Category: Bumps & Bruises

Things don’t always go as planned.

Lightly Carbonated Research

Oh, the things we will do for our art.

The main character in the Music Novel has numerous quirks and foibles, but part of his pre-show ritual ended up putting us in a bit of a spot.

He drinks Red Bull.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t drink it for the taste.

Neither of us had ever had the stuff, but that never felt like a problem. The person we show consuming it is used to it, and, as mentioned, the taste isn’t the point for him. This makes it effortless to just not say anything about the qualities of Red Bull as a beverage.

Until.

The rest of the band consumes some of this iconic energy drink, for the first time. This event pushed us over the line, into a world where our ignorance of Red Bull’s particularities would become conspicuous. The cure for said ignorance? Why, Red Bull, of course.

We bought one can and split it. Everything about it was unexpected. Jen anticipated cola flavor, while Kent for some reason thought it would be like a frappuccino (it most certainly isn’t). Neither of us would have predicted the aroma. We toasted our protagonist, whose fault all this was after all, then stood in the kitchen sipping Red Bull and trading tasting notes like it was an expensive wine or an ancient cognac. (It most certainly isn’t.)

We don’t want to provide details here, because we apparently believe we can force you to read our books to find out what the stuff tastes like. As if millions of you don’t already know, and as if it’s not sold at every gas station in North America and beyond.

We will tell you this: it has a kick. Kent scoffed about that, being a champion coffee drinker of long standing, but half a can of Red Bull made him talk really really fast for the rest of the evening.

A writing partner is someone who’ll drink the rest of the Red Bull.

Format Wars

The Music Novel is not a slender tome. It’s a beast, frankly. A big, complex story richly told.

Part of that richness is expressed in the complexity of the formatting. It’s a thing that we did with footnotes, but they’re not really being treated like footnotes so we had to get tricky with it. We’ve found it works well to provide it as a PDF, because that way we can be sure that the reader will see each “footnote” where it’s supposed to be.

To a great extent, writing is independent of the visual stylistic choices of fonts and layouts. The words are the words, regardless, and they should mean the same even if the letters look a little different. But, design is also communication. The choice of font really does affect how readers respond to the text. Reading comfort is part of that, but also the mood of the font, even if it’s not an especially funky font. Juxtaposition is a powerful way to link ideas. For instance, a footnote needs to be on the right page (even if you’re being too clever for your own good about what a footnote is for). Presentation matters as much with a novel as it does with a meal. Hence, our preference for PDF, which gives us lots of control over such things.

Well.

Our agent asked if we could provide it in Word format instead. Like, right away.

Okay, couple things there. We don’t use Word. We work mainly in Scrivener, but one of the very few things that application won’t let us do is set up footnotes on arbitrary pages. So for the Music Novel’s clever formatting stuff we used Pages, which is essentially Apple’s version of Word, and then exported to PDF.

Pages also allows us to export to Word format, so that was at least a start, but then the output had to be tweaked. Fancy fonts that embed just fine in a PDF and look the same everywhere were a big nope, so we had to change them to standard fonts. Page breaks didn’t fall at the same places, so things had to be checked and adjusted in (no shit) about 500 places.

So, it made for a late night with no actual writing progress to show for it. But the request wouldn’t have been made if there wasn’t a reason, so it was something we were happy to provide.

The ironic part of all of this is, messing with the formatting was supposed to be one of the problems that we could offload to the fine professionals at our publisher when we got one, but this sojourn into tweaking and fiddling about with such minutiae came up as part of our quest to get a publisher. At least we have each other, so we didn’t need to do it alone.

Just Hold Still, Dammit!

Jen and Kent are hardcore plotters, expending a ton of energy at the beginning of a project to get every last wrinkle ironed out. It is the Skelley way. It makes it a lot easier to divvy up the writing later if both halves of the partnership have a rock solid understanding of how all the pieces fit together.

But back to that “expending a ton of energy” part. Jen is currently in the midst of creating the actual outline. You know, the kind with roman numerals and all that jazz. It’s something she usually enjoys (don’t judge), but this time it’s frustrating her. Events in the timeline keep oozing around and refusing to hold still, and Jen really feels like they ought to know their place by now.

Our process is long and arduous, but not particularly complicated. Usually anyway.

  • Step one is a lengthy series of conversations where we talk through the whole story and take copious notes.
  • Step two is combing through those notes to put everything in order and discard the bits that are obsolete.
  • Step three is to polish the results of step two into a prose outline. For this novel (Sibling of Music Novel) that came to 24 pages (12,000 words), plus an additional couple of pages of notes on the setting.
  • Step four is not always necessary, but we dusted it off for this novel: an actual calendar to track events. Jen went through the prose outline and distributed the events on the calendar to make sure everything lined up properly. Everything seemed to be swell until she started:
  • Step five, which is the current step — the Real Outline. This is the step where the actual structure of the novel starts to come into focus. We look at how the events will break down into actual scenes. There are plenty of facts that we know about the story and our characters that are important, but that don’t justify their own scene. So as Jen works her way along, she’s looking for dynamic and interesting ways to convey some fairly mundane (for now) facts so that they won’t come out of nowhere later when they matter, and feel unearned.
  • Step six will be using the outline/glorified scene list to create the mini scene synopses that we call stubs.
  • Step seven will be the actual composition.

