Pigs with Pencils
  • Philosophy
  • August28th

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    Chapter four is roughed out with chapter five right behind. Chapter six is still a blank page. So I have two chapter to work on, transitional chapters. Things happen. Courses redirected. The story picks up pace and begins to rapidly change.

    I wonder if anyone can ever appreciate how many times I’ve rewritten, rethought all of these things. Does it matter if they could? I mean, I hope that anyone reading my book and then reading this blog, might gain an understanding of just how difficult a craft writing is, and more importantly, that work takes time to produce. You have to give it the time it needs.

    Why should I care? Well, for one, I do hope it adds worth, to understand the making of a thing. Perhaps an unfair motivation, but an honest one. Know it took time and effort. Hate it all the same and pity me for lack of talent–well, that’s honest too. We have no misunderstanding then.

    I just wouldn’t want what people often think when they read or see a piece of art. It was frivolously made. Oh, she just wrote it in an afternoon, without care for quality. No, this would be a falsity. It did take time. Tremendous amounts. And not of idle daydream– hardly! Difficult work. Reasoning. Thinking. Plotting. Looking for structure and ways to lead one event into the next. Let alone all the rest.

    It’s a paper universe. No less detailed. No less explored or thought through. Folded and refolded, examined and re-examined from very available angle.

  • 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.

  • August18th

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    A newly published author with her first book out said it took her no less than twelve years, the majority of that time spent rewriting her singular story. I swoon at the thought. Twelve damnable years!

    At a  snail’s pace I plod along, rewriting, rewriting, rewriting. Last night I’d had enough. I went back to my rough and my submission and then to my current draft and tried to compare, tried to see where the changes were made–do they even  matter?

    It’s hard to even find matching sections on which to make a comparison. The rough is a rough. It’s the telling of a story. The draft is the showing of a story. So I compared drafts. The prose is different, but more than that–what I see now is a weaving of inner and outer reflection. There is description, but not for the sake of describing–that is why I left it out in the first place. No, this is not the same somehow.

    Meanwhile, as I write circles around myself in the mud, the story ever grows. The more concrete and grounded the prose, the deeper and wider the storyline fills in, fleshes out–far into the future, that which I haven’t gotten to yet in the draft. Mere chapters away, but an eternity of time in rewriting land.

    I hate it. It mocks me. I take my little broken spoon, filling up a glass jar with shifting sand. I’ll never be able to capture it. I look back at my footsteps in the desert and have no sense of where I’ve been. Am I coming, am I going, am I lost in circle? So much is a mirage. I worked hard on my submission draft, truly, I did. Only six weeks later I look back and shake my head in despair. Despair. I honestly didn’t understand what they told me in critique.

    I fully understand it now. Rejoice that I understand? No, I feel childish in my lacking ability to perceive things in the broad open light of day. I’ve already written the length of that submission probably more than once, in my subsequent false starts. 10,000 words is next to nothing in my world these days.

    I can’t explain this right, I know. Countless times while learning to draw and paint, instructors have picked up my brush or charcoal and with a few lines or strokes, corrected something right before my eyes that I never even saw. And gratefully I went on.

    So I did in this case too. I took the advice, I worked hard to correct, to re-envision, feeling but not seeing my way through this horrible thing we call story craft. Looking back, my blindness hurts me.

    Beginner’s mind is beautiful, precious thing.  Bold and unafraid, a beginner will push forward happy taking joy in the simple act of doing– a loving protection of sorts. Utter blindness.

    It’s official though. My blushing shame, my cringing feeling at reading where I have been, knowing how well pleased with myself that I was to have even finished—no, I am now a journeyman. I am able to see at least some of my own flaws–and fear the ones I can’t.

    It’s a sign of true growth, but a dangerous time as well. The fragile ego wrestles for control, in hopes of managing the risk to itself. Suddenly, only perfection will do–when the truth is, perfection at this stage is just not possible. You have to be willing to risk. Risk a broken heart to gain greater prize than self preservation has the ability to grant. Let fear win in this stage and you’ll forever be held in the grasp of never having true confidence. It’s the most difficult stage of artistic development, a painful way to live because you’ve grown the wings, earned your birthright to the sky, but are afraid to use them for fear of falling. God, it hurts to fail.

  • August16th

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    Artists are always looking for something, namely themselves..we are egoists after all.

    So here I am, having returned to painting, and looking for something. I’ve got some visual looks in mind that match my natural style. My natural style is flat, line driven, with texture–trying to work that into my new painting skills that focus on form, a more realistic approach. It’s going to take experimenting, and for me, that starts with simple mindless painting and trying new things. I have to go fail a while. Discover what works out of a big messy pile of paintings. It’s the final step in my overall plan. I mastered realism. Now to bring it back to the way I see the world.

  • 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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  • June5th

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    After I came back from my critiques, I still had some questions. Ones that I didn’t think mattered until I reached my second draft. But a professional writer, writer of fantasy books, offered to help me decide which critique is more accurate. The big thing to understand is that neither of my critique partners write in a similar fashion to me. Hard to know if they simply were biased and couldn’t help it.

