Category: editing

Slow Progress

I’m having fun with this novel. It’s grown into an epic. I’m trying to divide it into tasty volumes.

“Incomplete States” is science fiction. It features time travel, galactic alliances, others sentient life forms, and advanced Human cultures and technology. There’s lots of space travel on ships that sometimes carry several million people. New planets have been terra-formed. (It’s terraformed in the future; they’ve dropped the hyphen.)

Many diseases have been mastered. They’re not a threat. Aging isn’t a threat. Choose your age. Keep it as long as desired. Change it when you desire.

Death is not much of a threat. Resuscitation, regeneration, and resurrection (depending on the marketing and technology involved) have made it a side topic. One side-effect is that Humanity is dropping toward zero population growth. Children who are born are often incubated in artificial wombs. Nanosystems help the mother and child stay connected and develop that special bond.

Communication nets are introduced into their bodies at young ages. Phones are internal bio-devices; they’re constantly in touch with others, listening, filtering information, and contributing.

As noted, I have fun writing this, but I’m easily side-tracked, and my progress is slow. I barely write one thousand words a day. Editing and reviews for accuracy are extensive — and intensive. A large quantity of moving parts must be synchronized. For example, against this showcase of technology, Humans are faced with going to a planet where their technology not only fails, but is actively attacked. They don’t know why, but are going to live there without technology. Their mission is to track down four people who are believed to be on this planet.

That’s required a lot of brainstorming. What do you do, and how do you live, without technology, when technology is deeply embedded in all aspects of society? Aside from a few small fundamentalist sects, nobody knows what they’re doing or how to do it. They’re researching how to cook on stoves, burn wood, grow food, and process it. Their energy weapons won’t work; what about gunpowder? They’re learning to ride horses, exist without their augmented memories, and fight with swords, bows and arrows, and other more primitive weapons and methods.

This is where I become side-tracked: I research and write about much of their process of coping with these changes and their new needs. I put it all in the novel. I enjoy writing and reading about these things, but I suspect I’ll lose a lot of readers who don’t enjoy these sort of details. I’ve been thinking about it, though, debating whether it’s too much in that vein before concluding, screw those readers. I rationalize the easy way out: I’m writing for me, and for those who enjoy books like these.

Had to write this out, to think it out. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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The Air, the Fitbit, the Writing, the Dreams

Our outdoor air sucks. Need more?

Smoke from wildfires is filling our air. The Air Quality Index leaped to one hundred fifteen last night. DANGEROUS. It hasn’t been hot, only into the nineties. We open the house at night to cool it off, and then close the blinds and windows during the day. Opening the windows last night sent us into coughing fits as wet smoke smells wafted in. Eventually, we donned masks.

Today isn’t as bad. The A.Q.I. is in the fifties, and officially, moderate. Visibility remains down. It’s like a white-out beyond a a few hundred feet.

All this wildfire smoke has reduced my Fitbit activities. Walking is way down, to five miles a day average. It’s not as critical as many other issues resulting from wildfires. None of the fires are directly affecting our community. We feel for all those being evacuated in those areas, and appreciate the firefighters’ efforts. If this stuff is terrible for me, a guy in his early sixties who considers himself in good health, those with emphysema and other respiratory issues must be deeply suffering.

I took to the Orson Scott Card method for visualizing and organizing the novel in progress. O.S.C. talked about just drawing places, like a city, and then adding details. With each detail and area added or defined, entertain questions about why those areas and details exist. I’ve done this exercise before, with excellent results. I wasn’t disappointed this time.

I had been editing the novel’s first draft. Halfway through that process, I perceived a problem. A new ‘greater arc’ was required as the solution. I could be wrong, but this is how I decided to address the issue. It’s essentially an epic. I like epics. Bigger is better.

This was decided over a four day period. Then, after deciding it was necessary, I went on a reading sprint. I finished reading two novels, and read two others, in five days. I also read fiction stories and news articles online. This reading stimulated my writing juices and invigorated my writing dreams. I found myself re-committed to who I was, and what I was doing. It’s a matter of taking a deep breath, turning on the computer, and putting the ass in chair, and the fingers on a keyboard.

