Outlining, as seen by a pantser

This is my first try at making an outline. Now that I'm 7 pages into it and approaching the climax of the plot, it's not as awful as I feared. In fact it's similar to writing a first draft, just less of it. I have something of an advantage in that I wrote 35 chapters of Draft One so I got to know the main characters pretty well. Without that, I wouldn't know where the plot should go.

There are a couple of hard things about it. First, I'm writing some new plot points so am trying to figure out how the characters act in those situations. That can take a few days of hard thinking. Second, deciding which problems I need to solve before continuing the outline and which ones can wait.

One guiding principle for the second issue is: how hard is it to solve? If I have that "so close I can taste it" feeling, I'll spend a few days on it and usually come up with something that will work. If I've tried coming at it from different angles and do not have the sense that a solution is close, I add a note in parentheses right there in the outline to the effect of, Need a reason for this.

It's happened that not solving something has led me to a brick wall. Running into that while doing the outline is a whole lot better than running into it in the middle of chapter 16 (or chapter 35), believe me.

I still have a lot of respect for writing spontaneously. That's where the emotion comes out. It's not planned for, just like in real life. You get to be the fly on the wall. If I just let my characters talk, they can come out with great lines. One example that comes to mind is in Street Glass. In music, sustain is the length of time you can hear a note after it's played, roughly speaking. Neal and Sandy are talking about relationships and Neal expresses frustration that women don't seem seriously interested in him. Sandy knows Neal is still hung up on a woman from his past and tells him: If you try to prolong the sustain, you'll ruin the song. In other words, don't hold on to relationships that are finished. Neal immediately gets what Sandy means. I love that the comment just popped out. I can't plan that kind of thing in an outline.

So, onward and upward with outline writing! I'm not going to hit 50k this year in NaNo but that's okay as long as I make strong progress. Primary goal is to finish the outline, get it into shape so I can use it to start writing chapters. Secondary goal is to write a few early chapters. I tweet about it as OwlladyWriter, using #NaNoRebel.

Writing is so cool. You learn about yourself as you go. I never thought I could write an outline or that I'd ever want to. Got a new superpower :-D

Writers paying it forward

I've been tagged in a meme that asks some pointed questions of writers. It's a neat "pay it forward" idea put out there by Frank "Chip" Etier, who's been a steady contributor at Weekend Writing Warriors. Some peeps I've come to think of as good friends were first encountered on WeWriWa or its predecessor, Six Sentence Sunday. Writing is, at its core, a solitary pursuit but there's no way you can do it effectively by being 100% alone, IMHO.

What am I working on? --not a simple question! Define "working on". I'm currently engaged in plot wrangling on the novel I started for NaNo 2013. The working title is Night Shift. It involves demons, humans, and angels. I'm currently redefining it because I wasn't able to do any planning or plotting before having to jump into NaNo; 34 chapters in, I had to admit that I simply can't write a novel without any planning. I mean I had some general ideas on what to do with the plot but that's nowhere near enough planning. 

In the process of learning how to write better, I joined two online critique sites: Critique Circle and Scribophile. Each has slightly different things to offer and both are worthwhile. The more I learned about the writing process in general, the more I would think how to apply the various lessons to to the novel that's on my back burner, Street Glass. Neal and the boys have been in my head for some 30 years. I badly want to write that story when my skills are improved, not when I'm still a writing newbie. I kind of think of Street Glass as my fine wine--and you know what they say about wine, do not open it before it's time. Or something like that! 

So I could make a case for saying I'm working on two projects more or less at the same time, though I'm only actively plotting one of them.

How does my work differ from others of its genre? --also a tough question, even if I stick to Night Shift because I haven't read other stories with demons and angels. I do that on purpose. I don't want to accidentally pick up anybody else's plot, characters, or writing voice. Whatever I write, I want it to come from my weird brain only! But I will say that my demons and angels, while having certain things in common with Christianity, do not reflect any existing religion. My angels always refer to God with ambiguous titles like Holy of Holies and One Without End. I try to even steer clear of using a gender pronoun when referring to God. 

Even the demons are not meant to depict Christian ones. Kazimir explains to Devorah that the being she's familiar with as "Satan" is actually much older than that title (and Satan is really a title, not a name). I'm basing my demons on those found in a particular ancient mythology. 

