Category: Brainstorming & Inspiration

Big ideas and how to get them.

Like Riding a Bike (in the snow)

r-avatarLast week was the first time in what felt like forever that we managed to have a meeting of our critique group. It also marked the first meeting since the shifting of the group’s attention to someone else’s work, which led to some embarrassment when Kent started setting up to take notes rather than give feedback.

But it wasn’t difficult at all to get into the proper mode, and it felt damn good to flex some muscles that hadn’t seen a lot of use in the past year or so. Unless you count the fact that Kent and Jen give each other feedback almost daily… but that’s not really the same thing.

On the way to the car, we were chatting with our fellow author whose latest revisions are now the group’s focus. We talked about process a bit, bringing him up to speed on our status (still brainstorming, but we have about one-third of a preliminary outline now!). The conversation inevitably slid into mutual admiration. He shook his head in bewilderment about how we coordinate everything, while we stood in awe that he does it all by himself.

This week, we generated some (probably apocryphal) prose. It was the first new fiction either of us had written in quite some time, and just like with the crit session it felt fantastic to return to something that we hadn’t done in a while.

The outside temp might be eleventy-below, but with all this newness and fresh starts it’s feeling a little like spring in the Writing Cave.

Fools Rush In

r-avatarRune Skelley uses an extensive outlining process, predicated on the theory that well begun is mostly done. We devote a large amount of time up front and reap the benefits later. Kent finds this philosophy a natural fit for any kind of moderate- to large-scale project, because it’s a key tenet of best-practices software development: don’t rush into coding, because changes are much more expensive to do in code than on a whiteboard. And there will be changes.

So in fiction, don’t rush into prose. Writing is rewriting, and it’s wise to budget your heavy lifting for the places where it will pay off. Think of it this way: you’d rather spend money on an addition for your house than shoring up a sagging foundation. You expect the foundation to be solid, and if you need to work on it after the house is standing then something has gone terribly wrong.

It’s easy to imagine scrapping an entire chapter, say, once you discover where a story is going. That could happen no matter how detailed your outline was, but it’s more likely you’d be scrapping a line from your outline and never need to compose the chapter in the first place. There are more insidious traps that lack of preparation can create for you, though. Worse than a superfluous chapter is one that’s needed, and has much in it that you’re in love with, but suffers some systemic flaw. The main character’s voice finally coalesces in your head, and now there are passages that simply aren’t in that voice. The subject matter of a conversation needs to change, but you already worked so hard on that dialogue that you can’t hear it any other way.

There are people who extol writing with less structure, and there certainly are writers who have success via a totally unstructured process. Words like “fluid, creative, unhindered,” tend to get thrown around. Just bear in mind these three things:

  1. a sound plan is not the antithesis of creativity; you still need to make stuff up, and an outline doesn’t breathe life into your characters for you — you still have the opportunity to perform
  2. in the words of Dwight Eisenhower, “Plans are worthless, but planning is everything,” a phrase which here means your outline will certainly undergo substantial changes once you get started writing, and that’s okay
  3. given a large enough sample of writers, you could find successful ones following any process imaginable; choose or invent a process that speaks to you, but don’t be swayed by anybody else’s results

We’re not asserting that the best writers never have to throw anything away, or he writes best who writes least. Far from it. In addition to an outline, we often generate many pages of apocrypha, prose that’s never intended as part of the manuscript. It helps us get our ear in for the voices, among other things. A lesson we’ve learned is that it’s better not to use our first chapters as the getting-acquainted phase of that relationship, for the reasons mentioned a few paragraphs ago. It’s a ton of work, no mistake, but it’s a smarter-not-harder scenario. Having a good process increases the rewards, although it won’t necessarily reduce the efforts.

How do you approach the initial stages of a new project? What level of structure works best for you?

Substance Over Style

r-avatarOur current round of brainstorming is pointing out yet again why having a coauthor is such a marvelous thing. We’ve been kickin’ it old school, writing out notes longhand in a steno pad. It’s a great way to wake up different parts of the brain, but it’s also a great way to get a hand cramp. On those days when your fingers need a break, your collaborator can pry the quill from your gnarled fist and take over the scrivening duties. As long as you both have moderately legible handwriting, you’re saved!

A good writing partner has many uses besides that overly literal interpretation of the term. We know in broad strokes how the plot of our new novel will go, so right now we’re concentrating on fleshing out the major characters, filling in their backstories. Most of what we’ve been talking about won’t appear on the page, but it will inform the characters’ actions. We need to know who these people are and how they got that way. It’s the only way to make them feel real and fully formed. Details from their pasts often prompt plot points when we get to the outline stage.

So we’ve been flitting from character to character, having a grand old time gossiping about their secrets and what-have-you, until last night. That’s when we realized we’d been avoiding talking about the villain. He’s not a total stranger, mind you. We know several very important things about him, like his name, and what he’ll be doing in the novel. We know that he’s a very bad person, we just didn’t know how he got that way.