This new arc takes place on a planet where technology fails. An outpost is established using outdated technology. Suddenly, it’s like living in a frontier castle. I loved that difference in direction from my usual challenges of visualizing the far future and other intelligent races.

I drew the outpost on my computer, and brainstormed about how the lack of technology affects them, and solutions and work-arounds. The team living in the outpost are hunting for people, but can’t use their suits or vehicles. They fall back to horses. Having horses adds more problems and dimensions.

So do the powerful windstorms endured on the planet. That’s why the outpost becomes a castle; something stout enough to survive the windstorms are necessary. That’s the iceberg view of all the scenes, problems, and challenges realized. I don’t want to give away more. Drawing and brainstorming in this manner was a catalyst to my imagination. I scrambled to capture ideas an create an event timeline. It resulted in *shudder* an outline. 

As an organic writer, the outline overwhelmed me. Suddenly, there it all was, this part of the novel mapped out in all its complications and key events. I could imagine, see, and hear them. Writing them was required. It’s daunting for an organic pantser. I decided I would scramble to write key scenes and moments, and patch them together with bridge and pivot scenes, and build the story in layers, much like I used to do when oil painting, or writing a business case, or analyzing data.

I think that whatever opened my creative floodgates also turned the dream valves to full open. I had six remembered dreams last night. Friends from my past were featured. My wife also made an appearance. Of course, maybe it was the eclipse opening the dream and creativity gates. Who can say?

Trying to capture details this morning diverted personal resources already earmarked for other activities. I resorted to dream summaries. The dreams were wild. Once again, my muses were prominently featured. They were attempting to guide and assist me in different manners. Sorting the chaos was a fascinating exercise.

Having your muses show up in my dreams injects high confidence levels. I felt empowered and emboldened when I awaken. Yet, being me, the confidence evaporates to more normal levels by midday. Having your muses and some higher beings populate your dreams and offer encouragement has a good thing. I’m certainly not going to kick them out.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. How about you, writers? Have you seen increased creativity? Maybe it is the eclipse.

Or maybe it’s the coffee.

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Silently Working

I’ve been on pause from editing the novel in progress, “Incomplete States.” I’d become troubled that it was missing an overall aspect that could tie it together.

It wasn’t something I immediately jumped on. I let it flow through me for a while and considered what I’d written, the novel’s totality. I didn’t want to be rash. I convinced myself it was necessary to add a greater arc.

I didn’t have any idea what that arc would be.

I began addressing the problem by thinking and writing about it. Exactly what was it that I was looking for in the greater arc? The novels and series that are most in mind with this novel came back to me:

  • Roger Zelazny’s “Chronicles of Amber”
  • George R.R. Martin’s “A Song of Fire and Ice”
  • Frank Herbert – “Dune”
  • Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series
  • J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series
  • J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy

To a lessor extent, I also thought of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels. All that reading helps.

This wasn’t a quest novel, though; I wanted to ensure I didn’t accept an easy route and create another quest.

Several aspects attracted me. One, the epic sweep. Two, was how these novels and series embraced multiple levels of acceptance about the past, legends and myths, and prophecies. As the past receded in them, the past blended with myth and legend. More people in the novels grew enamored with lessor concerns that gathered importance in their lives, like fortunes, empires, and revenge. These smaller concerns were magnified into important concerns that eventually dwarfed the true, greater threats. In a way, I saw mirrors with our own planet and human civilizations, and how often we put profits, nation, and empire ahead of civilization and the planet.

But —

These novels and series also attracted me because of the greater and lessor acceptance. Uniform agreement about what was to happen, what had happened, and why, didn’t exist. Elements told their own stories. The differences in these stories provided the foundations for tension and conflict.

I wrote a one paragraph summary of each of these novels and series, defining their greater arcs against the dominant sub-stories that often propelled most of the action. That helped me clarify what I though my novel lacked.

