Tag Archives: storytelling

And that’s a NaNoWriMo wrap

Well, that was an experience. My first NaNoWriMo. I didn’t quite make it to the end, but I did give it a red hot go for 25 days out of 30 and achieved 41, 750 words.

This (aside from the fact I didn’t achieve the ultimate goal of 50K) is a wonderful thing. It’s certainly more words than I’ve produced in a month before, and although it hasn’t brought me to the end of the story, I’m definitely a whole lot closer.

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Where NaNo worked for me

I’m someone who responds to tracking and accountability. Entering my daily word-count into the NaNo web site, examining my statistics, and keeping track of my fellow writing buddies’ progress was all the incentive I needed. That and a desire to ‘win’ a challenge.

NaNoWriMo gave me the framework I needed to be more disciplined than normal. I wrote when I didn’t feel like it (mostly). I wrote on the evenings when all I wanted to do was watch TV, or read a book. I even wrote late in the evenings after I’d been out — and in the hair salon. I had my word quota to reach, dammit! There were a couple of days when I gave myself a break, but those were all factored in.

As for the whole ‘dismiss your inner editor’ aspect of NaNoWriMo… I found this liberating in some ways. I tried to adopt the attitude that it didn’t matter how the words came out, that all that mattered was the story itself. And even if the story went off the rails a little, which it did from time to time, I could just ignore the bits that hadn’t worked and recalibrate in the next scene. This helped me keep ploughing ahead without going back to rewrite and edit… a somewhat alien concept for me.

Where it didn’t work so well

The hardest thing about NaNoWriMo for me was coming up with scene after scene after scene… As I said in an earlier post, I usually take a little longer to mull over what specifically should happen next. The relentless pace of NaNoWriMo really challenged me in this regard, and was ultimately what defeated me in the end: Last Sunday I reached a point in the story where I felt I needed to start pulling all the strands together to work up to the climax — and for that I needed (need!) reflection time.

Maybe I could have gone on anyway, just to see what my subconscious dragged up. Maybe I could have gone back to insert some scenes from other POV characters I’ve been skimming over… Maybe.

But I didn’t. I just felt I needed to stop, think, mull. Ah well, nearly 42K words is not so bad!

Would I do it again?

Whether or not I officially participate in NaNoWriMo again, I might very well tackle something similar on my own terms. It’s certainly been effective for me, at least while I’m embracing this ‘rough first draft’ philosophy… It’s not something to be undertaken all the time, but for pounding out that rough first draft it’s been good — up to a point.

But maybe it’s enough to know that I can force the wordslinging upon myself for a week or two at a time, and in future I can take it from there. It’s certainly given me a new process to consider. Perhaps going forward I can set myself timelines that might have once seemed unrealistic, but which now are achievable through adopting some of these new found techniques.

When it comes to redrafting and editing though, that’ll be a whole new ball game. That’s when the novel will truly begin to come alive, and that’s what will take all the time.

And that’s actually the part I am looking forward to. I think there are two fundamental kinds of authors: 1) those who feel the thrill of raw storytelling, who love discovering what happens and therefore love the first-draft process and the editing not so much; 2) those who feel the thrill of making a story come to life, through the perfect balance of setting, emotion, character, conflict etc, and therefore live for redrafting, editing and polishing.

I’m the latter. Definitely.

So in that respect, NaNoWriMo could be considered a damn good thing to force me through that first draft process!


NaNoWriMo sanity check

This is just going to be a quick update of where I’m at with stuff (aka NaNoWriMo sanity check).

The most excellent news is that I’m still on schedule to complete the 50K in 30 days and sailed past 35K this evening. There was a mini meltdown on Monday evening, when the pressure of producing so many damn words got to me and I could feel myself getting worked up. So I took myself off to bed with a trashy novel. That did the trick and the next day I was back.

The thing I am finding most challenging is coming up with so much story in such a short amount of time. Clearly I need practice at this! In the past, my slow-burn writing process has provided plenty of thinking and mulling time. I’ve been able to carefully consider where the story should head next, then carefully consider the words used to go there. Not so with NaNoWriMo and this new ‘rough first draft’ I’m attempting. Every night is a new scene and I have to figure out what’s going to happen. Ack!

The thing that got me on Monday night was the completion of a major turning point on Sunday, which meant I not only had to figure out the next scene, I had to figure out where the entire novel needed to go. This sort of thing can take me hours of mulling and brainstorming… which meant of course I didn’t actually have any time left to write, what with the dayjob and all.