After chatting and throwing out wild ideas we whittled our list down to two possibilities. Option 1 has a really striking visual, and can probably be made to play nicely with the facts we already “know” about this guy and his MO. Option 2 is a bit more mundane, but opens up some really nice avenues for a character arc and some theme elements.

Obviously we chose Option 2, but the striking visual of Option 1 was very enticing. It’s over the top and gross and operatic. It represents a chance to really show off. It’s got style. Repulsive, dangerous style. Jen was having a hard time letting go, but luckily she has a writing partner. Kent was able to stuff his fingers in his ears and ignore the siren song. He argued for Option 2, for boring old plot momentum and character cohesion. And he’s right. The story overall will be much better if we opt for substance over style.

Never fear, Option 2 isn’t actually boring. It’s plenty disturbing and violent and sick. It’s just tame in comparison to the much bloodier Option 1. And we’ve filed Option 1 away for future use.

So maybe fear a little bit.

2015 – The Year We Take Over

r-avatarAs promised, here is our grand scheme for the year ahead.

This past week we sent out our first round of query letters for the infamous Science Novel. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and it will be our only round. If not, we’ll continue querying.

Meanwhile, we’ve begun brainstorming and outlining for Novel #6, aka Son of Music Novel. This very early stage in a novel’s lifecycle is one of our favorites. Everything is shiny and new, and the world is awash with possibilities. We’ve been able to escape the writing cave for the comfier confines of Writing Cave 2, which is located downstairs and has a fireplace and surround sound.

Once we get this new beast tamed (ie, have a complete outline) we’ll write it. Since it is a sequel to the Music Novel, we’ll look for ways to tie the two strongly together. This might require small changes to the Music Novel, so we’ll take care of those as they come up.

Sometimes we like to let a project rest for a while between steps, so that we can come back to it with fresh eyes. If that’s the case with the new novel, we’ll switch into editing mode on the Music Novel. Our critique group gave us good feedback and there are some changes we’d like to make. If the new novel does not require this refractory period, then Music Novel edits will happen after the first draft of its sequel is done.

And then, if there’s any time left in the year after writing an entire novel and editing another, we’ll turn our attention to plotting out the sequel to the Science Novel, which will by then have been acquired by a major publisher. Fingers crossed.

An ‘Interstellar’ Collaboration

r-avatarOne of the most interesting things about Interstellar is how it came to be. It’s a collaboration between Christopher Nolan, his brother Jonathan, and renowned theoretical physicist Kip Thorne.

This interview in WIRED shows how each of them played to their strengths while learning from the others, and how that led to spectacular results.

It was originally Jonathan Nolan working with Thorne, and although Jonathan is not present for the interview it’s vividly clear that their working relationship was very different from how things operated between Thorne and Christopher. Not that both partnerships weren’t enthusiastic and positive, but they differed in their process.

The most telling example of that: rules. Jonathan and Kip never codified the rules of their story world, whereas that was among the first things to happen once Christopher came on board. They make a compelling case that having that framework is how they were able to craft a successful story.

Every partnership is unique and the things that propel one author might bog down another. How do you approach “rules of the world” in your fiction?

We Can Be Taught

r-avatarFor a while now we’ve been flirting with Novel #6, naming the characters, talking about their backgrounds, even brainstorming up some cool ideas for (gasp!) plot. We have a few more loose ends to tie up with Novels 4&5 before we can really immerse ourselves in the outlining of #6, but there’s one big step we were smart enough to take now.

As we mentioned, we took a field trip to the inspiration location for the Science Novel after we finished writing it, and that meant a certain amount of revision. We weren’t slavishly devoted to the real world location, but having visited it we had a better idea of how our version should feel. We could have saved ourselves a lot of rewriting if we’d been smart and taken the field trip early on.

So that’s what we did this time. Even though we don’t have the whole plot mapped out yet, we have a particular location in mind for a lot of the action. Last weekend we visited it, took a bunch of pictures, asked a bunch of questions. We went before the weather got gross and cold, and more importantly, we went before we wrote anything. Before we even plotted the whole thing out. That means that we have a clear picture of what we want to work with. We know what it’s like to move around in our location, what it smells like, how things are laid out. It should help immensely with outlining, and will probably inspire ideas we wouldn’t have had if we hadn’t visited.

And that means we can spend the gross, cold winter days in front of the fireplace, cozy with our slippers and hot buttered rum, brainstorming and working with our plot rainbow.

And if we’re really smart, we’ll set the next one in Prague so we have an excuse to go back.

Brainthunder and Brainlightning

r-avatarFor Rune Skelley, most brainstorming happens after there’s already some kind of idea in place. We use it to give shape to the clay, to get from the initial weird image or abstract notion to a narrative, and find the ways our multiple weird ideas can connect. The ideas themselves are usually found things in Kent’s or Jen’s minds. They can be discrete, like a name or a personality quirk, or they can be broad, thematic.

