A few days ago I had the opportunity to talk to a friend about what I was writing. Now, I talk about what I'm writing all the time. "I'm writing an article about such and such." "I'm writing a novel. There are werewolves. Right now I'm writing dialogue." "I switched to first person today. Here's a blog post about it!" But I don't often get into the nitty gritty of plot problems.
I was sitting in the coffee shop, scowling at my computer and dramatically sighing and groaning--not really looking for attention, but if there's someone at the table with you, you can make noises without the people at other tables giving you the side eye. But it (obviously) caught the attention of my friend across the table, who asked me what my problem was.
"This fight scene isn't working."
And instead of "Ah...Well...Power through?" he said, "But you're good at fight scenes!" And then he asked me questions about it, and I started explaining details.
What I generally do in this situation (and what I'm going to do for you) is to be vague. I was having trouble because I needed to hit a balance between way too easy for our heroes and comically ridiculous to the point that they'd never survive. This doesn't seem like it would be too hard, but it felt like if I made it difficult enough, the action went on too long. Maybe I needed something to mix it up? Maybe I needed to make the mission easier, but have there be more henchmen? Less henchmen? How many henchmen can I reasonably get away with before this place turns into a clown car?
But the other day, I just explained what was happening in the scene. "Dude A is doing X, and they have to keep the hordes of bad guys from killing them while he finishes." And we talked about it, and it was great. I didn't have all the answers when we were done with our brief conversation, but I had the start of a plan, and I felt better about the whole thing.
The other benefit was that I had to verbalize what the problem was, making it clearer in my head and easier to approach.
A lot of people don't like to talk about their writing, because if they explain it, they lose interest in writing it. I don't have that problem, but I'll often not talk about my work because I'll get embarrassed half-way through the conversation and I'll back out saying, "I'll figure something out." Then other times, I don't want to bore people when I know my verbal presentation of a situation won't be nearly as good as if I have it written down.
But I think there's something to be said about brainstorming with another person. One of my favorite things about he "post as you go" method of publishing stories is that you get immediate feedback. People will often tell me where they think the story will go, or what they hope will happen, or "don't you dare do this!" I don't take their ideas and write them without changing them, but their thoughts will often spawn something. They'll light a fire that burns into something unrecognizable.
September 29, 2014
September 25, 2014
Fun with Auto-Suggest
We use my computer at Ink & Blood tournaments. The contestants type on it, and whatever is on their screen shows up on a television so the audience can see the story as it's written.
The bad news is that my Open Office is really fond of auto-suggest. And its auto-suggestions are based off of words that are commonly used on it. Which means that the audiences for Ink & Blood tournaments can probably figure out what I've been writing recently. Embarrassing!
Some fun ones:
I'm not sure how a word gets put on the auto-suggest list. I'm sure I could investigate, but the mystery is kind of exciting. And I have figured out how to turn it off, which I will at the next Ink & Blood event. And I've figured out how to remove words from the list.
But why would I? It's not particularly helpful, because I don't look at my screen when I type. (My gaze hovers above the B key no matter what I'm typing, and I can't type unless I'm looking at it.) And--like I said--it's embarrassing. But it's also kinda funny. And if I can't laugh about how I'm writing enough about werewolves for my computer to pick up on that fact, then I don't deserve to be writing about werewolves. And there's something to be said with being exasperated with how many things in my stories are exasperating and how many characters are exasperated about those things.
The bad news is that my Open Office is really fond of auto-suggest. And its auto-suggestions are based off of words that are commonly used on it. Which means that the audiences for Ink & Blood tournaments can probably figure out what I've been writing recently. Embarrassing!
Some fun ones:
- werewolves
- dingus
- exasperated
- booty-call
- needs-anger-management
I'm not sure how a word gets put on the auto-suggest list. I'm sure I could investigate, but the mystery is kind of exciting. And I have figured out how to turn it off, which I will at the next Ink & Blood event. And I've figured out how to remove words from the list.