Why do I write what I write? --holy cow, pun intended, how do I know? If I want to wax philosophical, I could say that people like me who felt ignored and belittled as children turned to books for comfort because those "people" were always welcoming. They always invited me into their world without any hesitation, it seemed. Once I realized how wonderful it was to get lost in books, it was a short hop to creating my own stories. 

Because now, I hold the power! muwahahaha! Of course most fiction, particularly the fantasy sort I like best, tends to need the main characters to suffer somehow in order to keep increasing the tension--this isn't something I made up, it's advice given by well-published authors, and successful agents and editors. I not only bring my characters to tears, I chase them up the proverbial tree and plop snarling wolves at the base of the tree, then I fire flaming arrows into it! 

I can put them through heart-breaking times and help them find love everlasting. Bringing these people to "life" is the most amazing thing I've ever done. They're all different facets of me and I can see myself in them sometimes, but other times, I swear I've tapped into some other dimension :D

How does my writing process work? --well, I wish I knew :D I can say this much--I cannot pants a true story. No, going down that road only leads me into a hedge maze. A story is more than just a string of events--there has to be a coherent plot; a start, a middle, and an end; there should be some sort of climax or high point; and I think the whole thing should mean something. Without some plotting, I just have a narrative of events and emotions that don't lead anywhere. 

I can also say that my stories are character-driven. I'm not really into troop movements across the continent, hard-core science, or predictable plots. What grabs me first is a fascinating person--why they're fascinating is subjective, but overall I'm attracted to characters who are different from most people around them. 

In Street Glass, Neal's a card-carrying gang member who desperately wants out of that lifestyle. What traps him is the rule that if you leave and the gang catches you, you are very dead. His opposite in almost every way, Sandy is the drummer in a rock band. He lives the high life but also carries a secret guilt. When Neal kidnaps him, Sandy thinks all he wants is to get back home safe and sound, but then he sees a chance for personal redemption--or is it more than simply personal? 

For Night Shift, as I said I'm retooling the plot, but the basic idea is that Devorah is the "point of view" character. She comes from a mixed Jewish-Christian family and isn't strongly drawn to either faith. When her father, the police chief, is gunned down she feels she's lost her biggest supporter and the person who helped her make sense of the craziness that is life. But she doesn't take anything lying down, so when she's recruited into a group of demons who are also servants of the Light, she willingly reinvents herself. She has to maintain her cover as a demon and finds that sometimes, she likes it. 

I get seed ideas by asking the age-old question "What if?" For Street Glass, I got the initial idea from the first verse of the song Baba O'riley by The Who. To me, the verse sounds like two different people talking, and I wondered, What if those two people met? 

With Night Shift, I was drawn to stare at the front porch of a house, shadowed by a fully leafed-out tree. The emptiness seemed to be waiting for somebody. What if that spot was where some dodgy guy came to meet somebody, and what if one of them was up to no good? That led to a scene in draft 1 where Devorah first meets Kazimir in a cemetery, and he does look pretty dodgy to her. I may ditch the scene in the next draft, but without having thought of it, I wouldn't have the story at all. 

So there you are :) I think all good writers are basically nosy people :) I'm off to tag three writer friends of mine to keep this thing going. Although before I go, to bring this back around to where I started, I've been able to progress with both novels because I've given and received critiques. Getting them has obvious benefits in that readers point out things they feel don't quite work well, and things that work great. Giving them has more subtle benefits; you gradually train your "ear" to what sounds good and what doesn't, and you realize that some of the mistakes you see in other people's work are the same ones you make yourself--and then you realize that you need to start taking your own advice! 

I've gotten some truly wonderful compliments on my writing. That would never have come about without the give and take that happened when I got active with other writers. One of them, when she found out my laptop died and I couldn't replace it, sent me a mini laptop she was no longer using. For free. Simply offered it to me. Writers have kind of a bad rap, people think of them as loners who drink too much and talk to themselves. But they're some of the most generous people on Earth. I'm so honored and humbled to be part of that group. 

Learning all the time

The interesting thing about actively working on one novel-in-progress and having another in the back of my mind is that as I get help on the active one, I sometimes think of things that will help the inactive one. I can't really give a specific example. It's more of a cumulative process. Sure, sometimes I'll remember something a character said or did and the thought will pop into my head: Oh, I see why that's weak. I'll have to change that. But more often I'll remember the thought process that went into having a character say or do something, and realize that the process itself is lacking.

