I DO Know Something About Birthing Babies, Or: How I Plan Novels

I’m back in the house with a new request from a beloved reader. All you have to do to get me to come out of my hole these days is write in with a question! So, let’s begin.

Reese Anon writes:

Hello Robyn, I hope you're doing well. I was wondering if you can do a post about planning or writing a novel. You mentioned before that the story comes first, but do you always know the plot? How do you flesh it out and know when it's ready?

Thank you for your question and I AM doing well — aside from the bouts of existentialism, panic, and insomnia. But this is a great question and rides the line of generality and specificity in that people approach this different ways so I will have to mainly give my process.

Now I’m not saying my way is the only way, but it’s definitely the best. (Is she kidding? Who knows.)

So, here’s my usual trajectory from nothing going on in my head to I’m going to write a novel:

1. Get beaned in the head with some essential part of the story — this differs for everyone. It can be a scene (pretty common), or a piece of dialogue with little to no context, or just something thematic or maybe a visual.

2. Let this piece gestate. There’s no real background for it so you start rolling it around in your head to make a background. And a foreground. And a midground.

3. Suddenly, your main character appears — flawed, terrible in their glory. They surely fit in… somewhere.

4. Their flaws start growing vines and thorns. Now they’re not flaws, they’re outright problems. And the problems and that first essential part of the story tangle up.

5. This is causality. Either the problem of the story (the conflict) is because of your main character or your main character is because of the problem. Go where it feels right. Use your Spidey sense.

This is the basis I usually have before I start writing. I usually grab other things off the shelf like setting and time. These things aren’t just window dressing but can directly impact the plot of your novel so choose them with care — if your novel’s set in, I don’t know, fucking Miami, it’s unlikely that a snowstorm is going to blow by and unhinge things but you can count on hurricanes depending on the time of the year. Time also dictates how people talk, the slang they use, the media they have ingested. All important.

Setting out writing it, actually birthing your new novel onto the paper, is messy business. At first glance, your child is bloody, covered in mucus, head like a potato. Unpleasant to look at. But fear not, because literally everyone’s first draft is like this (yes, even that famous writer you’re thinking of) and if they say theirs is not, they are a nasty liar.

As you go along your first draft, you learn what the story is actually about. Because the truth is you have no idea after just the steps I’ve said — maybe you pick up characters along the way, maybe you drop them. I can remember in one of my novels, completely combining two characters into one in the second draft because I realized they were almost doing the same job, story-wise, and it would be more economical and clean to have just one.

This is when the plot starts churning. I don’t put a ton of stock in plot when I’m just beginning, honestly. It’s something that rears its head depending on the characters’ decisions. By having (like in step one) essential set pieces, scenes, lines that you want to hit, you begin to pick up a timeline. You have thing A, G and M that you want to happen. Now you have to find the pieces between them to connect those larger parts.

The important part is to not bore yourself. This is something that can take a backseat until draft two, but once you start looking back through it, if you find yourself yawning, cut. Cut, cut, cut. I don’t care what you have to do, just don’t ever bore yourself. You’re, simultaneously, boring everyone in the room. Nice people won’t tell you that. But it’s totally what’s happening.

I don’t consider something ready until you’ve edited three times. Once, to rewrite. Twice, to finetune. Three times a lady.

Well, Reese, I hope this was somewhat helpful.

And if you’d like to ask a question, hit the Contact button!

The Time is Nigh

Whoa, it’s almost the end of October! How’d that happen?

This month of pre-Nanowrimo prepping FLEW BY. Maybe it’s that October’s my favorite month and nothing good lasts. Maybe I just lost track of time.

What’s happened this month?

My agent loved my revision and we sent it out on submission! It’s out in the inboxes of editors and there’s nothing I can do about it anymore, except wait and see what they say. So I turn my attention to the project ahead.

Things I’ve acquired during prepping:

• A moodboard for my project.

• A playlist for my project.

• Lots of notes.

• Peach tea.

• I made a cover for funsies too!

My biggest tips for prepping what is essentially a 50,000 word sprint in a month is just to immerse yourself. This is a luxury, of course, because a lot of people have children, responsibilities, lives — I have none of those things, so I’m able to just cannonball in. If you are struggling with outside annoyances, however, try locking yourself in a room for fifteen minutes a day and devoting this time to jotting down notes on your own. Characters, setting, era, all of which helps. And even when you’re out running errands, daydreaming at odds about your newly blooming world is a precious resource as well.