Then I turned my attention to my novel and the situation.

I began by organizing information. Hundreds of thousands of words had been written. Deciding I needed visual assistance, I created character cards for the six major characters. Keeping faithful to the novel’s concept induced me to create character cards for each of their major iterations. As this novel is about cosmic and other entanglements, several of the characters are sometimes male, and sometimes female, with and without children, and sometimes married to one another. Sometimes one is the other’s parent, and sometimes, they’re enemies. Cards were created for each of them.

Having the cards allowed me to tack them up and move them around, hoping to prompt new thinking and insights. That approach produced; I brainstormed potential ideas, and then walked, thinking through what attracted me to each, and discarding some. After doing this, I thought I’d come up with the structure for the greater arc.

About four days had passed.

I sat down to write this morning. While I’d been thinking through all of these angles, the muse, or the muses, were at work in me. Sitting down with the slimmest idea of what was now to happen, I began typing. Within a few lines, I was on a world I’d not conceived before this. Memory of Jack Chalker’s “The Four Lords of the Diamond” series flashed into me along with Brian Aldiss’ Helliconia trilogy. New characters jumped into action, along with the agenda they pursued, in accordance with the greater arc.

Finishing with thirty-five hundred words about an hour later, I felt excellent about where I was. There’s still a tremendous amount to be done, but I had the semblance of the direction, the outlines of a plan, and vague ideas about events.

It was a good day of writing like crazy.

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The Block

A mass of words have been mined from his veins of creativity. They’re mostly sifted, sorted, and arranged. He’s beginning to see the complete story within the block. With more chiseling, polishing, and thought, it can be something special that others will enjoy.

Sitting, he sips his coffee. A few seconds of reflection are accepted to allow his mind to shift from one sphere to another. Then, he opens his document, and resumes his editing and revising.

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The Last Name

Well, this is an embarrassing confession.

Here I am, on page three hundred thirty-four of the first half of the novel, when I encounter a little reminder to insert Brett’s last name. So, being a semi-pro, I open up the novel’s bible to look it up.

Damn if it’s not there.

I know I used it at least once elsewhere in the novel. Of course, this is a sequel, so the last name was used in the first book. But searching for it has proven daunting.

I’m surprised this happened, and it’s irking me. I keep documents to help me remember and understand who’s doing what to who, and what’s happened to everyone, to sustain internal logic. I can’t believe I can’t find his last name.

In my defense, this is a science fiction novel. Although the majority of space-travelers and colonists have westernized their names for public use, names aren’t critical in the future. Digital personal identifiers are what identify you and socialize who you are. You P.I.D. is constantly being broadcast and scanned. The P.I.D. defines you. Based on your birth date, time, location (including planet), universal master number (U.M.N., which includes your cultural and ethnic heritage, and is assigned sequentially), and D.N.A., it’s generated when you’re born. While first names are used in conversations, the last names are generally superfluous. There are cults that hold to traditional norms, bandying their last names about as though they’re greatly important, but you don’t need them.

It’s the second day of the search. A rational internal section cheers me to ignore it for now, that this can be found later, but finding it has become an obsession. Tangentially, I believe my writing soul is enjoying the departure from the editing routine. Plus, fortified with a quad-shot mocha, my confidence about finding it is racing along on wings of caffeine, sugar and chocolate.

Let the search commence! Or, recommence.

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Odd and Intense

Differences struck me as I finished editing sequences. Diverting my thinking, I considered the differences.

The difference was external to me. I puzzled over that. The world surrounding me seemed calmer, quieter, and more relaxed than it had a short time before.

I thought about it more, trying to understand if it was quieter, or a false impression. I thought, instead, it’s spillover. The first chapter that I’d finished editing had been intense and chaotic. Reading through it and staying focused challenged me. It seemed like the surrounding coffee shop echoed with noise and activity while I worked on it, and I restlessly, almost anxiously, fidgeted while working on it.

The next chapter being edited began with a calmer scene, and stayed calm and thoughtful. The coffee shop around me seemed more relaxed, and quieter. I, too, became stiller.

