on the now. Focus on the small things. Don’t throw out another inferior work–try to write something of lasting meaning. Please.

  • July13th

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    Point of view. A mix between who tells the story and how it is told. It’s a basic simple thing on the surface, you can’t even start a story without some frame of reference. This is your POV.  Everything that is seen, felt, tasted, experienced, or explained is coming from a particular point of view. There are books on it. Many. I’ve read a few. I’ve also read a lot of stories–one of the best ways to get a taste of POV. And important to read from all historical categories–you are missing out if you haven’t read Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, Pride and Prejudice, Canterbury Tales..etc.

    So what is POV good for? I look at POV as the tool that adds the most to character development, subtext, and character motivations. POV defines the way these things are imparted to the reader, and at what level of intensity. It can, at times, define just how intense that emotional quality comes across. But it’s not the only tool, and can’t be used alone in effective storycraft.

    POV helps to define your characters. If you are writing a story, an action story, an adventure story–character development can be on the light side. Indiana Jones. Stories in the Star Wars Universe. We are there for the heart pounding action. POV doesn’t need to go deep. Nobody feels bad that those characters are paper-thin. We aren’t missing anything–the characters and the emotional intensity of the story–match.

    If you are writing about characters that have deep emotional needs and conflicts, a more penetrating POV is needed. Part of the experience of the read comes from going through the emotional struggles and changes with the characters.

    Emotional struggle, though a powerful element often brought to us via POV, can’t by itself carry a novel length piece of fiction–it can barely carry a scene. Remember, I’m not talking about short story–I’m talking novel here. Big difference scene vs short story.

    There has to be conflict, outer conflict–outer conflict that results in inner conflict. And it has to be the right kind of conflict.

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  • July10th

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    My critiquers and my first readers have vehemently opposing opinions on my changes to this story. And now I’m not sure myself whose opinion should hold more sway.

    Art is thankfully so much more simple. It’s obvious when something isn’t looking right or if the picture is too static. Writing is not like this apparently–either that, or perhaps my changes have been too sweeping, to all or nothing. I am that kind of person, you know.

    So here I am mid-redraft, and unsure–again. Changing the POV changes the story. My critique partners say good–my readers say not good.

    Where does the compromise lie in this situation? I can rewrite my opening section and keep the same POV. I can add to it all the dynamics that are in the new draft, add some new elements that have come to light, and go forward. It still changes the story though. But it has to change, I trust the writers, not the readers on this issue–but what part has to change?

    I ask myself, knowing I limited myself severely in my initial draft–is it enough change to partially satisfy my critics if I do everything they advised–except change the POV? How critical is that change? Why did they tell me do it?

    Hero #2 carries the plot. His is the more complex journey, his decision carries the weight at the end. Hero #1, my critique partners felt–did not have the strength to carry the plot. Her actions only involve herself and her world, an infinitely smaller place, with seemingly smaller complications and consequences.

    But my readers–who have not read the synopsis–like the story from hero #2 better. It’s got a melancholy mysterious tone that is wiped out when the story comes from hero#1. The pacing is slower, more deliberate. Hero#2 is completely in the dark about things that are happening. But critique partners found her too passive in her ignorance, too accepting of cruelty in her helpless child way. Readers said its okay that they do the emotional heavy lifting–so long as it doesn’t last through the whole story. They have real attachment to hero#2 after reading the opening chapters.

    Will the attachment transfer to hero #1 if I open his story with the scene where he gets a reassignment card–his worst nightmare come true? Something terrible has happened to hero#2 which my readers have just witnessed. Hero #1 is devastated–and he doesn’t even know what happened, but he expresses that grief. And then quite shortly experiences the horror first hand–expressing even more of what I would suspect the reader is feeling as well. They should identify with him. Very personally identify with him.

    This whole damn story is a gamble. No matter where I start it, no matter whose POV it comes from. I ask a lot of emotional investment from my reader–and then I yank them around by their heart strings. Mercilessly.

  • June27th

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    in terms of writing, that is.  So what has changed?

    Well, understand, I am rewriting the opening scene from another character’s POV. Daunting in the best of circumstances, but there are a few complication for me as the author, the most important one being…outside of simply introducing the setting and the protags– what is the intention of this scene?

    As it is is written, it had intention–one that is plot related, but the consequence of which comes about later. But, now we are writing the scene from my lead’s point of view. This event takes on significant change in meaning. In fact, the action taken by my other character, simply observed by my lead–changes into a symbol, a metaphor for the dilemma presented by the plot–from his POV.

    God, nothing is simple in this piece of work. I am horrified at how something that seems like a small thing to steer the story in the right direction sooner involves so much fundamental change. And then I am left with the question of subtext. Just how much do I actually say?

    Sometimes I think I am too smart for my own good. If I could just blindly go forward like I did in the beginning, things would be so much easier, but we are honestly past that stage now. Everything is carefully considered, the far reaching changes are thought upon. At least I can say that I am not floundering so much in not knowing what I need to do–thanks to my critiques, which I felt had sound advice–I know where I need to head. The struggle is just as difficult, but it helps to know the destination.

    The focus just has to stay so tight. The intention for every scene has to be so very clear. It’s the exact opposite from how I wrote the draft. It’s awful in a way. Over the months and year plus of writing the draft, I’ve had to go back through and pull out things to help me world-build, to create something consistent and concrete about this paper universe. I’m slowly building up a second book of sorts, one that holds my dictionary and a small encyclopedia to remind me of the why’s and how’s. Beautiful in it’s own way, but hard-won and something I never wanted to do. Never envisioned doing.