We do not, so far, have a shortage of weird things volunteering themselves for consideration, and we’ve learned to be more patient about chasing after them. Our first novel’s struggle from its early drafts to its current polished state left us sadder but wiser. We’ve been there, we know how it is. Sometimes an exciting idea can be too intense to keep inside, or you might be afraid it won’t be there later. It fills you with urgency to write, which is a good thing. Use that energy, but don’t lunge right into prose. That’s what notebooks are for.

Or conversation. Sharing the idea with your writing partner is often synergistic. You might hear in their response a whole new reason to love what you’ve come up with. Or, you might hear why it’s best to just walk away from some of them. That kind of answer is a gift, too. It lets you move on to the next, better, idea.

It’s often said “there are no bad ideas when you’re brainstorming,” but with a writing partner you can toss out that patently false axiom. That rule is meant to make shy people feel emboldened to speak up in front of a group, which shouldn’t be applicable in a writing collaboration. You can’t be shy with each other, or pull any punches. One of the best things your partner can do is challenge an idea with which you might be infatuated, not to shoot it down but to flesh it out. Helping you find new angles to look at it from.

Solo brainstorming pushes you back toward the “no bad ideas” rule, which means you know your list contains bad ideas. If you don’t have a full-time writing partner, at least get a brainstorming buddy.

The Expanding Skelleyverse, er, Universe

r-avatarMost of our time in writing cave lately has been focused on revisions of novels 4 & 5. But when we take Lady Marzipan out for a stroll we have other things to talk about. And lately, those conversations have often revolved around what we might do for novels 6 & 7.

Our ideas are shaping up as sequels to the books we’re currently polishing. It feels great to brainstorm and be able to just make stuff up, after being so intent for the past year or so on the minutiae of the Music Novel and the Science Novel. However, because we’re dealing with sequels, there are definite constraints. As Jen put it, we need to find ways of expanding the story world without changing its fundamental nature.

We come up with lots of cool ideas that would wreck the integrity of the story world. (Kent comes up with them. He can’t seem to help it sometimes.) It’s not really an issue of continuity, it’s more a matter of tone. The sequel should be of the same subgenre as the preceding book, and the stakes should be on a similar scale.

Our story worlds have certain rules, not all of which are demonstrated explicitly in any one book. We like to keep things broad and flexible until events force a firm decision. As we make up a new story and new characters, we periodically paint ourselves into a corner — if we allow X to happen here, then Y would never have been necessary and the main characters wouldn’t have met. Unless we also say Z… This is the process that leads us to the new wrinkles of our story-world physics. We can also just decree new facets, of course, but we like following the characters into trouble and then debugging the scenario. It ensures that all the world building we do is relevant, and it keeps us focused on showing the characters’ stories instead of telling the overall plot. It keeps things grounded and relatable.

This approach also helps keep us stocked up on new concepts, in the form of the ideas that don’t fit into the carefully constructed, shared delusion that is any particular Rune Skelley novel.

 

Mutual Back-Slap Society

r-avatarOne of the great things about having a writing partner is that you can pat each other on the back, so neither of you has to risk a sprained elbow doing it for themselves.

Not everything you write is going to be pure gold, and the same goes for any human writing partner you might have. It really is important to show support and encouragement, but it’s equally important to call bullshit when necessary. Even when the offending idea is something your partner is deeply in love with. Especially then.

There are two ways to go wrong with this kind of feedback.

You might be too soft about it. You don’t want to be mean, and you don’t want to come off like you think your own work is flawless. Who are you to criticize? You’re the co-author, that’s who. If you don’t speak up, then either the defect will remain in the writing, or else later when you do finally raise the issue it’ll be that much harder to deal with. (Maybe your partner will realize on her own by then? Don’t count on it.)

The other pitfall is fixating on the things you don’t like to the exclusion of what’s good. Even if you’re not rude about it, the cumulative effect will wear your partner down. You might train him not to overuse passive voice, but you’ll be smothering his creativity while doing it. “Dull, but free of errors,” isn’t what anybody wants for a log line.

Positive reinforcement is more effective than negative. To help each other improve, and to improve as a team, you need to praise the good stuff. Offer that pat on the back, and hope to earn one for yourself.

Future Looks Bright

r-avatarWhen you’re writing about the far future, you can get away with practically anything. But the shorter your jump forward in time, the trickier it is to portray. You’re on the hook to describe what’s happened with cars and phones, and offer some social commentary. And you have to do it all with a fine-bristle brush, no broad strokes allowed.

We like to stir up a brew that closely matches what we encounter when we’re brave enough to venture forth from the writing cave. That is, the consensus reality of our characters is a close match for that of our readers. We’ve delved a few decades into the past, and ventured sideways somewhat, but our novels have all avoided the future.

Soon, though, that will have to change. The sequel to the music novel will concern a new generation of characters, and the plot sort of demands that they not be little kids. And wouldn’t you know it, that lands us squarely in the “trickier” kind of future.

Perhaps it will feel like a natural step for us. Novel #5 was, after all, significantly harder sci-fi than anything else we’ve done. Working together we’ll create the future our characters must struggle in.