Disbelieving, I considered these differences for a while, and then walked myself back through memories. Yes, writing battle, fight, disaster, and emotional scenes consumed greater energy, demanding deeper concentration and tighter focus. I often felt more physically, mentally, and emotionally spent when writing them.

Editing them affected me in the same way. Writing and editing more reflective scenes push me to become more reflective. What I wrote and edited seemed to impact my impression of the surrounding environment. It leaves me feeling disconnected with the world. My thinking feels disjointed, like I don’t belong where I’m at.

It’s probably something all writers experience. I don’t know why it surprises me; I know I experience it when I’m reading books and stories. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I experience while editing my own. Perhaps, it’s because my experiences seem more intense, because it is personal, and comes from within me, thereby amplifying the impact.

Does this post makes sense? What of you, writers? Do you, too, experience this?

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The Editing Season

Changes in seasons are important matters in our home. First, we’re an area that experiences all our seasons. Summer gets intensely hot. It’s normally over ninety degrees, with recurring jumps over one hundred degrees. Rain is infrequent. Winter isn’t bitterly cold but does prominently feature snow, ice, and temperatures in the night below thirty degrees.

These season changes require shifts. When spring changes to summer, shorts, sandals, and lights shoes and shirts replace boots, gloves, heavy coats, and jeans. A large cleaning project takes place. Bedding is changed. The furnace is switched off, and the air conditioning is inspected and put on standby. Gutters are cleaned, and the house is repaired.

I finished a novel’s first draft a few weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been editing it.

This type of editing is like a change of season. I’m reading for specific matters, addressing grammar and punctuation as I proceed. It’s not really about copy-editing functions. They’re included because I’m there. This editing is more about continuity, logic, pacing, and consistency.

The process had been going well, until the end of June. Then I crossed into a chapter called “Entrance.”

I’d written “Entrance” early on while writing the novel. It was one of several “genesis chapters” written as I embraced the concept and developed the settings, characters, and story dynamics.

I’m an organic writer, and often feel my way through the story like I’m walking through a dark and unfamiliar room. As I write, illumination grows. I see more of the room until it all comes together. It’s a non-linear process, though; I might write the far right corner for a while, and then the front left corner, and have very little idea about the space between them.

I don’t consider it easy nor difficult as a process. I enjoy the writing process, but the organic writing process sometimes leads to these situations. Something written early in the process no longer aligns with what later develops.

It is not actually a critical matter. It can be a critical matter. I’ve known of writers who are paralyzed when encountering these things. They’re horrified, and even despondent about what they discovered. For one thing, it means the beautiful piece they’ve crafted is flawed. That’s true, but, the flaw’s impact is dependent on its extent. I’ve known many writers who have a difficult time seeing that.

I realized this problem about two thirds of the way through the chapter. Awareness had been growing, and then a new light lit the room. I knew that this did not work, not as written. That meant it needed to be re-written, but I also needed to address that story arc and its continuity, find issues, and resolve them.

The first thing I did was walk away. Essentially, this was like encountering something unexpected during spring cleaning. Say, you’ve pulled out all your shorts, put the first pair on, and discovered they’re too small for you.

For me, I’d want more information. Did the shorts shrink, or did I grow? I’d pursue answers by weighing myself and trying on other shorts. Weighing itself isn’t necessarily helpful. As I’ve aged, I’ve seen my body shape shift. Although I weigh five more pounds than I did ten years ago, my shoulders are smaller and my waist is larger.

Once I’ve gathered more information, I can make decisions and establish a course to follow.

That’s what I did with the novel. Once I walked away and thought about it, I decided on a course of action.

  1. Think.
  2. Drink coffee.
  3. Relax.
  4. Put this into context.
  5. Read that chapter and the others in that arc to assess how much they deviate.
  6. Change as necessary.

To relax, I did other things. I read, watched television and movies, and did tedious chores. I pursued activities that didn’t require significant resources, and yet distracted me. Yet, every day, I opened the document to that chapter and began reading it again.

