blairmacg | Entries tagged with sand of bone

I seem to be in one of my "Woe, I feel disconnected from everything!" moods, which I seem determined to lengthen by remaining disconnected--able to read, but poorly able to respond in any meaningful way to those who most deserve it. So I'm trying to push myself.

What was supposed to be snow yesterday turned into a mix of extremely cold rain and heavy wet snow. I went outside three times to clean the slush off my car and front walk because I didn't want sheets of solid ice by this morning. Now the wind chill is between -30 and -40, just as predicted days ago. It took the local schools forever to decide that, yes, since the roads are sheets of ice and exposed skin can freeze in ten minutes, maybe there should be no school.

And the wind overnight! Big gusts that went on and on for hours. I kept jerking awake, really concerned we'd lose power (an increasing problem, as folks try to keep their homes warm and overload the grid, or trees fall on power lines). But it was the dreams that left me tired, I think. They all took place in the 100+ year old home I lived in when Dev was a baby, and involved trying to solve the mystery of why the windows kept opening to let the cold in. It was exhausting and creepy and stressful to dream of.

Today's goals: Fix up 2K in the wellness book, finish the capture chapter of Sand, write a wellness blog post, and take care of a little research. I'm too close to the end of Sand to falter now, and I need to have a solid draft of the wellness book in someone's hands by the 15th. Work must be performed!

So I'm waiting for my parents to arrive, and hoping they either beat the line of icky storms or choose to hang out at a coffee shop until it passes.

In the meantime, I'm tinkering with the NaNo project. I've decided to focus on the urban fantasy--Crossroads of America--because I (a) have the research at my fingertips, and (b) grew more excited the more I thought about it.

I love the characters. There's Jacqueline, who prefers to go by Jack--an early-thirties Californian geocaching her way across the country to escape the demons of her past. There's Luke--an early-thirties martial arts instructor who hangs out with an informal group of folks interested in and/or with an affinity for supernatural matters. There's Wyatt--a farmer and medium--and Carrie--an intuitive who works with the Indiana Geological Survey And there's Duncan--Jack's best friend, who knows the secrets she wants to forget.

On the other side, there's Mark--a young man who isn't entirely stable--and the Ditch Devil--who takes full advantage of Mark's ambition and ego-fueled gullibility.

And I throw all those people into museums, war memorials, old catacombs, and planetariums. And there might be wolves.

I've been in love with this concept for years. I want to make it happen!

Familial and work obligations will take the first few days of the month, but I have decided it won't matter if I "finish" NaNo with 50K words. The who idea of NaNoWriMo is what's driving me to finally--finally!--give this novel the time it deserves.

Oh yeah... I should probably finish the Sand revisions, too.

And I have signed up. It’ll be my first time.

Now to choose the project.

The contemporary romance novel? The upside is the idea barreled into my thoughts, nicely formed. The downside is I’ve never written romance before, and I must keep reminding myself that—unlike my previous projects—the fate of the world/country/etc. need not hang in the balance for there to be tension. When writing the outline, I kept trying to drop in fantastical or paranormal elements, but none of them worked. And again–I’ve never written romance.

What about the urban fantasy I’ve been kicking around in my head for years? Once upon a time, I had a chapter written, but it has been lost in the multiple moves and computer changes over the last few years. The upside here is I’m jazzed about the ideas, characters and setting the story in Indianapolis. The downside is the reason it’s been kicking around in my head is that I’ve never managed to successfully connect the opening plot points with the climax. NaNo could be the pressure the project needs, or I could end up with little pile of wasted word count. I’d dearly love to have this project work, since I already have ideas and notes for three sequels.

Then there are other projects that wouldn’t fall under Official NaNo because they’re partials or major revisions—The Drunkard, The Slaughterer, Breath of Stone… I thought of giving myself the goal to finish Sand of Bone revisions, but despite a few recent potholes, those seem to be ticking along just fine now.

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Who else is tossing about ideas for NaNo? Any decisions?

Crossposted to Blair MacGregor Books at Wordpress.

I don’t talk about process as much as I think about process, mostly because I’m fairly certain everyone would respond with, “Well, duh, Blair. We all know that. Where have you been?” But now and again, I find writing about process helps me better understand it. And once it’s written, it seems silly to leave it sitting about with nothing to do.

So. Here it be.

I’m working on a pivotal chapter near the end of the arc’s Act I. It’s a point of decision that’s been set up by previous events, the turning point on which the rest of the novel depends, where secrets are revealed, lines drawn, and action chosen.

As is usual with these scenes of mine, it needs a great deal of work.