    Now that I am hard core redrafting, I’m having to outline scenes. But now it’s creeping farther away from a simple outline, past a simple scene description, no–now we are talking about notes before I even get to the actual outline. Notes about intention, symbolism, emotional temperature, pacing….I will undoubtedly have a second notebook of sorts. Good for what, I have no idea, but a permanent record of my creative thought process and sure evidence of my struggle to make this happen.

    I do think, if I were more innately gifted, I wouldn’t have to work so hard. I truly do. But, just because I have to fight for every increment doesn’t mean I’m going to produce a failure. It simply means I’m not going to be a writer for a living. Lucky for me, I did not have that as my goal in the first place.

  • June26th

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    Didn’t know how much though. Shocking, utterly shocking. I don’t even know if I can tell this from two POV characters. I may need to switch something around. In any case, here is what is happening:

    I can now see that yes, I’ve had the wrong lead in mind since page one, sentence one. But I think, I surely think, that these two people are so different, and from such different places I don’t know that I can split the POV. I am too new a writer. I think you will come to love one character and hate the other, for through no fault of her own, she wrecks the other one’s life.

    Sounds interesting, doesn’t it? I’m simply in panic mode. I have to redraft, yet again. I have to carefully decide just where this story needs to start, and if it isn’t the right place, then I need to forget about what I have and write something else. These are big problems though–plot and character–not something you can deal with in an edit. No, this is a redraft. I’m afraid I can’t do it. The idea of it is giving me indigestion. Ha!

    But, consider how long I’ve been at this. It’s just so damn hard. A simple fairy story, a silly little thing to read….why no, I must insist on building an entire paper universe in peril of destruction with characters who have awful decisions to make. It is truly beyond me in some ways. It’s like a snow ball. Something small and manageable, understandable, until a year and some months later it’s grown to something I only had the barest glimmer of at the time I blindly started.

    And not in size mind you. It’s only 80,000 words. But already the scope is too big. I’ve cut the storyline by half in order to give it the time and the space it needs to become as rich as it really is. Of course, there is always the chance that this is the hardest moment. The point where it seems to be impossibly difficult–but if I manage to figure it out, all the rest will click into place.

    That’s the shred of hope I cling to. I know that some people would say that if the advice to make these changes throws you into a despairing place, then don’t take it. Maybe it’s not the right thing to do. And Maybe it’s not, but I can’t judge for myself. Do I think it will make for a better story? Yes, I do. I’m still struggling though with the fact that it’s suddenly not the one I thought I had written.

  • June2nd

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    Well, after very very careful consideration I believe that it is true. My book, at it’s core, is not about the character for whom I wrote it. She doesn’t carry the story. The plot does not depend on her actions and choices.

    She faces tremendous challenges and makes a terrific, emotional transformation–but this story is not about her. She is a co-protagonist. She’s vitally important, because the story can’t happen with out her–but it’s not her story. Not this time.

    Does it seem foolish that I really didn’t know? I didn’t want for it to be true. I wanted this story to be hers and it is in a way. It’s a beginning, and how fortunate for us, that beginnings are not something we have to go through alone.

    My second character. This story then, is his.  Perhaps, I should have guessed it earlier. I’ve been having trouble finding the right resolution. Looking in the wrong place—in the wrong heart. Although they both undergo a transformation–his is deeper. He sacrifices more for it. God, what irony that it is his experience with the Ultimate that changes him so fully. She does nothing, she simply IS and it takes him from broken to whole.

    It is not the story I set out to write. I didn’t quite see it exactly in this fashion.  It’s such a beautiful surprise it has me weeping.

    The only other thing going through my mind is that fearful whisper of doubt. Oh yes, note that if you will. Doubt has been quieted down to whispers these days, but whisper it still does. I’m never really sure if I can do this. I am still going to try, but I am never really sure. Part of my own journey, I suppose. I have no way to know if anyone else will feel it the way I do when I look at life the way these paper people have tried to show me. What a shame if I fail. The Universe will be a lesser place.

  • May30th

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    Yes. It’s true. I’m back.

    I had expected with an hour of time set aside we’d have  lot’s to say to one another. But we didn’t. These turned out to be very brief and very unexpected moments.

    My two critique partners were very different authors from each other and from me, in age and writing credentials. My opinions of what they both told me, continue to shift over time as the experience takes on my own biases. But here is what I need to remember, here is where the truth will ultimately remain.

    The first words out of the mouth of my first critique partner were, “I want more. I want more of this story.”

    The first words written in the notes from my second critique partner were, “This is a very promising start to a novel.”

    For a very first try at writing novel length fiction, how much  more can you ask than that? The hour critiques we were supposed to have, ended up being only ten to fifteen minutes, maybe 20 on the second. We had very little to say to one another. My second critique was more technically intense, with ideas for later drafts–grammar, a shift in the plot line, a thought about who might really be the main character when it’s all said and done, a reminder to fulfill what has been promised at the start of the story…

    Now that I am back, I ask myself—why did I go? If I went looking for validation, I got it. In spades.

    So I am sitting here in my chair, looking at my boards, looking at where I stopped. In reality, my critiques answered nothing of tangible help to solve this…problem. It’s my burden to carry. There was no hint of it in what I sent in to be read and there was no good way to ask. The answer to the question is to be found in the writing of the novel. No one else can walk in those shoes. And I have the feeling that the real help, the answers to the questions I have, can only be addressed by others when the book is really finished and thoroughly read, start to finish.

    The prep work I did for the critiques went unused. But I now have a nice primer on the main symbolism of the story, and some very strong exposition on the resolution of the conflict. That should assist me at some point. But for now, I guess what I really need to do, is go back to work. I have to finish this second draft–whatever it takes–outline, note cards, magic marker on the floor…just get back to a solid work schedule. Try hard not to burn out.