But why would I? It's not particularly helpful, because I don't look at my screen when I type. (My gaze hovers above the B key no matter what I'm typing, and I can't type unless I'm looking at it.) And--like I said--it's embarrassing. But it's also kinda funny. And if I can't laugh about how I'm writing enough about werewolves for my computer to pick up on that fact, then I don't deserve to be writing about werewolves. And there's something to be said with being exasperated with how many things in my stories are exasperating and how many characters are exasperated about those things.
September 18, 2014
React and Reveal
There's this idea in film where you show the reaction of the characters before you reveal what they're reacting to.
This puts an emphasis on the emotional aspect of the reveal. It tells us specifically what this event means besides a cool effect or a plot twist. Furthermore, it sets us up to expect something great. "This is going to be something shocking. Oh my God! It is!"
Once this trick was pointed out to me, I realized that it translates to writing as well, and I realized that I've been using it. In the first sentence there will be a character reaction. The sentence afterwards, I'll tell you why. "He opened the refrigerator, and stumbled backwards with a yelp. Something horrible had happened to the beer, leaving the fridge a mess of sticky brown liquid, froth, the remains of exploded aluminum cans, and the smell of hops."
So I've been thinking, "Neat. That's a cool thing," and left it at that. But I'm bringing it up today, because I read a book the other day that did this trick and it didn't work. Basically, what happened was that the characters would react. They would react some more. They would talk to each other about what this meant. They would argue. Then a page and a half later, we'd be told what had happened. It was too long a delay. I would be confused during the characters' discussion because I didn't know what was happening who whose side I should take. The suspense didn't last as long as I think the author intended, so my sitting on pins and needles wore off and didn't last through the whole thing. Instead I was just waiting to get through it so I could know what happened. But then, by the time they'd gotten around to explaining and no one had died or anything, I knew that it wasn't the most important thing ever. I didn't even really care what had happened. Or I cared much less than I would have. Let's say that.
It's pretty interesting to see these tricks stretched to their limits, it gets me thinking about where those limits are.
- Our hero stares in wide-eyed horror as the camera pans to film him from a high angle.
- Cut to the giant monster that has risen to loom over him.
- Our hero walks out to the parking lot. He stumbles. His face falls. "No, no, no, no, no," he says.
- Cut to show that a piano (which we'd previously seen in preparation to be hauled into a third floor window) has fallen on his Honda, crushing it in a mess of twisted metal and broken glass.
- Our hero's face falls into the most beautiful smile. He's speechless. He's tearing up.
- Cut to his daughter, who isn't dead after all!
This puts an emphasis on the emotional aspect of the reveal. It tells us specifically what this event means besides a cool effect or a plot twist. Furthermore, it sets us up to expect something great. "This is going to be something shocking. Oh my God! It is!"
Once this trick was pointed out to me, I realized that it translates to writing as well, and I realized that I've been using it. In the first sentence there will be a character reaction. The sentence afterwards, I'll tell you why. "He opened the refrigerator, and stumbled backwards with a yelp. Something horrible had happened to the beer, leaving the fridge a mess of sticky brown liquid, froth, the remains of exploded aluminum cans, and the smell of hops."
So I've been thinking, "Neat. That's a cool thing," and left it at that. But I'm bringing it up today, because I read a book the other day that did this trick and it didn't work. Basically, what happened was that the characters would react. They would react some more. They would talk to each other about what this meant. They would argue. Then a page and a half later, we'd be told what had happened. It was too long a delay. I would be confused during the characters' discussion because I didn't know what was happening who whose side I should take. The suspense didn't last as long as I think the author intended, so my sitting on pins and needles wore off and didn't last through the whole thing. Instead I was just waiting to get through it so I could know what happened. But then, by the time they'd gotten around to explaining and no one had died or anything, I knew that it wasn't the most important thing ever. I didn't even really care what had happened. Or I cared much less than I would have. Let's say that.
It's pretty interesting to see these tricks stretched to their limits, it gets me thinking about where those limits are.
September 12, 2014
That Big Table at Starbucks
There's something about the big table at Starbucks. The one with the power outlets, where you sit with strangers. It's like a magnet for sketchy people.