    So I sent off my submission to my third critique partner, but I couldn’t help myself. I took the criticism that I thought was valid and I rewrote/edited, before I sent it off. Then, after doing all that extra work I took a hard look at my storyline and decided that ultimately, none of this would probably show up in the final manuscript. Because my main character has changed, this part of the tale is outside the scope of useful information.

    I guess it’s good. It’s simply going to serve as clean evaluation of my style. Practice for the real thing. But also disappointing. Hard work, the most edited section, all for naught. So it goes.

    I think writing is so difficult a process. I keep hoping that with each successive edit things are getting better, getting tighter. I swear every time I go to change something, I end up working for hours as I find other things to modify. If it turns out that my edits simply make things different–and not substantially better… God knows, that’s another thing that weighs on my mind.

    I wonder, really wonder, why that is. When I write a post or in my personal journal, I’m still telling you something. It’s still a story of sorts. It deals with emotion and thought. But fiction is different. Grammar and structure doesn’t seem to get in the way when I’m over here. Grammar and structure mean a lot more over there. Over here I can just say what I think, what I feel–it works in its own fashion.

    Over there it’s more difficult to say my character X is angry. There is a bigger, more nuanced choice of words–furious, upset, mad, annoyed. And then I have to show you what that means–she’s quiet, she’s yelling, she’s glaring at someone, she’s set her drink down and it rattles the desert spoon….

    Hard, hard, hard….damnably hard. Everything matters over there. Every choice of word matters. The order in which you say things matters. The tense of the verb, the form of the adjective…don’t kid  yourself. If you’ve ever read something and thought–”I can write better than that.” Try it. Not for a short story, for a novel length piece of fiction. It’s very, very hard to do. Especially if you are like me and have an understated style.

    I am quite poetic somehow in other styles of writing. But my fiction writing is always direct. I use great restraint with my words when I write fiction. Probably to my detriment. I lack the poetry of prose–except in dialog. That is the only place where true beauty might be found. It’s like I’ve saved it all up for the moments that matter the most, so that you might remember only the things that matter.

    Still…you may never get to those moments…I may lose you far earlier if I truly am so uncharming in my restraint. Some people find it refreshing, vivid because I’ve left so much to your own interpretation–but other people simply can’t get into my style. There isn’t enough there.

  • April20th

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    I’ve not really been well for almost a month. Various annoying health concerns have been distracting me. It’s just so hard to get anything done when everything you do is self motivated. I’ve been struggling along, hoping when I finally get over my current cold that maybe some of my energy would return with it. Of course, now I am buried in things to get done –in addition to my creative pursuits.

    But the good news is, I really do feel better. I have glimmer of optimism waiting to shine forth.

    I’ve been editing of course. I’ve made some decisions on splitting chapters. I’ve divided my book into parts. I’m trying to get these last three scenes before the first part ends to feel just right. I have no idea if I am there or not. I think it will have to wait for a third draft–after I read the whole thing again.

    I have a first grader in my house. Oh, how she loves to read. It’s a joy to see her excited about reading one of her favorite books. They are silly characters doing silly things. Simple joy. She has her Junie B. Jones while I had my Ramona Quimby.

    She even writes her own little stories about King Auggie (her three year old brother) and the Baby Kingdom. Now that’s a place always in peril due to alien invasions, black magic, and so on. Funny. Joyful. As it should be from a little six year old.

    It does make me think some about what I am trying to do. I’ve been a long time working on this project you know. I’ve had to make sacrifices of my time and my kid’s time to be able to work on it. It’s a dark tale. There is suffering. Cruelty. Injustice. Redemption, but at a price. Far too serious? Or as it should be for someone at my age?

    Ha. I thought such things at twenty. Little excuse to be found there. When I was ten all my stories were horror tales. In my twenties, they changed to stories of damnation/salvation–though you might be hard pressed to find the salvation in them. See why I became an illustrator? Who can imagine the twilight and not be touched by its darkness? I am a happier person because I can’t make that kind of art visually. My talent for it lies elsewhere.

  • March31st

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    Well, it’s almost time. For my submission, I need only two things: 10,000 words and a synopsis.

    10,000 words is about the first three chapters, roughly. Lots of things happen, but the disastrous events that pull the story into overdrive don’t happen until chapter 4. It could be a touch late. At 85,000 words, I would say, yes–that’s a touch late. But, the second draft, so far, has meant an increase in word count— this leads me to believe that the finished length of the manuscript will probably increase as well, so I am not worried. If anything, I’m just a little distressed that I’m not very far into my second draft, only a couple of chapters ahead of what I am submitting. However, I’ve done a lot of thinking and researching outside of actual book words, which makes the story seem more coherent overall.

    So back to the synopsis. I have actually managed to make one and several incomplete attempts as well sitting in my files. However, I’ll say it again–not an easy thing to do. Challenging. Why? Because when you know every minute detail it’s really hard to dig out only the very most important things. In order to do it right, you have to know what it is you meant to say at the very start: the theme, the message–the reason for all that strife. Only in light of that, can you write a compelling synopsis. Only in light of that, can you discern what the important turning points are in the plot or where the important developments between characters exist.

    That is the secret!

    Even if this were a simple story, a synopsis that just retells events is pretty flat and boring. To write a knock out synopsis, you need to be able to express why each of these points matter, where are they carrying your characters? Why should we care? Why do they care?

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