Category: writing

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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The Way Out

He knew the way out. It was clearly marked; there was no other path.

That singular route didn’t mean it was easy. He’d seen it for months but had never felt like he was ready to take it on. Now that he was ready, he was scared. The route was well-lit, and, yet, it seemed fearfully hard.

He kept telling himself, “I can do this, I can do this,” but that didn’t get him moving. So he sat and waited, hoping for a sign that it was time, or a voice notifying him that if he went now, it would be all right.

No signs ever came. No one ever spoke that he heard. Oh, sometimes there were others, but most of their words were faint. Few made sense. They weren’t the encouragement he desired. Eventually, on his own, he summoned his will and embraced the path.

It was time to be born.

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Riddled with Variations

In a day of routines dribbling into a week of routines which flow into months and years of routines, I hunt variations.

Most of these come through my daily walks. I wear a Fitbit. My goal before sitting down to write each day is to achieve six thousand steps. Six thousand steps will provide me a comfortable start to the day’s walking goals. The steps, while a carrot, aren’t the day’s goal. I strive for seven miles plus.

Walking to the coffee shop where I write would help me with my walking goals. It’s two miles in either direction. I’ve walked it, and therein found why I don’t like it: it’s a boring, tedious, mundane walk. It’s literally a straight walk. To reach the coffee shop, I make two turns before walking one point nine six miles. Then I make another turn to enter the coffee shop. It’s a slight downward grade on the way into town, and an uphill walk in the other way. The monotony of this route throttles my senses.

To counter this, I drive three quarters of the way. Then I park and walk the downtown areas of Ashland. In this way, I can change routines on whim, and see variations that I’d not otherwise encounter. The variations stimulate my imagination, creativity and productivity.

That’s more critical now. I’m cop- editing a completed novel and just finished publishing a paperback edition of one of my previously published novels. These are not creative outlets. I invent stories as I walk, stories lost to the mind stream by the time I sit down and embrace the business of novel editing and publishing.

Sometimes my need and desire for routines sicken me. It seems seem unhealthy. On the other hand, the routines keep me on a sane path, pushing toward my goals.

Now, with my regular quad shot mocha in hand, sitting at the table and my documents open, it’s time to edit like crazy, at least one more time. It’ a grind, but it must be done.

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The Meaning

Does forty-two give your life meaning, or is that just the meaning of life?

Fiction writing gives my life meaning. I don’t know if others actively contemplate what gives their life meaning. Surveying an array of friends of family, I can hazard guesses. What gives their life meaning stimulates them. But I can be wrong. Others would have been wrong in the past, guessing what gave my life meaning.

Some, I think, will answer, living gives my life meaning. By that, they mean, being alive and doing the activities of a living human gives their life meaning. The ends and the means are the same. It’s a simple, inviting approach.

I was raised to follow that working, marrying, and raising a family was what life was about. Extending the thinking behind that, it seems that trinity would give our lives meaning. I attempted to follow the precept, and succeeded to some degree. Aging, and becoming more exposed to the world, I grew disenchanted with that trinity as the reasons that gave my life meaning. I questioned what it meant, to have something that has meaning in my life, or to do, or follow something, that gives my life meaning, and perceived many didn’t have one, and substituted activities and goals to give their lives meaning. Some pursue working and making money; others pursue power, politics, social justice, science, or excellence in some area in their lives. For a few, watching and rooting for their sports teams seem, sadly, to five their lives meaning.

I write, “sadly”, with judgmental thoughts, as though I have the answers and absolutely know what’s going on. I don’t. Watching and rooting for sports teams might seem shallow, but if it rewards and satisfies them as much as my fiction writing, are they wrong? Is fiction writing really a greater calling than watching sports?

I know, I’m becoming muddled here. I read the book, “War Is A Force that Gives Us Meaning,” by Chris Hedges, over a decade again. I thought he was on to something there, that war gives many meaning. So do sports, acting, reading…and writing. It’s something to stake as a passion and focus that drives us.

Oddly, I started thinking of Hedges’ book while watching “Foyle’s War” last night. I’ve seen the entire series once, and have viewed many of the episodes twice. I enjoy and admire much in the series, including the acting, writing and production values. Set in England, the backdrop to “Foyle’s War” is World War II. I always enjoyed the sly reference to Foyle’s war as his resolute approach to solving crimes and pursuing justice, no matter where the evidence leads him. This happened in last night’s show; the killer confessed to Foyle after Foyle confronted him with the man’s lies. The man’s response was to ask Foyle to let him go, arguing that his role in the war would save lives.

Foyle was tempted but did not abandon his over-arching principle. He states it at least once in the series, to my memory. I’ll paraphrase as, “If we surrender our basic principles of law and justice to win the war, then haven’t we lost?”

It’s a great part of why I watch. Foyle continually encounters that wall of reasoning that winning the war at all costs is paramount. Foyle doesn’t accept that. When that reasoning falls to sway him, he’s often threatened by the powers of government. He doesn’t allow that to sway him, either, but I always watch to see if he’ll surrender his principles and betray his values.

Which, I supposed, completes the lap of reasoning about meaning. When you find the meaning to your life, it becomes your rock. You stand on it and gain strength. Without it, you’re lost to the currents of madness and fashion.

Time to write like crazy, or edit, one more time.

***

Forty-two, of course, is from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” proving that I’m not the first fiction writer to wonder, what’s it all about? Right, Alfie?