My pivotal chapters tend to get chatty. Very chatty. The characters discuss options and ideas and reasons in detail, debating the sticking points and questioning their predictions. It took me awhile to realize the characters spent so much time talking things through because I, the writer, was still trying to figure out motives and consequences. It took me awhile longer to properly edit out (most of) the extraneous conversations because I do love me my dialog.

I’ve also realized my pivotal chapter problems–which I try to solve with dialog–stem from a weak foundation, and that weakness is a byproduct of pantser style coupled with my penchant for writing to That Scene at all costs. (That Scene being the seed the novel originally grew from.) Now, in Sand of Bone, I have a better grasp of the story, and new worldbuilding pieces are properly in place. The pivotal scene no longer needs all the words it currently holds. What was once required to make the characters’ decisions understandable and acceptable can be set aside, with proper preparation.

Every few paragraphs or so, I find myself flipping back to previous chapters for a spot of editing. Usually it’s a single line or a quick dialog exchange, defining a small piece of the world or establishing a minor character before I put either one to use in the pivotal chapter. The purpose of those little tweaks and tightenings is to remove the need to explain reasons and motives during the pivotal scene. In other words, if I know I’m going to need the rifles to set Act II in motion, I’d best make sure everyone knows where the mantles are and why the rifles are hanging there before we’re praising God and passing out ammunition.

A decision-process is an exchange of information—explanation, consideration, comparison, justification. It’s tempting to include that in pivotal scenes because the decision is so important, right? After all, I want the reader to accept the decision. Not like it or agree with it, but see it as a realistic choice based on available information and character goals. And no writer wants the reader to toss the book across the room because the character makes consistently inexplicable choices.

But you know what’s worse? The reader who quietly sets the book aside and forgets about it because the pivotal scene was so filled with stray facts and character asides and tidbits of backstory that it bored them completely.

My revelation is this: the pivotal scene isn’t about the decision. That’s the job of everything that comes before. The pivotal scene is the emotion of having decided, the fear of the consequences ahead, the terror of being wrong, the desperation to have others agree. When we make a big decision in real life, we certainly agonize over it. But the moment of sharing and acting upon that decision is just as terrifying. Sometimes, it’s more terrifying. It’s what happens in those moments, hours, or days that makes or breaks the decision.

That’s the pivotal scene.

So my reminder to myself today is this: new information should rarely—and I do mean rarely—be given to the reader during a pivotal scene. Characters in the scene can get some new information, but then the exchange is about the impact of the fact not its explanation.

This is not to be confused with climactic revelations of the I-am-your-father type. But even then, if the temptation arises to explain–right after the revelation–just how that connection could possibly be so, some quite critical pieces of backstory and foreshadowing have been neglected.

I’ve hit the obsessive stage of revisions. It’s my favorite stage of the process–more enjoyable, even, than that first flush of New Story. The stage of focused revisions is one of both control and discovery, when all the pieces at last fit together properly and flow with the right balance of surprise and inevitability.

Those worldbuilding changes thrill me. Everything that didn’t quite fit now snicks into place. Plot holes are filled. Motivations are clear. Stakes are raised. It works.

Knowing I’ve set myself up to rewrite the last third of the novel is a bit of a drag, but not too much. I’m excited about it for the same reasons as I’ve stated above. It all makes sense. It works.

I’ve been here before. I’ve learned how to switch the nothing-else-matters focus on and off to take care of life’s responsibilities, and I (mostly) keep the snarls of vexation on the inside when interrupted by mundane things like showing up for the classes I’m supposed to teach, grocery shopping, and answering the phone.

But I’d certainly be much happier if I could, right this minute, hide in a remote cabin until I finished. Until I finish the last lines while Fanfare for the Common Man plays in the background.

Yes, I do hear that when hit “Save” at the end of revisions. I hear it because I start singing it. Badly, but with great enthusiasm.

So… a few weeks from now, when I’m whining about how everything sucks and never works and is nothing but an embarrassment that ought to be burned and shows only how stupid I am, when feedback from beta readers proves beta readers are necessary because I have zero objectivity, when I’m grumping about proofreading and cover design and all that crap, do me a favor: remind me I love this book.

And tell me to play Fanfare for the Common Man. I promise to snarl only on the inside.

Also posted at Blair MacGregor Books

... with feeling. Or different feelings. Or deeper knowledge, or better strategy, or greater confidence. Or hubris blind to incompetence. We shall see.