The best story is still the guy that sat down across from me without ordering coffee and ate a chicken sandwich from Arby's. He then stared at me for twenty minutes. I kept typing. Then he reached out, ever so gently, and stroked the back of my laptop.
And I kept typing. Because what can I say to that? I could smile and ask with endless compassion, "I'm sorry, could you not touch my computer, please?" I could flip the table and scream, "What the hell, dude!?" I could run away and be shaky and afraid for the next hour.
Or I could sit there. Because I have as much right as him to sit at that table (I actually had more right, because I was a paying customer.) So I sat there for another 20 minutes, not letting anything show, and finished off the scene I was writing before hookin' it.
Probably not the best way to handle it, but I convinced myself at the time that I'd won.
The other day I had a student in Evanston, and I figured I could go early, miss the traffic, and then spend a couple hours in a Starbucks up there. For the first hour, it was fine. I sat next to a guy with a latte and an iPad he propped up with his wallet, who minded his own business. I got a chapter written, even though it needed some pretty serious editing.
I was going to take a break and read a short story a friend sent me, before I went to work on edits for my chapter. The guy with the latte packed up and left, and then a woman sat down at the table.
And for a while I thought she was on the phone, maybe one of those ear piece/blu tooth things, and I kept surreptitiously leaning to the side to see if she had one just out of sight.
She didn't. She was just talking to herself. Which is completely fine with me. I talk to myself all the time, and I have a certain level of respect for people who will do it in public. Like the guy at New Wave who sings. (Thank you for sharing your song with us, Guy at New Wave. You have a lovely singing voice.)
But this was not something that could be tuned out, something that faded into the background, and added to the white noise I surround myself with at coffee shops. Even though the tone was the same, the content snagged like burrs. She talked about slicing. And snapping. And his blood would drip. And she would make a feast of a man's heart.
Her words were violence and menace and the sneaking suspicion she was describing the other patrons.
I packed up, ducked out, and read a novel for a half hour in my car. I don't think I won that one, but I don't really know what winning would look like.
The best story is still the guy that sat down across from me without ordering coffee and ate a chicken sandwich from Arby's. He then stared at me for twenty minutes. I kept typing. Then he reached out, ever so gently, and stroked the back of my laptop.
And I kept typing. Because what can I say to that? I could smile and ask with endless compassion, "I'm sorry, could you not touch my computer, please?" I could flip the table and scream, "What the hell, dude!?" I could run away and be shaky and afraid for the next hour.
Or I could sit there. Because I have as much right as him to sit at that table (I actually had more right, because I was a paying customer.) So I sat there for another 20 minutes, not letting anything show, and finished off the scene I was writing before hookin' it.
Probably not the best way to handle it, but I convinced myself at the time that I'd won.
The other day I had a student in Evanston, and I figured I could go early, miss the traffic, and then spend a couple hours in a Starbucks up there. For the first hour, it was fine. I sat next to a guy with a latte and an iPad he propped up with his wallet, who minded his own business. I got a chapter written, even though it needed some pretty serious editing.
I was going to take a break and read a short story a friend sent me, before I went to work on edits for my chapter. The guy with the latte packed up and left, and then a woman sat down at the table.
And for a while I thought she was on the phone, maybe one of those ear piece/blu tooth things, and I kept surreptitiously leaning to the side to see if she had one just out of sight.
She didn't. She was just talking to herself. Which is completely fine with me. I talk to myself all the time, and I have a certain level of respect for people who will do it in public. Like the guy at New Wave who sings. (Thank you for sharing your song with us, Guy at New Wave. You have a lovely singing voice.)
But this was not something that could be tuned out, something that faded into the background, and added to the white noise I surround myself with at coffee shops. Even though the tone was the same, the content snagged like burrs. She talked about slicing. And snapping. And his blood would drip. And she would make a feast of a man's heart.
Her words were violence and menace and the sneaking suspicion she was describing the other patrons.
I packed up, ducked out, and read a novel for a half hour in my car. I don't think I won that one, but I don't really know what winning would look like.
September 5, 2014
Project Time: Perspective Shift!