Relaxing was important, but not as important as putting the situation into context. I fall back on an old idea that’s one of my fundamental approaches to life: it’s better to have a good plan and do something, rather than trying to develop a perfect plan. That doesn’t mean that I don’t seek perfection, but I don’t let the pursuit of perfection paralyze me.

I still had a finished novel. It was still a rough draft. Its concept remained sound. Everything else I’d read and edited so far, several hundred pages into the process, remained enjoyable and promising.

Relaxing helped me understand that I had several courses available.

  1. Rewrite the rest of the novel to synchronize and align with this arc.
  2. Delete that arc and re-write the characters as necessary for the other arcs.
  3. Rewrite this arc and the characters as necessary.

Those were academic exercises. By this point in my writing, I know the stories and arcs, and how it all comes together and ends. I played with those exercises to uncover other potential mines.

Reading the chapter and consulting my notes, memories about decisions made and directions taken returned with time and patience. Reading the subsequent chapters in this arc confirmed my thoughts that, strange as it may sound, this chapter was an anomaly. It was a large anomaly, but just that, and not a precursor to a flawed arc.

I didn’t read that chapter just once completely, but three times, plus multiple partial readings, to develop understanding and insight. When I finished the third reading, I knew what I needed to change, and how. Then I began making changes.

I think a large part of this process is that this isn’t my first novel. Once upon a time, I wrote a novel and thought that first draft was supposed to be publisher-ready. I was naive. Reading that first draft of that first novel was depressing as hell; it was a mess. I learned from the process, and started writing another novel. I put that first novel away, because it was the first, and because I’m an optimistic. Inside myself, I tell myself, maybe I can go back and fix it someday. I do it all because, no matter what else I believe or hope, I believe I’m a writer, and I must write.

I’ve finished fixing that arc. Now I’ve resumed my process from the point where I stopped. One thing I’ve learned about my organic process is, as much as it’s about writing down words and creating a story, it’s about collecting and sifting through the raw material. The second draft is about clarifying and solidifying the vision I found when I wrote the first draft.

Last, I’ve learned that even when there’s a setback to the novel’s completion, there’s progress. Call me a foolish optimist, naive, or pragmatic, but I attempt to learn and I keep going.

Now I have my coffee, and it’s time to do it again, at least one more time. Then, once I finish this draft, which is still probably several weeks in the future, guess what I’ll do?

I’ll do it at least one more time. Then, I’ll turn it over to others, and go from there.

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Another Epiphany

Had to record another epiphany. This one took place yesterday, at session’s end. Actually, I’d closed up the laptop and bagged it, and was walking out the door, when the epiphany staggered me. I considered opening the doc last night to record it, but the notion was overcome by events.

The doc is called The Epiphany. I created it back when I had that first epiphany. I didn’t think there would be more. It’s a documenting process outside of the clutter of note and snapshots that I began with this novel. I think its sheer complexity drove me to the problem. I’d often attempt to think of this novel in linear terms or straightforward acceptance of past, present and future. No, no, no, you fool! Hence, the epiphany was born.

Originally, there was just one, one important reminder to retain for focus as I wrote. A couple others evolved as the novel developed, and more emerged as I edited the novel. Now, there are eleven. Every day, I open and review them. I’ve considered printing them out and posting them to my office wall, but then additional epiphanies would require additional additional printings, and I’m all about saving the paper, right?

As for the epiphanies, they’re all about writing, editing and revising the novel, and ensuring I stay true to the vision, and not get hopelessly lost in the tangles. My motto, when it comes to writing, is whatever works.

What about you, writers? What coping tricks have you developed?

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The Plan du Jour

Plans must be made every day. They’re compartmented by activity. They’re all based on what’s been done, and the overall goals, objectives, mission, and visions.

This is a product of my military years. Make lists, prioritize, structure and plan, hup – two – threp – four. About the only thing in my life exempt from planning is this blog. The blog is just a lark, a creative outlet, a place to vent and rant, and a channel for improving my knowledge, sparking my thinking, and making connections. Everything else is serious.