I am inflicting more revisions on Sand of Bone. Once upon a time, repeated revision rounds felt akin to shaving away words and layers in an attempt to make my novel-peg fit into a proper slot. But the freedom of how I've chosen to present my stories, along with the reading and consideration of reviews given to Sword and Chant, have given me both a positive push and clearer understanding of my goals. It's made these last two rounds of revisions exciting and enlivening.

There are a couple big changes, both involving worldbuilding.* One is the transformation of Exile into Salt. The same behavior will get you sent to that gods-hated place, but the change of name and purpose fixes plot holes, and allows for all sorts of little one-lines from characters such as the unofficial and sarcastic "motto" of Salt cures.

It also allowed me to burn far too many hours checking out salt flats, and that was much fun. Quirky and random research topics are one of the reasons I love the work I do.

Also changed is the mortality of the ruling Velshaan. They've always been descendants of the creation gods, and they've always aged, been vulnerable to harm, and decidedly mortal. But now they can die only when one of their own bloodkin kills them.

Think through the consequences of that one, and you can see why I'm excited by the change. Yes, your own kin will be the cause of your death, but what about times when withholding that death would be worse than causing it? What rituals would be created to be a psychological buffer? How would it feel to grow up knowing no one but your family can kill you, and that you must one day kill a parent or grandparent? What happens when the bloodkin have a really, really big feud?

As you can imagine, those two changes alone create massive ripple effects. The revisions are line-by-line, word-by-word, with an eye to ensuring every choice, plot point, and character attitude is compatible with the changes.

But the bottom line is I'm so much happier with what the final novel is becoming. I'm newly excited rather than frustrated. I'm loving it all over again.

As an added bonus, the changes fit well with a tidbit of advice picked up from Brad Beaulieu's GenCon seminar this weekend: Plant fear of the solution in the character.

(And if you haven't read Brad's work before, I highly recommend it. Epic fantasy, flying ships, Russian flavor, truly awesome and complicated characters.)

Today, I made it through the first four chapters of changes. As long as life doesn't deal me yet another sledgehammer to the gut, I just might get these revisions done by the end of September. It's only, y'know, nine months behind schedule.

*For reasons why I'll blithely alter my worldbuilding, see On Worldbuilding, Changes, and Plot.

An added benefit of karate camp--wherein I spent hours coaching students on the strategy of defending against multiple attackers, other hours considering the best strategies to communicate with parents, and yet more hours determining what motivates kids to make good choices under tough circumstances--was the ability to see my plotting with a sharper eye.

So why doesn't Syrina tell her Big Secret to the exiles at the earliest opportunity?

Because I hadn't thought to do that in the first draft, then just let that choice ride through all subsequent revisions.

Why did I let it ride?

Because I couldn't figure out and manage the consequences of her revealing the Big Secret.

Then I began to wonder about that last answer. How many stories have a "Why didn't she just do X?" moment because the writer was unable to think through the consequences of X? Because the writer cannot--due to inexperience--see what would follow said revelation? (And I mention inexperience because I found those at the foundation of my own un-choices.) How much of it is a hesitation to reveal because, in real life, the writer would herself hesitate to face the changes such a revelation would cause?

Or is it just me?

So now I'm on a kick of analyzing my "revelation" choices all over the place--determining if keeping a secret enhances the plot or manipulates it. Looking at the reasons behind the choices. Forcing myself to consider if the choices were made for convenience.

In this case, revealing the Big Secret creates a massive ground shift in the motivation and outlook of several characters, and greatly alters the reasons later choices are made. But--as with the worldbuilding changes I made earlier--it doesn't change the story I wanted to tell.

Oddly enough, I chose to work on Sand of Bone because I thought it would be a relatively simple task to edit. Instead, I've opened the Pandora's Box of revisions.

The conversation that took place in my head during revisions:

Dang it. I've established it's cold in that stronghold corridor, but Syrina is just standing there. Maybe she's distracted from the cold by the talk she's about to give.

No. I've been cold. Really cold. If anything, the cold would distract her from the talk.

Okay, let's give her a blanket. That works! She hugged the blanket over her shoulders...

No, wait a minute. She can't walk into this talk wrapped up in an old blanket! Wouldn't happen. So maybe she drops it in the corridor before she walks into the dining hall.

No. Blankets are too valuable in this quasi-prison.

Maybe she could hand it to someone.

No. That's a silly bit of business.

Maybe she could—

Okay, Blair, stop right there. You're creating a massive problem over a stupid blanket. Do you really want to waste the reader's time explaining this whole cold-so-need-blanket thing?

No! But now that I've thought about the cold, I just can't let it pass. I wish...

Huh. That'll work.

Syrina wished she'd brought down a blanket, but...