My other novel-in-progress (maybe I should start using NIP instead of WIP? *laff*) is kind of a self-discovery/coming-of-age story. One of the main characters is 18 when the story starts and is 24 or 25 when it ends. This is Street Glass. I got most of Neal's motivations and goals figured out, but when I put most of the first draft up for critiquing, people had a lot of trouble with Sandy who came off as just too nice of a guy without a good reason for wanting to pull Neal out of a dead-end life.

I put a bit of an edge to Sandy's personality and gave him a temper. Then I gave him a personal reason for wanting to help Neal (in the form of a cousin whose death Sandy felt was his fault). Both of those changes helped but still didn't feel like enough to readers.

That had me perplexed and even annoyed for quite a while. Annoyed because it was all so clear in my head and I couldn't understand why I wasn't conveying it to readers.

Now though, I can see the problems I had with Sandy were because I don't know him as well as I need to. Neal has always been easier for me to get emotions and thoughts across to readers. The thing is, I've written many scenes with Neal just for myself, because I like him so much I wanted to watch him react in scenes that are not intended to make it into the novel.

I did that a little with Sandy but decided I had him all figured out so didn't need to find anything else out about him. Oh, youth and inexperience!

Ironically, it's the same problem I currently have with Devorah in Night Shift. I like her well enough but have never felt I know what makes her tick. Kaz became much more interesting; bits of his backstory kept popping out at unexpected moments, pulling me right into his character. Devorah, well, not so much. Again I like her (quite a bit) and it didn't seem like I needed any more motivation for her.

Surprise! Then I got well-meaning advice like "pretend Oprah is interviewing your character". Sure, in general I can see how that could help. But I have no idea what Oprah would ask my character! Any real-life interviewer is a distinct personality that I can't just pretend to be. Generic, static lists of questions don't help me either because they're not tailored to my character.

So I got myself into the Plot Busters group at Scribophile where the purpose is to fix plots gone awry by looking at specific elements of character and plot (as well as story, which is different than plot).

What are some things you've gotten stuck on? Do characters give you more trouble than plot? Can you "pants" a story, or do you need to plot the whole way? I can't "pants" anything coherent. Do character interviews work for you? Do you use plot templates? This inquiring mind wants to know :)

Weekend Writing Warriors 10/20/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged rock musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

The previous excerpts are collected here. 

Thanks so much for all your wonderful comments on Phil; they gave me a lot of warm fuzzies J Moving on from that scene, the band’s rehearsal ends and Sandy gives Neal a lift to the mansion. It’s previously been explained that the four guys in the band live in the same house, though they’re not all there all the time. It’s enormous even for a mansion, enough to make Neal’s eyes pop and his breath catch when he first sees it. Inside, the place is full of crystal chandeliers, velvet sofas and chairs, a whole room recreating the band’s favorite club complete with fully stocked bar: you get the idea. Members of the band’s families gather for a send-off party before every tour, and Neal meets a bunch of them. 

Sandy showed up with something pale and bubbly in two fancy-cut glasses and gave one to Neal. “We use crystal and china for these get-togethers so be extra careful. There’s booze around too and I won’t say you shouldn’t have any, but don’t get plastered. You have to stick to limits.”

Neal drank from his crystal glass. Ginger ale? Fuck it. Limits. Yeah right.

The imaginative participants at Weekend Writing Warriors will show you snippets of romances, breakups, fantasy lands, cities on other planets, lands far back in Earth's history and some far in our future. I'm pretty picky about the stuff I read and I've found lots of stories I can't wait to read more of!

Thanks for visiting my blog today, and for all the continuing wonderful comments. They really make my week :-D

Weekend Writing Warriors 9/22/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged rock musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

After Neal is released from the rehab hospital, Sandy brings him over to the rehearsal hall where the band is getting ready for the North American tour that starts in a couple weeks.

It doesn’t really look like it here but this scene is in Neal’s POV.

          Sandy bounded up the stairs, waved toward the back of the stage, and called, “Phil, over here.”

          A tall guy in beat-up jeans and a sleeveless white t-shirt came over, holding a pair of drumsticks—a black guy.

          Neal crossed his arms; he didn’t expect that.

          “Hey, lighten up,” Phil said, “I don’t have problems with Latinos. We’re not in the ’hood here, man.”

          Sandy looked at both of them and said, “What?”