Writing is especially serious, even as it’s fun. A plan is required or an organic writer like me. The most critical part to remember about having a plan is that it’s a tool to help organize and progress. Trying to make the perfect plan is counter-productive, unless you’re murdering someone or robbing someplace. In just about everything else, it’s sufficient to have a sketchy plan.

When I’m writing the story, the story writes the plan. My novels typically begin with a concept or a setting. Ideas volunteer and find roots.

But writing is like vehicular traffic for me; everything causes a reaction. Implications, issues, conflicts, and outcomes arise. Plans are needed. Some of that planning is researching aspects to provide more depth and realism. Other planning is simply developing concepts and character background. Characters often leap into action on a page. I accept that, but to carry the story forward and keep it honest, I need to know that character. So, off I go, into a character snapshot. Some of that ends up in the novel as exposition. It depends upon the material and story. Even if I include it at that point, it can be removed later. It depends upon the arc, relevance, and pacing.

Writing and walking work well together. My mind can pick up where I left off writing the story on the last session and resume that thread preparatory to beginning a new day of writing like crazy. Reading and writing works well for me, too. Reading fuels my creativity, invigorates my desires, and reinforces my will, all good things while on a novel-writing journey.

All of this is less so with editing and revising.

In editing and revising, I already have the raw material that writing provided. The characters are established; so is the plot. The research has been completed, for the most part, and the results are embedded in the story.

I can say that research is completed for the most part. Sometimes while writing, I’ll put in some shorthand about something require greater detail, clarification, or verification that I’m not completely wrong about what I think and have based my novel decision upon. I use the shorthand because I’m in the writing rhythm and don’t want to divert myself from that path. I mark these places with <TK> and some explanation about what I wanted for there, and why. These might need research at that point. Sometimes, though, I find the research has been completed and used elsewhere. Sometimes I find that what I thought was needed there is no longer required. I go with the flow as I see it.

An editing and revising plan then evolves more into finishing the novel as a coherent and entertaining story that others can read and enjoy. I sit down to edit and revise with a goal of completing thirty pages each day. It’s just like running miles for me, or walking; having a specific objective keeps me focused on the overall course. That objective, though, isn’t the goal, and I don’t confuse the two. Editing and revising the book remains the goal for this phase of the vision. The vision is a completed, published novel.

Thirty pages is a somewhat arbitrary distinction. I often exceed that. Once in a while, I’ll fall short.

Reaching thirty pages a day is neither easy, nor difficult. It depends upon the work presented. Some of it’s already been significantly revised, edited and polished, because part of my process as an organic writer is to edit and revise as I write the novel. These sort of passages are a pleasure to edit and revise because they’re so easy. The biggest problems I encounter are writing butt and becoming complacent. Writing butt is, of course, when you’ve been sitting for so long, your ass has gone numb. Since I often have my head up my ass, this can have serious health ramifications for breathing and thinking. Complacency is when I stop thinking critically about what I’m reading.

Beyond this basic plan and structure for editing, sometimes, in the course of reading what’s been written, I’ll draw up short. Something does not align with what was previously read, or what I recall writing later in the novel. At that point, I have options.

My options depend on how big I view this mis-alignment, i.e., how disturbing or surprising I find it, and it’s influence on the rest of the plot and novel. Sometimes, it appears to me to be so large that it becomes a plan to resolve this difference. Other times, it’s smaller and I simply make a note to review and resolve. A few times, the flawed connection has arrived because I just read that part. Then, I’ll flip back to it quickly, confirm my facts, and continue. A few times, it’ll be something like a planet, ship, or secondary character’s name. When that happens, I’ll verify, and then completed a global search and replace.

With all plans, as learned in the military, it’s about mission accomplishment. What is my vision, and how does completing my mission support it? In writing a novel, it’s pretty damn simple and clear.

Now, excuse me. I have a plan to go edit and revise, at least one more time.

What about you? Do you have a plan du jour?

 

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