The Assignment Had Me Worried

  • elements of forbidden sex and lurid mutilations
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  • no idea how much blood
  • full of glassy accusation
  • sometimes I get overzealous
  • never written a vampire story before

The assignment had me worried about my GPA. I had never written a vampire story before, so I had no idea how much blood there really was supposed to be, or how blatantly to handle the elements of forbidden sex and lurid mutilations. But when I asked Professor Kerensky for some guidance, he glared at me and said, “These are the very things you are to learn by doing this assignment,” his voice full of diesel fuel and his eyes full of glassy accusation. So I kicked him in the shin. When it comes to my GPA, sometimes I get overzealous.

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I Couldn’t Help Laughing at Chet

  • by jenhe was a full-grown man
  • tiny clothes that actually fit
  • drew a revolver from his belt
  • you rang the eskimo
  • here at your request

I couldn’t help laughing at Chet. He was a full-grown man wearing a cowboy costume, tiny clothes that actually fit his adolescent brother better than they did him. Chet drew a revolver from his belt (a toy, I hoped) and aimed it at me. “You rang the eskimo‘s private number, LuAnne. You’re the one who ordered up a gigolo. You’re the one who specifically requested chaps and a stetson. I’m here at your request, and I’ll thank you to stop laughing at me.”

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Failure to Plan = Planning to Fail

r-avatarThe 8-page synopsis we talked about last week has spawned a bouncing baby outline, a whopping 26 pages long (!). Once you get back up from your fainting couch, let us hasten to explain. This is an incredibly detailed outline, including almost everything we know about the story and its characters.

Also, this is not an outline that your English teacher would approve of. It does not follow proper outline formatting. There are many instances of sections having a single subheading (an A with no B, for instance). We’re not concerned with getting a good grade on this, we’re concerned with arranging all of our plot knowledge into something like chronological order. Our notes included a lot of backstory, so we had to determine where in the action it made the most sense to introduce that information.

Some writers might feel like so many steps are unnecessary. Why do we need to have extensive notes, plus a Plot Rainbow, plus a multi-page synopsis, PLUS an outline? (And we haven’t even gotten to stubs yet.) Each iteration presents the plot in a different way, and each exposes areas where there are still questions, or where there is magical thinking going on. A solo writer might get away with being a little more seat-of-the-pants, but when you’re working with a writing partner, it’s vital that you both have a clear picture of what’s going on. You both have to agree on how everything is handled, and you have to be able to put your individual pieces together to form a coherent picture. If you’re working from different sets of assumptions, your prose jigsaw will be extremely frustrating indeed.

There’s No Way To Predict

  • it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?
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  • air quotes practically crackled
  • he was genuinely ugly
  • thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
  • rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own

“There’s no way to predict how much it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?

I did not know what he was saying, but I could smell ozone and grease. The engines’ whine made conversation nigh impossible, and with such a charge in the air, quotes practically crackled with urgency.

“We have no choice,” I shouted into his calm face. He nodded and deactivated the autopilot, giving me full manual control of our lumbering, wallowing vessel. Everyone told us it would be bad luck to break with tradition and use a male name, but everything about the boat told us its name was Archie. He was genuinely ugly, and probably the toughest thing afloat. Archie was a brute among icebreakers and minesweepers, virtually indestructible.

But that didn’t make him unsinkable, and his steering was as genuinely ugly as he was. It pulled quite a bit, as a matter of fact, with the hydraulics cut out of the equation. The storm’s mountainous waves tossed us like a soda bottle. Gales whipped snow and spray across our decks. I concentrated on not smacking directly into any icebergs, although how I would see them through the blizzard I had no idea. I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow, tuning my mind to the weather gods’ plane for guidance.

“I fixed it,” he said simply, flopping into the other seat and reengaging the autopilot. “Tell me which way to point us.” I loosened my grip on the helm, feeling only then the ache in my hands and shoulders. My companion showed no strain, now that the systems were repaired. The hydro-assist patched into the helm rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own.

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Mink Jodhpurs?

  • by jenlittle things, like Band-Aids
  • kept the last of my clothes on
  • pissing off PETA
  • something even more sinister
  • ripping my trousers, cutting my leg

“Mink jodhpurs? Twyla! What were you thinking?” cried Octavius as he swung his blade wildly, ripping my trousers, cutting my leg. “Before you know it you’ll be pissing off PETA and they’ll be throwing paint on you, or something even more sinister.”

By then my pants were in ruins on the floor and my legs were bleeding. Before Octavius could destroy it, too, I removed my ermine bolero jacket. I kept the last of my clothes on and watched in fascination as Octavius tended my wounds, spackling my legs with these weird little things, like Band-Aids, only shiny and smelling of opium. Soon enough I didn’t care about my expensive rags anymore. I was ready for my red carpet debut!

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Taste the Rainbow

r-avatarAnd as the seasons change, so to does the focus of our work sessions. The majority of our sub-zero, knee-deep-snow-filled winter was spent in the auxiliary writing cave (aka the family room). Along with delicious hot beverages, a wood fire, and cuddling on the sofa, we indulged in copious brainstorming sessions. We filled an entire steno pad with notes before we were done. We used our brand new Apple TV to view some interesting research materials (and binge on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt). We talked and talked and talked. And talked.