          “Sandy,” Phil laughed, “wake up. It’s a miracle you got through life in one piece. Blacks and Latinos fight in the ’hoods, I almost gave Neal a heart attack here.”

omg, Blogger is driving me crazy. All of a sudden, for the last 2 weeks, when I copy-n-paste from Word it won't hold my indenting :p

This excerpt has been condensed to fit the 8sunday format :-) Which includes creative punctuation!

The imaginative participants at Weekend Writing Warriors will show you snippets of romances, breakups, fantasy lands, cities on other planets, lands far back in Earth's history and some far in our future. I'm pretty picky about the stuff I read and I've found lots of stories I can't wait to read more of!

Thanks for visiting my blog today. Comments gratefully accepted :-D

Collected excerpts for Weekend Writing Warriors #2

I'm starting a new spot for my collected excerpts for Weekend Writing Warriors. The first set of excerpts can be found  here.

Moving ahead a little, Neal has begun the drug rehab program that Sandy threatened him with promised him. About a week into the 4-week program, he runs into his old friend Dario, who managed to escape the street gang and live to talk about it (how he dodged the rule of “if you leave, we kill you” is explained in the story J) Dario says he’s being released in two days. Neal devises a plan.

This section has been condensed to fit the rules so it reads a bit choppy here.

He and Dario followed the nurse to the front door where a middle-aged Latina gave Dario a hug.

The nurse wished Dario luck, told Neal morning therapy sessions would be starting soon, and walked off.

“Hey,” Dario said, “you remember mi madre, Mercedes?”

She chattered about how good it was to see Neal again so he must’ve met her before. Making sure that the nurses still weren’t watching, he shouldered Dario closer to the door.

Outside, Mercedes turned to look at Neal with a question on her face.

“He’s coming with us,” Dario told her, “and he’s gonna stay with me.”

“How nice that both of you finish treatment at the same time,” she said with a smile.

Dario shook his head but didn’t answer.

#

Last time, Neal skipped out of rehab with his friend Dario. I’m skipping past Neal arriving at Dario’s apartment. Neal’s disappointed to realize that Dario’s place is kind of small, doesn’t have a lot of furniture, and Dario doesn’t have a car. Later that evening, some guys outside start shouting for someone; Dario explains to Neal he’s told them that the dude they’re looking for doesn’t live in that apartment anymore. The guys outside shoot at the window. Dario drops to the floor. Neal crawls over to him. Dario whispers for him to call the cops but Neal balks at that. Dario tries again.

(Context: when they were in the street gang, Neal was known as Razor and Dario was known as Flaco.)

  

          “Took one in the stomach . . . go call, Razor.”

          Neal bit his lip. Sonofabitch, Dario was calling on him as a cholo, a brother, to help. “Stay with me, Flaco, I’m gonna call, then I’m comin’ back.”

          When he got back, Dario reached toward him and Neal hung on with both hands. A pair of ambulance guys showed up, kept pushing Neal out of the way to work on Dario, then scooped him on the stretcher and wheeled him out.

          Neal sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself. He started to shake and couldn’t stop.

#

Last time, Neal skipped out of rehab and got a rude surprise. In the current draft of the full story, I pick up with Sandy at the rehab hospital. It sounds like he's seen the last of Neal--for my 8sunday excerpt, I continue with Sandy still at the hospital.

Sandy crossed his arms and said, “You owe me some explanation of why you ran off, and why you came back.”

Neal shuffled down the hall, seeming to speak to his sneakers when he answered, “Just couldn’t deal with it. An’ I met up with Flaco.”

“If that’s the guy who left the gang before you, how did he wind up here?”

“Long story, we went to his apartment an’ some assholes lookin’ for somebody else shot him.”

“Oh my God, what happened to him?”

“They said he’d prob’ly make it, but who knows.”

“After your family getting shot, I suppose you came back to rehab because another shooting made you pretty nervous.”

Neal shifted his suitcase to the other hand, walked quicker, and said, “When I go back with you, I get more’n livin’ in a mansion .”

#

After Neal is released from the rehab hospital, Sandy brings him over to the rehearsal hall where the band is getting ready for the North American tour that starts in a couple weeks.

It doesn’t really look like it here but this scene is in Neal’s POV.

          Sandy bounded up the stairs, waved toward the back of the stage, and called, “Phil, over here.”

          A tall guy in beat-up jeans and a sleeveless white t-shirt came over, holding a pair of drumsticks—a black guy.

          Neal crossed his arms; he didn’t expect that.

          “Hey, lighten up,” Phil said, “I don’t have problems with Latinos. We’re not in the ’hood here, man.”

