Excuses to Edit

One of the benefits (and disadvantages) to putting a draft aside is that, unless you've kept effective enough notes as you go (which is akin to writing the same thing twice over, so I don't often do), time away from it makes a preemptive edit a necessity.

I suppose some might have the willpower not to poke at the draft as they go (aside from glaring spelling and grammar mistakes, which must always be nipped when caught), but I am not such a person.

Today, I started to reread UnHeard's NaNo draft and I've barely cleared the first few scenes after a couple hours of reading because I've already begun to add and fidget with what I'm coming across. Nothing too lofty, a sentence here and there with any uncertainty being shoved onto the Notes section to be refined later. All the same, while the idea of editing was not thrilling, as usual I find that it is a very rewarding experience to have to refresh my memory once more.

Even though rereading any of my books evokes the same feeling, I can't help but feel what I am working on more truly reflects my aspirations for the story. Whether or not that's true, it's very much a feeling that drives me to keep writing, to keep looking for my truest voice, to keep believing my potential is never met, always growing, but not unattainable either.

I also feel as if I'm being more honest about my themes. Although the beginning of this current story starts with what seems to be a budding romance, I'm not handing this one to the reader so easily. Or myself, for that matter. Have you heard a long-married couple arguing in public and been intrigued to know what they were like as children or early in their marriage? Do you hear the odd mix of resentment mixed with adoration and wonder what combination of absence and being attached at the hip kept them from abandoning ship? Did everyone around them think they were destined to be together or was there no way in hell they seemed compatible, either in personality or station in life?

Even though romantic themes tend to be a 'sure thing' from the perspective of planning (not always the case since I sometimes find the story to take some pretty hard lefts), I spend a lot of time picturing them as both perfect for each other and absolutely hating each other's guts, building organically from a place where it truly seems it could go either way. Do I dive into dysfunction and being together for the 'wrong reasons' (being afraid to be alone, for one) or is theirs a 'healthy' relationship? How does outside perception interfere with those interpersonal feelings, if at all? 

Despite the depth I go to to tie in all themes, no matter how swallowed they are in their own conflicting or adoring feelings, how do I assure that it is secondary or even a distant third to a much bigger plot? Well, the same way we stumble through life, able to care about more than one thing at a time. Writing in scenes and short stories before I had the confidence to call them novels was a great stepping stone. Learning how to sew stories together, to create those transitions and plant those seeds of foreshadowing, was no small task. It often involves hiding things in plain sight, to draw some readers so far into an emotional subplot that they likely shove a detail aside, but... not so much that it can't be pulled up like an epiphany later.

The trick is to also distance myself as if the emotion is not effective. For some people, that will be the case. What makes one reader shocked or warm and tingly won't be the same for everyone, so this also means that emotion can not be relied on to carry the story indefinitely. It doesn't damage the raw heart of a story to invite other tactics into the mix. In fact, as a writer, I look forward to the very different perspectives evoked from my words. Having once been an avid user of social media, I've learned to take the aggravation of purposely twisted words as a useful strategy for purposely hiding meaning in my own stories.

What's more karmic justice than turning bitterness into something useful? Let your haters be the fertilizer for your growth, rather than salt the earth.

In any case, back to the enjoyment of refamiliarizing myself with the draft before proceeding. This story is somewhere between planning and free-writing, but with this series, I find that the best parts often arise from just playing around in its build before buckling down on the details.

Ooo, but I do have a couple of things to add before I get back to it.

It's not at all obvious, but I originally planned the relationship between UnNamed's mercenary and brat to be lovers. While they bantered early in the story, I realized that there was something to the way the child was bonding to him like a father since they never had one and he, the furthest thing from what you'd consider a good parent, had a soft spot for the kid. After a while, I definitely couldn't see the original plan of a romantic relationship, but instead found the strongest bond in a familial type bond instead. lol I wish I could be more exact about it, but I'm still new and unknown enough that I'd really hate to spoil it so easily in a blog. Nevertheless, it does align perfectly with the idea that even an original plan can evolve into a different concept altogether. In fact, it was this epiphany that gave me a great idea for one of the plots that spans all four books.

Until the book is published, it's more accurate to say that nothing is actually a 'sure thing'. Some plans just latch on more stubbornly, others are wrested free by the larger needs of the story.

Building a Mystery

While deciding to jot down an idea that's really insistent on becoming 'a thing' someday, I became more aware of a tendency I've developed in my focus during the idea stages.