I'm changing my latest novel project from 3rd person to 1st person. This isn't as big a production as it sounds because I haven't written all that much. Actually, making serious changes like this makes me feel far less guilty that I've done so little.
I decided to do this for a couple of reasons.
On the other hand, I had a situation that lost something. When it was in third person, the sentence was "August dove for the phone before Chelsey could answer it." But now that it's from August's point of view, August would never admit that she dove for a phone. Hell no. She's way too cool to physically throw herself on anything. And she's way too prideful to admit she did, even if it did happen due to some wildly outlandish situation that probably won't ever come up again.
So basically, I'm dealing with an unreliable narrator and I'm finding that the experience I have with unreliable narrators doesn't translate like I thought it would, which is an interesting subject in itself and worth further investigation. What makes this different? What skills can I take from what I've done before?
I decided to do this for a couple of reasons.
- First person gives it a stronger voice
- Exposition sounds more natural
On the other hand, I had a situation that lost something. When it was in third person, the sentence was "August dove for the phone before Chelsey could answer it." But now that it's from August's point of view, August would never admit that she dove for a phone. Hell no. She's way too cool to physically throw herself on anything. And she's way too prideful to admit she did, even if it did happen due to some wildly outlandish situation that probably won't ever come up again.
So basically, I'm dealing with an unreliable narrator and I'm finding that the experience I have with unreliable narrators doesn't translate like I thought it would, which is an interesting subject in itself and worth further investigation. What makes this different? What skills can I take from what I've done before?
September 3, 2014
GPOY
One of my favorite things when reading, is when I see my experience reflected back at me, and I say, "Yes! This is exactly what it's like."
I love it on small scales. A comment about how old socks have stretched so now the hole in the heel is up around the ankle. A note about the cheap, boxed cookies that some grad student brought for after the guest lecture. The way the night sky is sometimes pink from light pollution, or the way the CTA guy pronounces "Balbo" like he's a little surprised. Mentions of families taking pictures in the wild flowers on the side of the highway. Any mention of fixing a bra with tape or pliers.
It validates my experience. It celebrates these images that make up my life. It makes me feel less alone, because someone else has seen these things and felt these feelings. (And here we could get into a big essay on why representation is important.)
I've talked before about how details make the story breathe and draw the setting up around you. But I think it's not only that the experience seeps into the details, that these details exist, but also the way that these details are presented.
I enjoy it most when they're presented like it ain't no thing. It's just how it is. It's so entrenched that the characters, the narrator, and the reader all take it for granted. That's why it's so stunning when it's presented to you. You realize that, yes, that's how it is. That's this small part of my life spelled out in words, and I've never thought of it before, but I've always known it.
Which makes it a little tricky. It's mentioned, and the very act of mentioning it means it's important or gives it "significant presentation." But if too fine a point is put on it, if it's explained too thoroughly, or presented like "Let me tell you about this thing that you don't know, even though you already know it, because I clearly know it better," it doesn't work. I get incensed or offended or my suspension of disbelief is ruined.
It reminds me of that time that I didn't laugh at this guy's joke about Babe Ruth (because it wasn't funny) and he went on to explain to me that Babe Ruth was this famous baseball player.
Dude. Just no.
I got on a friend's case about this the other day in a story of his I was reading. I didn't realize how big a deal this is for me until I'd written a page log, ranty response to a sentence he wrote. It got me thinking about what makes these details work and what makes them not work, and I've come up with two rules for how to warm my heart strings when it comes to presenting real life situations that I have experienced.
Except when I hit just that right note in my writing, when someone tells me "you nailed what I've never been able to put into words," it's the most amazing thing. It's something to strive for. It's the heart of all writing.
I love it on small scales. A comment about how old socks have stretched so now the hole in the heel is up around the ankle. A note about the cheap, boxed cookies that some grad student brought for after the guest lecture. The way the night sky is sometimes pink from light pollution, or the way the CTA guy pronounces "Balbo" like he's a little surprised. Mentions of families taking pictures in the wild flowers on the side of the highway. Any mention of fixing a bra with tape or pliers.
It validates my experience. It celebrates these images that make up my life. It makes me feel less alone, because someone else has seen these things and felt these feelings. (And here we could get into a big essay on why representation is important.)