          Sandy looked at both of them and said, “What?”

          “Sandy,” Phil laughed, “wake up. It’s a miracle you got through life in one piece. Blacks and Latinos fight in the ’hoods, I almost gave Neal a heart attack here.”

#

Skipping ahead just a bit, Sandy’s drum tech (roadie) Phil offers to show Neal a little about Sandy’s drum kit. Phil hits a couple cymbals and explains why they’re named the way they are. Then he gives Neal a pair of drumsticks and urges him to take a seat at the drums. Phil speaks first here:

          “Hit one on your right side and see what happens.”

          As the stick hit the cymbal, it made a much duller, flatter sound.

          Phil winced and said, “Dude, move over, I’ve got to change that one.”

          Neal sprang up and moved away from the drum set; he just hit it like that chango told him to.

          Phil eased up to the cymbal and unscrewed something at the top.

          “You hit it in just the wrong place; your first lesson is, the only place to hit a crash cymbal is in the middle.”

          Neal raised his voice to say, “You tol’ me to hit it.”

          Phil took the cymbal off the stand and studied the top as he said, “Oh hey, I didn’t mean it’s your fault, this one hasn’t been sounding quite right and your hit just happened to be the last straw…yeah, it’s cracked, so now ya get to see how to set one up.”

           Neal blinked at him; no “get the fuck out, dickhead, you don’t know what you’re doing”?

          Phil grinned and said, “Shit happens, man, nothing lasts forever .”

Sorry for the funny punctuation ;-) I’m guessing I’m going to use a lot of creative punctuation for these excerpts!

#

While watching the band rehearse, Neal is unpleasantly surprised by the fact that Sandy’s drum tech, Phil, is a black guy; but Phil’s not like the creeps Neal knew back in the ’hood. He offers to teach Neal about the drum kit.

For reference, remember that these scenes take place in 1986. Coyote is the leader of the gang Neal left. The throne is what the drum seat is actually called. Also, please keep in mind that my excerpts are condensed quite a bit.

Because Phil remains a secondary support character in the story, he doesn’t get much “screen time” so I’m lingering on this scene to give him his due. Next week I’ll continue from where this week’s snippet ends. Phil tells Neal to tap one of the furthest-away cymbals, but Neal can’t quite reach it. Phil speaks first here.

“Second lesson: sit up straight and in the middle of the throne, not on the edge. Good posture is how you play better, faster and longer; plus, ya know, you feel better. President Reagan and Governor Deukmejian stand tall--there’s no doubt these guys mean business. You carry yourself like you’re worth something, and people will treat you that way.”

Neal blinked at him; who was he to be talking like that? He was right, though--Coyote got people out of his way just by how he looked at them. Neal shifted on the throne and sat up. He touched the cymbals easily.

#

Continuing immediately from last week, Phil and Neal are chatting. Phil gets pretty limited “screen time” in the novel but he’s a great guy, so I’m focusing on him for just a few excerpts.

He and Neal are at the band’s rehearsal, onstage for a few minutes while everybody else is busy elsewhere.

Neal speaks first.

“Hey, I didn’t think how I was sitting made a difference. Oh fuck,” he laughed.

“Now what?” Phil said.

“This’s totally loco. Y’know I shot at dudes like you, but you stand there an’ help me. Can’t figure it out.”

Phil focused on some spot out in the seats. “The past is the past. My family got chased out of Alabama so I’ve seen enough to know that every day we’re alive, God smiles on us.”

#

Thanks so much for all your wonderful comments on Phil; they gave me a lot of warm fuzzies J Moving on from that scene, the band’s rehearsal ends and Sandy gives Neal a lift to the mansion. It’s previously been explained that the four guys in the band live in the same house, though they’re not all there all the time. It’s enormous even for a mansion, enough to make Neal’s eyes pop and his breath catch when he first sees it. Inside, the place is full of crystal chandeliers, velvet sofas and chairs, a whole room recreating the band’s favorite club complete with fully stocked bar: you get the idea. Members of the band’s families gather for a send-off party before every tour, and Neal meets a bunch of them. 

Sandy showed up with something pale and bubbly in two fancy-cut glasses and gave one to Neal. “We use crystal and china for these get-togethers so be extra careful. There’s booze around too and I won’t say you shouldn’t have any, but don’t get plastered. You have to stick to limits.”

Neal drank from his crystal glass. Ginger ale? Fuck it. Limits. Yeah right.

#