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Cause/Effect

I’m in the cross walk, crossing Siskiyou Avenue in Ashland, Oregon. Ashland is supposed to be a walker friendly town, but I walk this town a bit, using eighteen crosswalks a day on average. I expect, from experience, for drivers not to yield to a pedestrian at four to five crosswalks a day.

It’s worse in the mornings. I was caught between two cars in a crosswalk the other day. One was turning left. He ran the stop sign and ignored me in the crosswalk, giving me a jaunty wave as he missed me by two feet. Meanwhile, the SUV coming straight thought that I would be by, so he kept coming. But because I drew up to avoid behind hit by the other guy, he missed me by less than two feet.

Today, these five drivers didn’t yield. It wasn’t that they didn’t see me. Visibility was great, and there was plenty of time. In what seemed like they were giving me the finger, they sped up. Already exceeding the twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, they were zipping along at thirty-five to forty when they passed me, standing in the cross walk. I heard the lead white Ford F250 accelerate from the vehicle’s location thirty feet away. Felt its breeze as its mirrors whipped past my head. Saw the driver through his window two feet away as he went by.

It outraged me. I spun through the usual shit that I spin through when someone gives me the finger or blows me off. I know I’m not a perfect driver. Never have been, and never will be. But I try to minimize shit. I try to do right with others.

Others don’t always play nicely. That’s what it seemed like these five drivers were doing. For whatever fucking reasons going on in their heads, stopping to let someone cross the street wasn’t on their list of things to do.

After venting to myself, I thought about the more pragmatic impacts of a car hitting me. Yes, I know I would suffer an injury, the levels and extent T.B.D., but my friends and family can share multiple stories about the injuries I’ve endured. There wouldn’t be anything I could do about that.

Instead, I worried about my computer files. That’s my writing, dude. I’d neglected to back it up the other day when the reminder went off. I’d hit the snooze. When it went off again, I ignored it.

I imagined losing those files, and swore in a dozen different ways. The crosswalk encounter reminded me that the back up was required.  Time to plug the zip drives back in and back up the files, because, hey, you never know.

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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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Sudoku Puzzles & Writing

I love doing sudoku puzzles, completing at least two a day. Naturally, I like more challenging ones, because solving them is more satisfying.

After years of doing them on specific websites and in the newspaper, I’ve recently discovered a new site for doing them. Their logic seems different than what I’ve previously encountered, which makes them more difficult, which translates to more challenging and fun.

It also reinforced the need to not take shortcuts or jump ahead. I’ve found the best way to solve these is to maintain discipline and process the different logical devises employed in a step-by-step process.

I’ve also learned that sometimes the complexity will overwhelm me, and I become frustrated. When that happens, I stop the clock, save the work, close the page, and walk away. Returning to it in a short while with fresh eyes and mind then lets me see obvious clues that were missed earlier.

This reinforces my writing processes and approach. I’m often a sucker for clickbait about how-to articles regarding writing and publishing. I’m not necessarily seeking easier, but that elusive realm known as better. I often find that they’re packaging the same writing advice I’ve seen everywhere else, but with new words and more interesting headlines. There’s very little that offers sage advice about writing better.

That makes sense.

Guidelines are well-established for proper structures or how to describe characters and settings, write action scenes and pacing. But each of our works, hopefully, are unique and fresh to us as writers. Nothing is as clearly delineated as it is in hindsight of published works. We’re making multiple decisions about pacing and info-dumps, trying to decide how much of what we know becomes too much for the reader, or spoils the story.

In the end, I learned again lessons found in solving sudoku puzzles. Stay true to the my course. Don’t take shortcuts, remain patient, and use anxiety to feed determination to finish.

And, if it’s necessary, take a damn break and return to it with fresh eyes and mind.

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Angst Man Rides Again!

I endure a lot of angst about who I am, who I think I pretend to be, and being unmasked as a pretender.

I’m not unusual. Many in western society seem besieged by angst. Writers, from what I read, endure high levels of angst that erodes our self-confidence. We’re always worried about being discovered as a pretender. I think it’s because we’re working alone so often, but also, subconsciously, we compare our works in progress with other published materials and writers. Right or wrongly, we can come out feeling like a loser because we see elements in others’ work that we don’t see in our work.

In retrospect, I believe I suffered an angst spell the other day, when editing fatigue overwhelmed me. There’s no doubt that editing fatigue afflicted me. That isn’t uncommon. I’m usually able to push through. Each of us have limits to how much we can push through. I’d hit mine.

And I believe that my angst contributed. Writing alone, with no one to talk to about my progress, doubts, victories and hopes, leaves me mentally, intellectually and emotionally diminished.

Writing about it was a successful gambit. Just opening up and spilling my concerns was a release. Also helpful is how other writers jumped in with their stories and suggestions. These were enormously helpful to lifting the shroud of doubt and weariness encumbering me. By the next day, I’d resumed editing and revising.

In the aftermath, I considered taking regular breaks from writing, editing and revising to keep me fresh and sharp. Multiple decisions are being made while editing and revising. Some require more thought about the impact on the novel’s overall arcs. It is taxing. Maybe taking breaks would be beneficial.

In classic personal faction, I decided, yes, taking breaks is acceptable, but…scheduling breaks is more troubling for me, so I’ll approach it organically. If I feel a break will help, I’ll do as some comments suggest, and listen to myself.

Now, I have my mocha and I’m at the table. It’s time to edit and revise again, at least one more time.

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