But all is good. I figured it out the next day and am back on track again — words-wise, that is. The quality of the story itself remains to be seen. But I think it’s going in the right direction, which is the main thing. There will be much rewriting in the new year. Definitely.

That’s all I wanted to say at this stage, really. There are just 9 days to go, and in many ways that seems like an eternity. Yet at the same time it’s hard to believe I’ve been at this for 21 days already! The time has really flown.

Because it’s Wednesday, and I’m supposed to present my inspiration of the week, I’m going to include it here at the end. And this is the thing that has kept me going for the past 21 days: my writing community — including both my local writing group, my online wana facebook group, and any other writers who happen to stumble upon my blog and say hello. You guys are all awesome! (And for those non-writers reading this, your support matters a lot too!)

 


The epiphany: a new perspective

I had a major epiphany while working on my WIP today. I suddenly saw a solution to several problems all at once, and it was utterly thrilling.

Very sadly, I was alone in the cafe at that point , my writing companion having disappeared temporarily for an appointment. I must’ve looked agitated, because the serving staff started apologising to me for making lots of noise as they rearranged tables for a group booking. (I think they’ve come to rather like the weird group of writers who camp out in their cafe all Saturday.) I daresay I might have had my hand clamped over my mouth, my eyes darting around wildly, as all the possibilities unfurled before my racing brain.

It was something as simple — and as significant – as a whole new viewpoint character.

I had previously ditched one of my two viewpoint characters (leaving me with just the one) because I wasn’t feeling the love. But it was troubling me how I was going to tell the other half of the story…

And then suddenly I realised I had this other character already there, ready and waiting for me to tell her story too, a story that will reflect my main character’s story perfectly. It both adds dimension and drives straight to the heart of my main storyline; it helps me show a whole heap of cultural worldbuilding stuff that I was trying to figure out how to cover. In a word, it’s perfect.

This really has been a most productive week for me — in more ways than one. There’s something in the water (or the coffee… or the wine!) at that cafe! Just had to share :-)


Martha Tilston’s take on Wall Street

For those not familiar with folk music, it might be easy to assume that today’s folk scene is entirely comprised of ancient dances and story ballads. Men and women in weird costumes jigging to the jolly sounds of fiddles and tin whistles… or the minstrel in the corner strumming a guitar and singing about the trials and tribulations of Tam Lin — right?

Well, yes… in part.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that stuff. (Maybe not the weird costumes.) But most contemporary folk musicians write their own songs and music. The need to tell stories and comment on social and political issues has not dwindled with time, and rare is the serious musician who performs entirely covers! They might embrace the traditional tunes and keep a few on their set list, but they’re certainly here to convey their own words, from the heart, to the audience.

The ‘clip’ below is from one of my favourites, UK songwriter Martha Tilston.

According to You Tube: A song inspired by people gathered down Wall Street, asking peacefully where does the money flow from, and who does it go to. The only true futures market is our children, and the planet they live on.

Enjoy.

 


Robert McKee Thriller Day – part 3

And now for part 3 of my Thriller Day summary, in which the craft and conventions of writing thrillers are contemplated.

Story design

I mentioned in an earlier post that McKee is famous for his four-day ‘Story’ seminar and accompanying book, both of which sound extremely worthwhile. Most people in the audience were familiar with one or other of these, but he still went over the basics of his ‘story design’ philosophy to facilitate discussions (and particularly the movie breakdown).

Basically, McKee breaks a story down into a series of elements defined by the magnitude of change:

  • Scene—The basic building block, defined as a single event in which meaningful change occurs. On its own, this may be a MINOR change in life situation that comes about through some form of conflict.
  • Sequence—A series of 3-5 scenes that together result in more significant change than a single scene can accomplish; culminates in a sequence climax or turning point that has greater and broader impact; MODERATE change. These moderate turning points are often forgotten, but help with good story pacing.
  • Act—A series of sequences that lead to MAJOR change occurring at the act climax, often known as a major turning point.
  • Story—A series of acts that culminate in the story climax, which sees ABSOLUTE and irreversible change. [NOTE: Some conventions suggest stories traditionally have 3 acts, but this is no longer so; 4 or 5 acts are not uncommon these days.]