I flesh out the beginning. I detail the build of the character, the weather, the time of day, their clipped breaths, their urgency, what they're doing with their clothes. I build the environment since beginnings can be a really tough place while arranging them in the many editing phases. It's a place that starts off mentally like the holographic cubes and grids in a sci-fi simulation, where the computer has yet to build the scene that immerses the occupant into the virtual reality. Because I'm not yet sure of what it will become, I set about painting the first few frames with details meant to initiate me, that I am the newcomer, that this place and person existed long before and I am the one who has to be initiated into the reality, not them.

The middle of the idea usually falls along these lines 'supporting subplots to explain these psychological results of this character that causes them to do these actions.' The bold parts are variant, but let's fill in the blanks mad-lib style for the sake of an example: Supporting subplots to explain the growing obsession of a schoolteacher that causes them to repeatedly fail their students.

That's right; I don't humor the meat of the story at all.

Cutting to the end (because it's otherwise not significant to this post but still useful), I go in-between. I write a specific resolution or two. In the case of the example, perhaps I decide that 1) the school teacher resents their job but doesn't know what else they want to do with their life or 2) that they want to challenge their students to defend their work by putting their feet to the fire. It's not a coincidence that I choose two very opposing extremes that gives the chosen conclusion permission to fall somewhere in the middle. While it's important to have an overall point, this is one area where you don't exactly have to be married to, especially as the story evolves. You just need a pretty good idea to anchor the subplots to an end.

Now back to why I believe this is most effective.

Typically, when I draft I like to nail down the beginning and at least the first supporting subplot that it merges into. I'm not from the camp that believes the beginning has to be instantly spectacular, just get on the damn road. You do want to initiate the reader into your voice, your style, your storytelling, but there's no magic formula for every reader, so this is where you have to make a personal call as to what your story needs to work. As I said before, your beginning is likely to change completely, so if beginnings aren't your strong suit, this is a place to play until you submerge into the story more confidently. This is your kiddie pool before you are ready for the high dive.

The middle parts always seem to either come as you get there or you might find you want to stop the free-writing to begin a planning phase. This can often benefit from a sort of mad-lib of the initial mad-lib, only it's more rooted in the logic of your loose mission statement. Where would a teacher be that makes sense? Where could they be that doesn't make much sense until your plot development sheds light on it? Does your teacher meet a wise old librarian that enlightens them on teaching methods or are they drinking in a strip club when an aging hooker startles them with some sound life advice?

Set some markers where the seeds of your story will grow. Go with the classic Who, What, Where, When, Why, How and fill them in with possibilities. At first, it might seem shallow and silly, but in my experience, once you get past the shallow end of it, you'll start to home in on certain words and it will paint pictures that start making genuine connections with your intent.

Regardless of how solid your intent is, at that. A story evolves in the motion of ideas and inspiration. You can't always be actively looking for it. Sometimes it comes in the free-writing, sometimes it comes in the deliberate act of brain-storming. Many writers try to guide you on how to utilize these things most effectively, but I believe this is down to how well you trust your intuition. You can be flighty and unanchored in the free-write because you're going to edit later, right?

Oh please, tell me you don't think that first draft is going to be instant magic. Even if you're right, you're wrong. Everyone can do MUCH better than the first draft.

From personal experience, I can say that in building an effective mystery, there's some magic in going in blind, but don't expect an entire novel to operate on that. You may need many different methods to arrive at the richest transitions in your adventure. I know many a writer who, even if I'm instantly captivated by their work, I am also able to be surprised and more enchanted by their certainty that, on further edits, they can top it. More often than not, the ones most confident that it's not perfect are the storytellers that make the best magic once they decide they've satisfied the story (even though they'll still insist it's not perfect, at some point, they are wise to set it free).

The key to a good mystery in storytelling, no matter the genre, is to leave a little mystery for yourself. You can work out the kinks in logic and presentation later, but don't be so obsessed with control over the story before it's even been written. I've seen more than my share of carefully planned stories that bog the writer down before it ever becomes a coherent story. This sort of planning is more effective for a project manager or story planner, but this is because you're passing it off to someone who will look at it fresh. Don't kill the mystery for yourself by keeping the planning too tight. Leave some for the drafting.

A solid beginning and ending are great motivators for me, although on occasion, I like to leave the ending loose as well, as a sort of finish line, the icing on the cake, but that's the exception rather than the rule. I've found I like to have a good base for where things start and where things end up, but leave the playground open. Yes, the end and the beginning may change drastically while the middle becomes richer, but as I continue my journey as a writer, I'm less married to anything I write that just doesn't ultimately benefit the story. Cutting and rearranging and starting from scratch will happen. What I need to love is the result, so what is sacrificed to get there is what I endeavor to accept more gracefully.