The novel makes sense again!

And it doesn't suck!

Today I went from "Why did I ever think I could be writer?" to "Woohoo! Let's have some fun with this story!"

The index cards are my personal magic. Someone--anyone--feel free to remind me the next time I start stalling out and/or whining about my writing process. If I need to get out of a funk, it's index cards all the way. For some reason, it's those scribbled-upon cards that give my brain a complete picture of the novel. I can spread them out, and suddenly the entire outline makes sense and can be manipulated.

Does it sound a little silly? Probably. But it works!

Sand of Bone is a different story today than when I first wrote it because I am a different person. The plot is the same, but it's shaded and shaped in ways that alter the characters and their culture.

I was on the quick path to finishing it up when I got the news about Patricia's sudden and irreversible decline. All progress stopped. I stumbled through writing nearly all the way to the end in June, then determined I needed an index card session to get everything in place.

My index card session involves putting the scene's viewpoint character, location, and story-day on the top lines of a 3 x 5. Then I list out the scene's key plot points, revelations, critical information, and so forth. Once I have a card for each scene, I spread them out, in order, on my dining table.

And that's when the fun begins. I'll move cards around, play with the order in which key pieces of information are revealed, check my timelines and locations for consistency, and visually "read" through the novel to get a better feel for its flow. When I'm happy with all of the above, I re-number the scenes, then put notes on the back of the cards on what I need to add, delete, or alter to make the new shape work.

Truly, I've tried to do this with electronic tools, but nothing lets me "see" the entire novel so well as my rows and columns of index cards. Nothing gives me the same creative support as walking around the table and physically manipulating cards. It's a quirk, a habit, a gimmick, a whatever. It works.

Tonight I'll get the final cards written up. Tomorrow I'll cover the table with almost one hundred cards. I'm hoping to have the shape solidified by the afternoon. Revisions then become so much simpler for me.

What I wanted to have completed by the end of April will likely be done around the end of July. Late, yes. Better, yes. More of the story I want to tell today than the story I thought of a decade ago, oh yes.

And in the background, bits and pieces have been completed on The Drunkard, I've fleshed out pieces of the sequel to Chant so that I have a few complete scenes and (already) lots of index cards, and I've nearly finished three different non-fiction pieces that I want to complete and publish all at once in the fall.

But right now I must pick up the pens and the cards and get to work.

(Thankfully, today's weather is damp so I'm not fretting about the house catching fire as fireworks arc over the fields. Nice to not have that distraction.)

Considering the last few years, I've had my fill of thinking about, analyzing, and experiencing my own fears. So instead, I'm going to give you three fears of one of my favorite characters from Sand of Bone.

Shella is a Blade in her early fifties. Her entire identity is enwrapped in her work: the training and guidance of young Blade-hopefuls. Her most apparent fears change over the course of the novel, just as the day-to-day fears we wrestle with shift from year to year depending upon outer circumstances. But, as with most of us, it's the underlying (sometimes unacknowledged) fears that drive our decisions in the midst of crisis These are the fears that motivate us when there is little externally to fear, that quietly alter our choices when we think we're making logic-based determinations.

Shella fears letting people down. This comes out as taking on an unreasonable level of responsibility for the Blade-hopefuls under her watch. Who have ever been under her watch. If one of her hopefuls is killed in a skirmish ten years after leaving her training arena, Shella will try to figure out what she failed to teach or what she taught incorrectly. This fear drives her so strongly, she'd rather place herself in deadly danger than face life with that sort of failure in her memory.

Shella fears being a fool. Despite her accomplishments and outward confidence, she has said and done very stupid things in front of a great many people—things that prevent her from being fully respected despite her skill level. Now she's constantly on alert for anything that might mislead her, that might be intended as an insult, that might be setting her up for failure.

Shella fears being irrelevant. She didn't become a Blade for the sole reason of serving SheyKhala. She wanted to be acknowledged and recognized for her skills, and Blade-training was one of the best means available to her. Even so, she wasn't satisfied to be the best fighter. She made it a point to follow a path that made her increasingly valuable, and one that ensured her name would be remembered through the hopefuls she taught. She surrounded herself with the best--people who would push her and challenge her to be better. Her lover first caught her attention because others started speaking of him as one day becoming an outstanding commander. (He kept her attention, though, by being a remarkable man.)

The deeper I sink into Sand of Bone revisions, the more trouble I'm having maintaining voice. It's fairly easy in large sections where revisions require a simple rework and rearrangement of what's there. But the places that require a bridge of new material--or an entire new chapter--I am struggling against the omni voice of Chant.