Climaxes

And so we come to the end of the story, when the protagonist prevails – or doesn’t. In fact, McKee says there are six possible positive climaxes to a thriller, based on the method by which the protagonist defeats the antagonist:

  • Antagonist overpowered—The protagonist masters the power of the antagonist by becoming as violent or as strong. Essentially the protagonist, pushed to the edge of endurance, has to descend to antagonist’s level… using evil to escape evil. This can either result in a truly positive outcome, or involve irony. (2 possible endings)
  • Antagonist outsmarted—The protagonist discovers a weakness in the antagonist and exploits it. Once again, can be a a truly positive outcome or involve irony. (2 possible endings)
  • Antagonist overpowered and outsmarted, with or without irony. (2 possible endings)

Similarly, there are six possible negative endings, where the roles are reversed and the protagonist is defeated.

Conventions

Most genres have story conventions and thrillers are no different. Some of the most fundamental, already discussed, include a normally urban setting, the committal and discovery of a crime that leads to damnation, the key roles of protagonist and antagonist, and the primary values at stake of survival and justice.

In addition to these, there are what McKee calls the ‘3 conventions of suspense’:

  • The ‘closed’ thriller/mystery, where the identity of the antagonist is unknown
  • The ‘open’ thriller/suspense, where the identity of the antagonist is known and the crime may have been witnessed.
  • The ‘closed-to-open’ thriller/’mystery-to-suspense’, where the initially unknown antagonist is identified through the course of the story; the focus changes from finding out ‘whodunnit’ to figuring out how to to catch them.

Other thriller conventions include:

  • The moment where the protagonist, at the extreme mercy of the villain, somehow turns the tables on the antagonist to prevail.
  • The cheap surprise, when something pops or moves and basically makes the audience jump
  • The fake ending, when you think it’s all over, but it’s not quite . . .
  • The speech in praise of the villain, where the protagonist finds an occasion to remind everyone just how powerful he is. This is important, as it builds up the power of the antagonist for the audience.
  • Making it personal, when the antagonist finds a way to get at the protagonist and truly make him the victim, but shifting the stakes from professional to personal.

The main point about conventions is to make sure they are present but dealt with in a non-clichéd way.

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So that concludes my summary of all the ‘theory’ covered during the Thriller Day seminar, and certainly provides a fantastic starting point for writing a psychological thriller. (I’m not sure at this stage whether I will include a post on deconstructing the movie SE7EN, since it heavily relies on a screening. Basically, the film was screened in ‘sequences’ and analysed taking all the theory into consideration. A very worthwhile exercise, but perhaps not so easy to write and read about.)

Finally I want to note that despite the emphasis on thrillers, I believe much of the content in these three posts will also be of great use for writing stories in general – for in what genre do we not attempt to push the protagonist to the edge, or contemplate how they will rise to defeat their antagonist? On the whole, an extremely worthwhile day of listening and note-taking.

Links to part 1 and part 2 in this series.


WriMoFoFo wrap-up

I learnt some things about my writing process over the past 30 days of the WriMoFoFo challenge.

The first is that I can actually push myself to let the story come out and ‘write badly’ if I put my mind to it. I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter if the dialogue was bad, or the descriptions clichéd, or the whole thing was lacking sufficient character reaction/reflection etc — so long as the story was heading in a good direction. (Because all those other things can be fixed later.) So, with my eyes on the word total, I blithely chucked words down onto the page to see whether any would stick.

The second is that I don’t really like (or feel comfortable) writing in this manner. My saving grace has been my writing journal (introduced in my previous post), in which I have copious notes of things to add/change in the various scenes, and in which I wrote repeated messages to myself to just keep going: never mind the detail, feel the width!

The third is that stories don’t come to me in a rush — nor do the best ways of telling them. I probably already knew this, and I suspect it’s the reason I’m a plotter and not a pantser;  I really need to pay close attention to structure and pacing.  So sometimes I simply need to stop, ignore the word count and play out the options in my head (or in my journal), because the right path to take is not always obvious.

This last point is what ultimately brought me undone on this WriMoFoFo challenge. I reached a point in the novel (which is still in the fairly early stages) where I began to question what is the best thing to happen next, and also to question whether the path to this point was working. Urges to go back to the beginning and revise/edit/expand became very strong indeed. No more on this for now, because I think this debate will be the subject of a future post. But suffice to say that it was enough to temporarily halt the wordmachine.