Each step along the way clarifies our story’s structure, uncovers plot holes and magical thinking, and helps us get to know the characters. By looking at things from so many angles, at so many differing magnifications, we find the weak spots before we start to write. It’s a lot of labor up front, but it saves a ton of work in rewrites.

The problem Jen’s encountering is that the events she so painstakingly placed on the calendar in step four are getting shuffled around in step five. It’s nothing so earthshaking that we need to rethink the plot, it’s just that now the calendar will need to be updated to reflect the actual actual flow of events, and that makes Jen sigh.

Having a writing partner means having someone to soothe your fevered brow while you shake your fist at the universe you created.

The Dog Ate My Homework

Our house is overrun with adorable furry demons whose job it is to make it difficult for us to accomplish our writing goals. When the Bandit Lord is not pulling us away from the Writing Cave for a potty break, Lady Marzipan is barking at mysterious intruders only she can sense.

We spend a good deal of time now refereeing the canine drag races that occur in our hallway, and around our sofas, and under the dining room table, then back through the kitchen and down the hallway, with a quick detour into the futon room and back again, around and around. We also spend a good deal of time convincing his Lordship that he shouldn’t chew on the molding, and cleaning up the soggy confetti that he makes out of the cardboard he is allowed to chew on.

And now, instead of just eating up all of our valuable writing time, they’ve moved on to eating our actual writing. We talked before about setting up our new plot rainbow on the table in the dining room, and how well that was working. But then we made the mistake of leaving the sliding door open for a while and the wind (it must have been the wind and not Lady Marzipan’s tail) blew a few of our colorful squares onto the floor. Where they were promptly confetti-ized.

Jen made replacements. It happened again. Sigh.

With visitors coming this weekend we had to clear the table off, so the rainbow is currently safe in a neat pile, secured with a rubber band. The next time we spread it out we’ll have to get clever, buy a couple dozen little paperweights or something.

In the meantime, we bow to the whims of our merciless overlords. Just look at them — so intimidating!

Critique Group Advice — Part 3

Sharing your work with readers is the ultimate goal for most writers, and one of the best ways to improve your writing is to share it with fellow writers through a critique group. We’ve been in a group for a very long time, so now we’re sharing our experiences with you in order to help you get the most out of your own group.

First things first: join a critique group. We feel that an in-person format is the best way to go. Check out the scene in your local library or indie bookstore. There might be established groups looking for members, or you might be able to start your own. You could also do a search for “online critique group” and learn about other options if the local scene isn’t panning out.

Now, a word of caution when processing the input that your critiquers provide: don’t try to please everybody. Gathering input is the whole purpose of going to the meetings, but that doesn’t mean all the input is valid. You’ll probably need to develop some filters to separate the signal from the noise.

One thing Kent and Jen always do is take their own notes during the meeting. This can be jotting down specific comments from the critiquers, but also often includes little signposts for later to help us remember how we felt about these ideas in the moment. There’s a huge difference between “punch up descriptions” and “do we really need to punch up descriptions?”

By the way, this is another area where working as a team gives us an unfair advantage. There are twice as many ears to take in the commentary, and we have each other to check in with when deciding which notes really require action.

You might be wondering why it’s so important to be in a group if you can’t take their feedback at face value anyway. One of the first things you want to do is check for patterns. Did more than one person have the same concern? That’s a sign that you do need to look into it. Just be alert for people chiming in who only “had the same problem” after someone else brought it up.

And as you get to know the other members it will become easier to filter, and hear between the lines. It’s not a binary thing, where each comment is either an obligation or something to disregard. Ask yourself, “why would Jack tell me to repeat this description?” If the details in question were mentioned in the previous block of pages that you sent through the group, and you feel it would be too repetitive, then trust your gut. People often have trouble recalling all the particulars from earlier sections, something that’s far less of a factor for real-world readers who will have the whole book all at once. But if Jack has a really sharp memory and he was also talking about deepening the mood, maybe his real point was that repeating a particular image resonates with the main character’s dilemma. Or something.

It’s your book. If you give the comments honest consideration, but you disagree that the changes are advisable, then don’t make changes. However, don’t argue about it in group. Smile and say, “sure, thanks,” or “I see, okay.” Then think it over later and decide for yourself.

A critique group is a vital way for you to grow as a writer.

We’ve Made a Huge Mistake

Or rather, a very tiny one. Our tactical blunder’s name is the Bandit Lord, and as you can see he’s made of trouble.

For those of you who’ve never had a young Bandit Lord around the Writing Cave, or the house, let us warn you that if you fall prey to one you will never again accomplish anything besides keeping the young Bandit Lord from destroying everything you hold dear.