After all of that, we were finally ready to lay the whole plot out in a colorful grid formation that we call the Plot Rainbow. We’ve talked about the Rainbow before, but here’s a brief refresher: Each major character is assigned a colored column in the grid. We proceed chronologically through the plot, filling in what we know of each characters’ actions on coordinating note paper. Each beat gets its own row.

Here’s what our first pass with Son of Music Novel looked like:Rainbow1

(Please excuse the dog hair. Lady Marzipan is an olympic-calibre shedder.)

This plot has a large number of beats, which made the Rainbow particularly long. We laid it out in the hallway so we would have enough room. That probably looks like a lot of story beats, but we can assure you that they don’t all warrant scenes. Often one scene per row will cover the participation of all the characters. Other times, we make a card to note what a character is doing off-page. It helps us keep track of where everyone is and what they’re up to, even if it doesn’t merit inclusion in the final story.

RotatedRainbowWe spent an evening carefully combing through that first Rainbow, making notes about points that were still vague, or questions that were still unanswered. Then we retired to the auxiliary writing cave and filled in all of the missing information.

When it was time to lay out the rainbow again, we abandoned the hallway. Lady Marzipan is far, far too helpful, what with all the sniffing and tail wagging and walking all over everything, and it was much easier to just shut her out of the room. Conveniently, the auxiliary writing cave is just barely wide enough to contain the entirety of the New and Improved Rainbow. We added columns for a couple of secondary characters (bright pink and yellow there at the right of the pic). We added a few rows where we clarified some of the action. Throughout we edited cards and sometimes even replaced them with updated information. A few holes were filled in.

The New and Improved Rainbow gives a much clearer picture of the story we will write. It even held up to scrutiny when we gave it a thorough going-over.

When we stack it all up, it strains the capacity of the largest binder clip we currently have in the house.Stack

When Jen typed it all up into a semi-coherent prose outline/synopsis it ran 8 pages. Single spaced.

Next week we’ll talk about turning that pile of colorful paper and 8-page document into an actual outline.

 

Hendrick Loved Indulging

  • smiling slightly as he spoke
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  • gloomily grand and savagely vexed
  • and then later, we swooned
  • shower of fragments and woodlice and decay
  • indulging in the luxury

Hendrick loved indulging in the luxury of genuine materials, smiling slightly as he spoke of how authenticity had often led him to unexpected stimulation, like the gloomily grand and savagely vexed old half-timber cottage he bought sight-unseen, only to have the roof fall in on him in a shower of fragments and woodlice and decay the first night he slept there, him without me, that part of the memory dimming his smile and prompting me to guide him to the divan where we spooned, and then later, we swooned.

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Mike Was Four Thousand Feet Above the Foothills

  • by jenan organ resembling a heart
  • a recipe for madness
  • four thousand feet above the foothills
  • just a ball of nerves
  • on the verge of starvation

Mike was four thousand feet above the foothills and on the verge of starvation when he finally broke down and ate the yeti carcass, starting with an organ resembling a heart that in fact was just a ball of nerves and rudimentary, miniaturized teeth, at which point his meal became a recipe for madness.

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The Shoemaker’s Elves

r-avatarWe’ve stressed repeatedly the importance of having the right partner in a collaboration. Kent can attest to that. In fact, it’s absolutely magical.

Jen takes longer to fall asleep each night, and often when Kent checks his email in the morning there’s a shining literary gem awaiting him there. This is most likely to occur when we’re in the outlining or brainstorming stages, as we are right now. The other common scenario comes up during revisions, if there’s a thorny spot that we hadn’t quite decided how to handle. Come the light of day, a viable solution has materialized!

Kent tends to be the source of the more conceptual stuff, which has been known to appear to him in dreams (rarely). He’s got more of a knack for premise than plot, sometimes. Once the big, overarching idea is on the table, we work together on figuring out an actual story that can use it. Jen’s focus on getting all the details to line up is essential. (Aside: this description of our writing workflow is exactly the reverse of how we do crossword puzzles. A blank puzzle stymies Kent utterly, but those last couple of stubborn spaces are where he comes into his own.)

It might not be necessary to discuss sleeping habits with a prospective co-author, but you never can tell what will prove vital to your collaboration.

Everybody Knows The Move

  • the gray grim gut-punch of Newcastle
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  • the unlucky and the morally dyslexic
  • launching attacks against
  • that charming smile people had come to expect
  • unless you’re some kind of a rockstar

Everybody knows the move I’m about to try. It’s called the Gray Grim Gut-Punch of Newcastle, and it’s the tactic of last resort of the unlucky and the morally dyslexic, both of which categories I fit into quite neatly. They all know it, and they know I’m just that desperate, as I must be if I’m launching attacks against the Wiggins, the gang that owns these streets, and has done since the Magna Carta, ruffians and cutpurses and freelance assassins all. My desperation move is going to be totally expected, and without the element of surprise there’s just no point even trying the Gray Grim Gut-Punch of Newcastle, because it takes so long to set it up. It’s hopeless. So I flash that charming smile people had come to expect, the smile that prefaces all my attempts at talking my way out of a drubbing. And it tilts things just enough, gets the Wiggins convinced I’m hoping my hyperdeveloped vocabulary will save me and makes them stop watching the real windup. Whump! The horrendous, retching, gagging grunt that heaves out of the first one I Gut-Punch paralyzes his mates, and by the time any of them unfreeze I’ve laid out two others. Sure, the totally expected move is pointless, unless you’re some kind of a rockstar, or at least know how to smile like one.

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