I've talked before about how details make the story breathe and draw the setting up around you. But I think it's not only that the experience seeps into the details, that these details exist, but also the way that these details are presented.
I enjoy it most when they're presented like it ain't no thing. It's just how it is. It's so entrenched that the characters, the narrator, and the reader all take it for granted. That's why it's so stunning when it's presented to you. You realize that, yes, that's how it is. That's this small part of my life spelled out in words, and I've never thought of it before, but I've always known it.
Which makes it a little tricky. It's mentioned, and the very act of mentioning it means it's important or gives it "significant presentation." But if too fine a point is put on it, if it's explained too thoroughly, or presented like "Let me tell you about this thing that you don't know, even though you already know it, because I clearly know it better," it doesn't work. I get incensed or offended or my suspension of disbelief is ruined.
It reminds me of that time that I didn't laugh at this guy's joke about Babe Ruth (because it wasn't funny) and he went on to explain to me that Babe Ruth was this famous baseball player.
Dude. Just no.
I got on a friend's case about this the other day in a story of his I was reading. I didn't realize how big a deal this is for me until I'd written a page log, ranty response to a sentence he wrote. It got me thinking about what makes these details work and what makes them not work, and I've come up with two rules for how to warm my heart strings when it comes to presenting real life situations that I have experienced.
- It has to be presented with the same level of acknowlegement that I give it when I encounter it. So if I don't really think about it, but the character or narrator makes it into a big deal, I'm going to think they're new here.
- It has to be presented with the same level of respect that I give it when I encounter it. Some things I meet with fondness and nostalgia. Some things are irritating, but a fact of life, so what are you going to do?
Except when I hit just that right note in my writing, when someone tells me "you nailed what I've never been able to put into words," it's the most amazing thing. It's something to strive for. It's the heart of all writing.
September 1, 2014
BYOT XV
Friday and Saturday was BYOT XV: Catchy Subtitle, the 24 hour play project where teams are assigned, themes are given, writers have 12 hours to write, and then actors and directors have 12 hours to practice before the big show.
I wrote again this time. Our theme was "frenemies" and we ended up with three male actors, the idea of showing how guys can also have frenemy relationships, and the idea that we could subvert tropes about masculine friendships. Coming out of our initial, brief brainstorming session, I was terrified that I had no idea how to do this in the time given and that these guys were all going to think I was an idiot. Also, I was trying to do too much in a ten minute play and have it all have an emotional kick. But in the end, I just sucked it up and wrote my ideas, and it came out to 10 pages, and I decided that would have to do.
And it worked! I don't think I captured completely what our group was going for, but I gave them a foundation and then the guys accomplished it with their body language and the staging. They took these parts and made them full characters. They made a meal of this script. It was amazing, and I felt so awed and relieved.
The plays were recorded, and will be up on the YouTube page at some point in the future, at which point, I'll put the video up here. (Speaking of which, the post about the last play I wrote, "Put a Ring on It," has bee edited to include the video.)
Below the cut is my script for the lazily titled play, "The Snake." Enjoy
I wrote again this time. Our theme was "frenemies" and we ended up with three male actors, the idea of showing how guys can also have frenemy relationships, and the idea that we could subvert tropes about masculine friendships. Coming out of our initial, brief brainstorming session, I was terrified that I had no idea how to do this in the time given and that these guys were all going to think I was an idiot. Also, I was trying to do too much in a ten minute play and have it all have an emotional kick. But in the end, I just sucked it up and wrote my ideas, and it came out to 10 pages, and I decided that would have to do.
And it worked! I don't think I captured completely what our group was going for, but I gave them a foundation and then the guys accomplished it with their body language and the staging. They took these parts and made them full characters. They made a meal of this script. It was amazing, and I felt so awed and relieved.
The plays were recorded, and will be up on the YouTube page at some point in the future, at which point, I'll put the video up here. (Speaking of which, the post about the last play I wrote, "Put a Ring on It," has bee edited to include the video.)
Below the cut is my script for the lazily titled play, "The Snake." Enjoy
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