Anyway, I achieved 77% of the target number of words for the 30 day period. And if I consider that I lost four days at the start, and then capsized with three days to go, then that’s a whole week I effectively wasn’t writing. So I’m actually really happy with that result.


Where to start? The first chapter

Being in the early stages of a new novel, I’ve been thinking a lot about openings and first chapters. They are both essential to get right for different reasons: the opening (first couple of paragraphs) needs to immediately engage the reader, while the first chapter kicks off the story and generally provides the hook.

Most writers spend a phenomenal amount of time working on the opening, because this is the first thing anyone reads. For unpublished writers, it is particularly important, because agents and editors are unlikely to persevere beyond a mediocre opening by an unknown.

It’s hard to pinpoint a definitive formula, however. Just flicking through random novels on my bookshelf reveals several different ways to begin: mid-scene (action), description of setting/landscape, a narrator viewpoint on philosophy/life (especially in 1st person), or simply a narrative launch into the story itself.

About the only rule of the opening (assuming it’s engaging) is that it reflects the tone and style of the novel to come. But the thing with openings is that you can go back and sculpt them later. It’s probably quite rare that the actual first words penned remain as the opening.

First chapters, on the other hand, are a little more critical in the early stages of writing a novel–or so I think. And here it’s a matter of plot, rather than the actual words (which, again, can be perfected on editing or redrafting). The challenge is choosing the right place to start the story–which events will best launch the story you want to tell and engage the reader.

We know that the first chapter must leave the reader with questions they want to know the answer to. It could cover the inciting incident that creates the central conflict of the novel (as in a dead body being discovered in a crime story) . . . or it could merely contain a dramatic incident that underpins the main inciting incident. In the first case, it’s fairly cut and dried as to the content of chapter 1, but in the second there’s a lot more scope for variation.

And this is where the challenge lies, because once you’ve selected the opening scene and written it, it invariably leads to another scene, and another, and pretty soon you’re invested in a particular course of action as the route to setting up the main conflict.

All the other essential elements of the first chapter–depictions of character, establishment of setting, style and voice etc–need to be mastered as well, but these can be adapted to whatever events are happening. It’s the event selection that is critical to get right from the start to save a whole lot of rewriting.

(And while I’m talking about should be included in the first chapter, I might as well acknowledge what shouldn’t: backstory. If I’ve read it once, I’ve read it a thousand times. Since I have a tendency to forget this rule, I probably need to have it tattooed somewhere prominent…)

I’m banging on about all this because I’m currently trying to set up an ideological conflict, which could unfold in a variety of ways. Choosing the best path–and the most powerful inciting incident–has been consuming my thoughts for some weeks now. It’s so critical to lay a strong foundation before going too far.

I should mention that these first chapter considerations have assumed one is commencing with a scene containing action. Not all novels do, however, and in going through my bookshelves I pulled out a few much-loved fantasy novels that began with narrative histories of the main character (notably Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s Dart, Robin Hobb’s Assassin’s Apprentice, and Melanie Rawn’s The Ruins of Ambrai). But I confess I love these novels despite their opening chapters. I have a strong preference for opening action.

A good example I came across today was Lynn Flewelling’s Luck in the Shadows. Following a short action-based prologue, it starts with the scene in which the two main characters meet–in a prison from which they escape together. There is zero backstory and not a lot of indication of where the story is headed, but the hook is the mysterious character of Seregil. I wanted to sit down then and there and read the whole book all over again! I reckon that’s the sign of a pretty good first chapter.

Any other good first chapter examples?


Changing direction

Well, fate snickered at me a week ago when, despite my earlier upbeat words about targets and optimising the wordmachine, production came to a grinding halt. Sparks flew and wheels screeched as the brakes were slammed on in response to my sudden realisation that the MS I was working on was not the MS I should be working on.

The epiphany? That writing a sequel to a MS that may never be published could prove to be rather a waste of time. Every writer (and publishing industry professional) knows that first novels are rarely good enough for publication. The almost unanimous advice across all the Interwebs is that it’s far better as an unpublished author to move onto something else other than a sequel; to continue to grow as a writer and demonstrate that there’s more than one story in you.

This induced some soul-searching in me as I struggled to come to terms with the fact that I need to leave these characters behind for a bit. After all, they’ve become old friends and their story is by no means finished. And the prospect of getting all intimate with a whole new bunch of characters felt . . . a lot like changing jobs: A whole lot of hard work.

