Tagged: conversation

Inside Out

Due to the weird way we work, the book we are currently plotting will be the middle book in the Music Trilogy. The gap that it will fill is fairly large, so we’re not overly constrained, but there is a finite time period where it can be set, and there are several threads that lead into and out of it that can’t be changed. They can perhaps be adjusted slightly, tuned up a bit. But certain people have to survive the middle book, and certain events have to happen. There’s a forcefield around them.

This is an on-steroids instance of the Pantser’s Complaint. Those who eschew outlines often cite the feeling of being limited, and a loss of motivation to discover the story. With all the big decisions made, they find it hard to engage with the project anymore. Here, we have significant constraints in place before we even get to the outline stage. Oh noes!

But to us, the thrill of composition remains. We love finding captivating ways to say all the things we’ve decided should be said, and we really like not having to make those decisions on the fly.

Seen from a higher altitude, the actual outline is proving very interesting as well. It’s like we have a map showing our start and end points, with just blank paper in between. We’re not trying to create the shortest or safest route. We want something with plenty of unexpected twists and turns and washed-out guardrails to let us plummet to the jagged rocks.

So even though we’ve put the squeeze on ourselves this time by working our way in from the edges, it’s coming along quite nicely. And, predictably, this is something we feel works better with two of us. These early-stage activities are where our partnership feels most dynamic, because the work consists of having conversations.

Don’t Turn Your Novel Into a Turducken

The other night we had a conversation in the writing cave about ways to flesh out a story. We know there are things we neglected to spell out, or perhaps omitted altogether, because of being a little too close to them. However, not everything that you could add is something that you should.

Obviously, you don’t include the stuff that’s irrelevant or uninteresting. But sometimes you need to hold off on making additions even if they’d be fantastic. Because not every nugget of gold belongs in the tale you’re telling right now.

Consider a scenario where your main character makes a decision after tons of soul searching, a decision that’s going to determine the direction of the narrative. You can feel the turmoil of your character throughout his sleepless night. It’s tempting to try to bring the reader into that space of conflict, share the doubt and trepidation of the protagonist. To show (not tell!) all the alternatives that were contemplated, all the attempts to bargain away the painful but inevitable outcome. And in many cases, it’d be the right call. But not always. All that’s essential for the reader to know is what the decision is, and that reaching it was difficult.

Forcing the issue will hurt the whole book. If this moment falls during escalating kinetic tension, then inserting a digression into someone’s interior world is likely to kill the mood. Dwelling on this particular moment for this character might detract from the image you intend to create. And in such cases, no level of prose quality will change the basic fact: it doesn’t fit.

Including a scene that’s a tonal or thematic mismatch is like stuffing a different story inside the one you’re trying to tell, like jamming a bird inside of another bird. Maybe turducken is delicious, in which case the metaphor falls down. Just be sure that all your ingredients really do work together.