Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Twenty-five percent through editing the third draft of “The Light of Memories”. It’s fun, and I think that’s because it can now be read mostly as a book and less than a work in progress. Small changes are the norm until — clunk, a section or chapter is encountered that needs such work that orange cones are deployed. I generally stop for the day when hitting those — there have been three — to think about what is wrong and how I might change it. I also continue refining the ending. Won’t know how well it fits now until I read through to it. Of course, the changes mean that there will be another editing and revision go-around before it’s turned over to the copy-editor.
Meanwhile, since I announced a new writing project will begin (yeah, it’s actually well underway at this point), several people have asked when the third book of the Life Lessons series with Studs will come out. I think I owe it to write number three.
I wanted to clarify my thinking about drafts. My first rough draft is labeled #1, but that’s a little misleading. My writing is an unplanned, iterative process. (There is a sort of map in my head, but heads can be so unreliable about this stuff.) So I don’t call those first efforts drafts, but iterations. Six iterations were pursued before the first rough draft was completed. It’s formally called a draft when a complete story — beginning, middle, and end — exists and can be read from one end to the other. With iterations, I often go down stubs to explore characters, concept, story, events, and settings. Some of these stubs don’t pan out. When that happens, a new iteration is initiated. Some stubs make it into the first draft but not infrequently are excised during the first editing and revision phase.
There’s always so much to read, write, edit, and do. Fortunately, it’s the life I’ve chosen.
Have found a better working title that I’m using on the novel in progress. It pleases me and hopefully fits. I’ve checked, and it’s available.
Meanwhile, I deleted a large chunk of previously written chapters, including the original ending. That ending no longer fit as first, my understanding of the concept evolved, and then my understanding of the characters and the story expanded.
Looking back, I see how involved I became in understanding the concept during the first draft. Understanding it consumed me to the detriment of the story. The characters evolved, but the story stalled.
In the second draft, I attempted multiple ways to clarify and sharpen the story. First was to expand some roles. When that didn’t work, I took all of that away. That worked better. Encouraged, I chopped more of that aspect away. That completely worked. The story came into much sharper focus.
I invested a great deal of thinking about the story and tehe concept at that point, and came to realize that what I’d learned from the concept was being misapplied in the story. In other words, the story wasn’t about what I originally thought.
Encouraged again, I kept on, but had to keep reminding myself of what the story was about vice what the concept was about. That caused a certain duality of thought and approach.
Fortunately, when I entered into a character’s skin and wrote in their voice, they had a deeper understanding of how the story was to advance versus what the concept is about.
As I’ve entered writing the final chapters, I’ve needed to draw up to think deeply about how it all ties together. Then I began writing at a furious gallop. Because this is the climax of so many story lines and arcs, it all began hugely tense. Typing in deep concentration, I had to stop and rock (and, weirdly, wring my hands together), or get up and walk around to release tension, or stop, close my eyes, and breath deeply. I found I could rarely type in more than ten minute bursts. The bursts left me feeling exhausted, forcing me to pause, regroup, and then press on. Meanwhile, my muscles and nerves strum with tension.
Closed to finishing then? Doubtful. I’ll get this raw stuff out of me. Then the holes will leap up, along with continuity and logic issues. Once they’re fixed, there will probably be pacing matters to attend.
In many ways, this final process reminds me of practicing and practicing, preparing for something. Then, finally, the moment arrives when it’s time to put the practice aside, take the stage, and make it happen. Writing this final piece of novel has that same sort of butterflies as acting (did that in high school plays), making a speech, playing in a big sports game, or making a major presentation. The tension just feels immense.
I don’t have all the answers. A lot of work remains. Days sometimes feel fantastic and exciting; other times, I despair. Many times, I’m reminded of the loneliness of this fiction writing business. It’s like being in a dinghy out on the vast ocean.
But overall, yeah, there’s exciting progress.
Butt is sore from sitting (yes, I have writer’s butt, once again), and the coffee is gone. Time to stop writing like crazy, tear myself out of that state of mind, and go back into the world and fulfill life’s mundane expectations.
Onward.
I’ve been laughing at myself. When I finished the first draft of April Showers 1921, I thought, what a mess. Then I began hunting for what to do.
I found problems with structure, character motivation, pacing, story-telling… Whatever could go wrong seemed present. Very disheartening.
I began hunting fixes, slicing like a surgeon removing tumors. Draft two was finished and stalled, then three was written and discarded, followed by four. I lamented to myself, “This is like telling the history of World War II. So much happened. How do I find the right handle to it?”
That lament helped. Although I was complaining, it was true. The novel sprawled in a million directions. I needed to reduce the sprawl and improve the story.
Meanwhile, in parallel, I was reading thrillers. I was reminded of a Stephen King quote: “I showed them what can happen, and then I make them wait for it to happen again.” I’m paraphrasing. Forgive me. Maybe it wasn’t King, too, but I thought it was.
Whoever came up with that quote, it helped me sharpen my story’s focus, and tightened my grip on the sprawl.
I created some rules for myself.
The last was revealing. I’d always concentrated on writing, putting words after words, fixing pacing and finishing novels and stories. Now, I decided that I needed to elevate my efforts and focus on being a better writer. That would hopefully result in a better story and novel.
It required hard decisions. Cut this arc. Modify that one. Tens of thousands of words were shred.
Partway through draft number seven. I think I’ve found a grip. I won’t know until I’ve finished and read it through again.
Done writing and editing like crazy for today. Time to go for a walk and let myself decompose.
Michael Seidel, writer 