The crux of my dilemma was one which most writers inevitably face: Do we write for ourselves, or do we write with the express aim of being published? I have some writer friends who would take the former position, considering publication a heart-warming side-effect of spending time doing something they love. This leaves them blessedly unfettered from many a care that weighs down those in the other camp, who ruthlessly bottom-drawer anything not up to scratch and move on, seeking that brilliant idea that can be brilliantly executed and win that coveted First Sale. (The new e-self-publishing trend is probably creating a grey area between these two positions.)

It’s been a very long time since I decided that, more than anything, I want to be published well. Which means I need to write as many great ‘first books’ as I can (assuming that, as tends to be the case with fantasy, multiple books in a series can follow once contracted). Spending time writing a book 2 to a potentially mediocre book 1 wasn’t going to speed up the chances of actual publication.

So. Change Of Direction. Hard Work Required.

I’m going to cheat a little bit. One of the most time-consuming aspects of fantasy writing is world-building and I’ve spent a heap of time developing the world I’ve been writing in. It’s a perfectly good world and it seems a shame to waste it . . . so after a lovely brainstorming session in the pub yesterday, I am now intending to start a Brand New Story set in the same world as the first MS.

Starting new stories is all part of being a writer. When you’re an unpublished writer, labouring over that first MS, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that once that’s finished you need to start another one. Moreover, once/if you’re published and — cross fingers — selling novels, you need to keep writing, keep starting new novels, keep starting new stories. And fantasy writers need to keep building new worlds. As a reader, I quiver with anticipation when one of my favourite authors brings out a new series, set somewhere new. (Conversely, when authors get stuck in their existing world, it can start to get same-same.)

So I am feeling rather upbeat about starting something new, actually. I suspect I will continue to mourn the loss of my two main characters for a little while yet, but hopefully I will soon embrace my new cast and develop for them a similar appreciation. It’s a clean slate and I intend to make the most of it. Onwards and upwards!


Bad decision vs stupid decision

One of the undisputed rules of storytelling is to hurt your characters: the protagonist must either fail to achieve a goal and in so doing make things worse, or achieve that goal at a cost that outweighs the benefit. If the writer is doing it right, in most cases things spiral out of control because of decisions and resulting actions from the protagonist.

However, there is nothing worse than having characters act stupidly as a plot device. Call it stubbornness, or impetuosity, or bravado . . . when your protag gets themself into an avoidable situation it can be pretty hard to convince a reader that they aren’t just plain dumb. (We’ve all read novels where we’ve rolled our eyes and cringed.)

The thing is that of course the protag is going to make a bad decision — it wouldn’t make a good story otherwise. And it may be for one or more of those reasons. But the author has to establish first that the protag could not possibly have made any other decision, whether it’s to do with the core aspects of their character, some form of coercion, ignorance or whatever. The reader needs to believe as the ensuing disaster unfolds. They need to empathise with the character’s choice, not label him/her an idiot, which totally undermines the story.

What is interesting — and increases the writing challenge — is that different readers have varying levels of engagement with characters and hence have different tolerance levels for ‘bad’ decisions. 

So what is the ideal balance between bad, stupid and acceptable when it comes to character decision-making?


‘What if?’ and the art of pessimism

One afternoon recently, I found myself contemplating ‘what if?’, and it struck me that my thoughts were tending towards the pessimistic. (What if I let the dog off the lead and he ran onto the road? What if I chopped my finger off with the secateurs through carelessness? …)

But then I realised that this is what we do as storytellers: explore the impact of choices and actions. For an effective story, the outcome of these needs to be bad – whether the result of chance or a poor decision. So we run all the scenarios in our mind until the worst outcome eventuates, and then we inflict these on our characters. The more we hurt them, the better.

I am not naturally a pessimist — I’ve always been more of the ‘glass half full’ mindset. As a result I’ve had to work quite hard at hurting my characters (I’m rather soft-hearted too). So when I find myself having these negative ’what if?’ daydreams, I start wondering whether honing my writing craft is changing the way I think on a daily basis.

How much of a writer’s personality affects their ability to tell a story? It’s widely accepted that experience counts for a lot — writers with dark or troubled pasts have more grist for the mill and a wider range of emotional experience to draw upon. But basic personality? Perhaps a dash of pessimism helps when it comes to thinking up disasters. Yet I’d hate to think there wasn’t room for optimism and hope as well.


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