In addition to running interference between the Bandit Lord and Lady Marzipan, we’ve been on constant alert for tiny teeth gnawing on electrical cords, wastebaskets, socks, carpets, zippers, our fingers… the list is infinite. His current schedule is chaotic, to put it charitably, which makes it very difficult to carve out uninterrupted writing time. We’re currently experimenting with working in shifts. One of us follows the Bandit Lord around his kingdom, putting out fires and appeasing the peasants, while the other retreats to the Writing Cave and tries to knock out a few hundred words. It’s really not the most efficient way to write a novel, but it’s better than nothing. And all too soon the Bandit Lord will be a haughty and merciless overlord.

You can see it in his face.

 

Double Double Toil and Trouble

You know how much fun it is to set up a new computer? Well, multiply that by two and you’ll get an idea of how last weekend was for us.

Our old computers were still running fairly well, but they’re eight years old and we were concerned about them suddenly dying on us. To avoid being computer-less and bereft we splurged on replacements and spent several days loading files and updating programs and creating a new backup and all that awesome technical stuff. It was almost too exciting. Even Kent, who is a big ol’ nerd, was getting sick of all the techno-funtimes. We’re still catching our breath.

But now that we’ve come out the other side, we’re quite pleased. The new machines are faster, and since we’ve hooked the old ones up as secondary monitors we have acres of screen space. It’s quite something to behold.

The upgrade process derailed our writing progress temporarily, but we’re now back up and running. Both Son and Grandson of Science Novel have passed 110,000 words, which feels pretty amazing.

Having a writing partner might mean doubling your computer budget, but it also means doubling your successes and having someone to celebrate them with.

No Joy in Mudville

There’s no way we’ll hit our end-of-year word count goal. While it’s not outrageous to think we could each grind out 1,500 words a day every day until the end of the year, it’s just not going to happen. We have visitors coming to stay for the whole week, and there’s no point in having them here if we’re going to ignore them. And anyway, we like them. We want to talk to them, not lock ourselves away in the Writing Cave and leave them to eat cookies by themselves.

But that means that we’re blowing past another deadline, and it’s killing Jen. She’s very wrapped up in this artificial goal that we (read:she) set. And even if we did chain ourselves to our computers and managed to get that 100,000 words by January 1, it would’t really make her happy. Because what Jen really wants is to have the whole first draft done, and since Grandson of Science Novel is shaping up to be more like our usual novels than its predecessor, it’s going to be bigger than that.

So Jen is in a bit of a funk, and Kent wishes there was a way to make it all better. But since he so far has steadfastly refused to work on the time machine, there’s nothing to be done. The new year will come without a finished draft, and we’ll keep plugging away until it’s done.

Next week we should have our Year in Review post. Maybe that will show Jen that we have actually accomplished an awful lot this year and she’ll be able to relax.

A Progress Report from the Writing Cave

We passed the 60k milestone this week on Grandson of Science Novel, which is great! Of course, that leaves us only three weeks to hit our target of 100k by year’s end. Which would take an average of 2000 words per day. That’s only 1000 words apiece (have we ever mentioned that having a writing partner offers many advantages?), but that’s every day, and it’s significantly more than the pace we’ve been on. Like, very significantly. Back when work started on this one, we ran some numbers and came up with a plan that felt perfectly reasonable. And now, here we are, with nearly half of the book remaining to write and less than a month to do it.

So we’re a little stressed about missing our deadline. Life keeps getting in the way. We have all kinds of excuses, and we think most of them are pretty good. Unfortunately, we haven’t come up with the excuse that’s so good it lets us hit our deadline after all.

Thing about this deadline is, we imposed it on ourselves. Rune Skelley sets Rune Skelley’s schedule. So the consequences for blowing it are rather abstract. Assuming we do end up blowing it, we’ll miss out on the satisfaction of attaining it. And, the longer it takes us to write a book, the longer the gaps between our releases.

Setting goals and deadlines for yourself is vital for being able to measure progress, and even without a mean boss glaring at your tardiness, you need to take these things seriously. You need discipline, and you need to protect your writing time. You just can’t let deadline stress ruin the joy of creation.

Write Like Your Parents Will Never Read It

… But, um, they probably will.

It all depends on your subject matter, and on your parents. In our case, with books featuring so much vivid sex, profanity, violence, drug use, and trashing of religion, we felt pretty confident encouraging our moms not to read our stuff. (That didn’t work. It probably never does.)

Despite all our subtle warnings, our moms still wanted to read the books. So, we had to hand them over. Jen told her mom, “Kent wrote all the yucky parts,” and Kent told his mom to blame those sections on Jen.

The weirdest thing happened. Our moms liked the books.

Sure, they sort of have to. It’s in the mom job description. Of course they’re proud of us as writers. But we knew — or thought we knew — that our content wouldn’t be to their tastes. First of all, they don’t read much science fiction. And as mentioned above, it’s all stuff we’d never bring up in front of them. And we surely wouldn’t use such caustic language with them. They’re our moms!

We just don’t quite know how to process all this, and we probably never will. Happy to have happy readers? Absolutely. Glad not to have upset our moms? You bet! Wondering how well we really know these women? Little bit.

Having a writing partner means being able to disavow the parts your mom doesn’t like.