Writing in omni isn't something I expected to so fall in love with. Chant was an experiment, my chance to try out what

sartorias spoke of with such excitement. But as I settled into the flow--developed a better feel for narrative shifts, grew comfortable with choosing whose eyes and ears and mind would be shared with the reader--I indeed fell in love with its dual nature. Omni is at once direct and removed, simple and complicated, rich and streamlined. It's the broad focus of a panorama lens combined with the encompassing intimacy of a gentle kiss.

Now, with Sand, I feel as if I'm learning third all over again, which in some ways I am. There is such a temptation to slip into omni, to re-write the entire thing in omni. But shifting from third to omni isn't a simple thing. The switch would require a complete overhaul of its structure, timing, character revelations, important plot notes... And I don't have a storyteller--the behind-the-prose character telling the story. Based on my experience with Chant, that lack is enough to kill the chances of omni working well.

So, no, Sand will remain third--at least until I reach the end of the rewrite, I suppose. Then I'll beg some beta feedback to see if it works. If not, I shall shelve it, work it on Chant's sequel, and Drunkard, and any other thing I can until I figure out what the heck I want to do with it. Why not do that now? Because I want beyond all wants to have the rewrite finished rather than aborted. (And I'm so glad I get to make that choice. Were I on an external deadline, Sand would never be what I want it to be.)

But the no-omni thing is indeed bugging the crap out of me. I never thought third-person would feel so constricting and clunky!

...but I do a little dance of joy when some random reader gives me four stars at Goodreads.

I don't have many readers. (I've done no marketing whatsoever, and am not looking to do much until November, really.) But I'm so proud--no, honestly, relieved--that strangers have given Sword and Chant an average now approaching four stars on Goodreads. No two- or one-star ratings. Whew!

Putting something out there without the endorsement of a third-party publisher is a nerve-scratching decision. It's nice to know that at least a few strangers thought it a good decision.

And now that my happy dance is done... back to work on Sand of Bone.

To say I'm revising Sand isn't quite accurate. I'm rewriting the novel, word by word. Some sections will survive pretty much as they were in the earlier version, but that's the exception. Major plot points remain intact. Major motivations are different. I altered pieces of worldbuilding just enough that the ripples were difficult to predict, or formed roadblocks to previously smooth parts.

I've reached the midpoint. Finally, I feel settled in the new configuration. The upside is the rewriting should be smoother from this point forward. The downside is I can more clearly see what needs to be changed in the first half, and seeing it makes me want to fix it. That would be a time-sink because I'm fairly certain I'll end up with yet another pile of needed changes once I hit the end of this revision round. I won't know what those are until I hit the end.

It's like working from a detailed outline--with surprises along the way.

And it does make me wish I could write 80K novels.

Maybe it's the fleeting touch of spring in the air. Maybe it's the pressure to Get Things Done. Maybe it's a response to finally—for months, and without non-fiction distractions—focusing on stories. Or maybe it's a delayed rebound from the multiple years I chose to ignore all the ideas. Whatever the cause, I find myself beset night and day by the internal demand I get everything written NOW.

I'm blasting through the rest of Sand of Bone now, making swifter progress now that I feel more immersed in the world. Suddenly, this idea trotted in this morning that I should completely cut the middle book from the trilogy. I could do it, with the creation of a new set-up for what's now the third book, and I'm liking the ideas more and more.

The second book wouldn't be just lost words, though. On the heels of the above thought came the inkling of a different story that could be told of the characters and culture that fill much of the second book.

Grumpy Neb from The Drunkard keeps tossing me his observations about his young charge, smart and sexy Lin from The Slaughterer is forever just sitting down to dinner with his huge family because that's the scene from which the entire plot flows, and the narrator of the final book in the Chant series is whispering angry tidbits at me.

Three key scenes from Surrender run through my thoughts over and over. I drove home from Asheville with another novel idea rattling around, and had a rough plot sketched by the time I got home—one that will connect with the Indy book I still plan to finish, and the Charleston book I decided to write when I visited That Man.

Because I really, really needed another project. Because having ten novels in various stages ranging from "nearing final draft" to "collection of ideas and plot points" simply wasn't enough.

Sweet New Idea Muse, surely there must be a writer out there staring at a blank page who could use a touch of your inspiration. Truly, I will be just fine if you move along to the next gal. But if you're worried about how I'll do without you, you could leave your kind cousins Word Count and Revision to watch over me.

(Aside: That Man continues to be awesome and fascinating and kind and fun and someone I'm happy to have in my life. Hee.)

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These Certain Musings

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