I’m going away for the weekend but will be back just in time mid-November 1st to get my wordcount in.

Remember that all you need to win is about 1,667 words a day. Don’t let yourself skip too many days as the snowball effect can be daunting. Pace yourself and get it how you want it!

Let's Get Writing Again.

Welcome to October! Welcome to autumn! Ring in the new season! Ding ding, bitches!

My new computer!

Revision Month went off without a hitch so let’s give a big round of applause for ME, who went so hard I pinched a nerve in my back and was completely out of commission for the first 3 days of October. Literally, I finished that revision on Sept 30th and my body said, “I’m out,” and left me a broken shell of a person. I’m on the mend now.

My gifts to myself for finishing my Revision Month:

• a deep tissue massage at my favorite spa

• a new computer rig with gamer keyboard and mouse and camera

• a fall refresher for my wardrobe

So besides my back going the way of the dinosaur, I’m pretty content. As we leave the revised manuscript and wait for my agent to read it, what do we do in the meantime? Well, get ready for Nano, of course… for those of you who don’t know, Nano is short for Nanowrimo which is short for National Novel Writing Month which is an event in November where you write 50k words of a novel in 30 days. It’s fun, it’s stressful, I’ve completed it 3 times! This upcoming one will be my 4th.

To prepare for such an undertaking, I usually take all of October to plan something out.

What do I need to plan? Lots of things. Let’s list them:

• a fresh notebook

• music relative to my upcoming project

• specialty coffee

• a comfortable writing environment (hence me setting up my new space)

I have all these things! The key to planning a whole new novel in a month is just to really relax into it. I don’t write while I’m planning; in fact, I give my poor abused fingers a break. I don’t put much pressure on myself to actively have an idea. Instead I put myself in situations where I’m not thinking about anything too hard. The ideas come racing out of the ether and smack you right in the head.

For example, last night I was just sitting around like a bump on a pickle with my fresh notebook nearby and jotted down nearly a whole page of plot happenings along with some things about my main character. In this stage, what comes comes. I don’t talk much about the plot or the summary of it at this point, to anyone. It’s like bad luck almost, like telling someone you’re pregnant before the first trimester has ended. I keep it to myself and don’t feel any pressure to stick to one idea just because I’ve said it aloud.

As we get closer to November, I’ll post more tips and tricks on planning! Keep in mind that I am a planner, and there exist people in the world who like to go into November with no plan whatsoever and just write whatever comes to mind.

I don’t advise this for a myriad of reasons: accelerating into a wall, incoherency, it’s particularly stressful, etc…

But hey, do whatever the fuck you wanna do. :D

One Scene at a Time

I’m in the mighty grip of my revision month. My back constantly hurts from hunching over the computer, my eyes have gone wonky, I’m tired and irritated and having one long rolling existential crisis.

But everything’s okay, because I’ve got my workflow!

A workflow is a pattern, a rhythm, something to be adhered to even in the face of terrible, seemingly unconquerable monsters/manuscripts. If you hang on to your workflow and apply it to every kink you encounter, surely you will prevail.

(Someone from the audience: “Don’t call me Shirley.”)

Okay, guys, let’s look at the facts. Every writer I’ve ever met has a book, right? Like, a notebook of some sort where they jot down ideas, sometimes haphazardly, sometimes with purpose. Of course I have one too, it changes every year or so once I fill it up. Here’s a gander at this year’s model. It’s got my first draft notes and now my revision notes as I go along!

Yes, yes, Mario stickers. Customization!

Anyway, the way I attack my revising is, after I’ve gone through all my agent’s notes and such, to look at each old chapter and make notes inside my book of what needs to change. Obviously, since I’m now revising chapter 14/15, a lot has been added/taken away and the changes are getting bigger and bigger. How to keep up with all that mishmash? How not to get wildly confused in the tangle?

Sticky notes and willpower! Observe:

I take each chapter, make notes of what I want to change and what I want to keep, this way. The sticky notes are things to keep in mind that have already changed and what I can do to build upon them.

As for the writing you see, I head the chapter notes, and make personal notes about the scenes. I have a shorthand so this won’t take forever. BEHOLD:

Yes, that disheveled young woman in the corner is none other than yours truly.

So I can add these in and not lose my mind too much! The great thing about your own notes is they’re YOUR OWN and no one will judge you for the awful things you put in there! For example, one of my character notes just says for him: ‘gay and likes Melissa Etheridge.’ And for this character’s revision, his notes just changed to ‘VERY gay and likes Melissa Etheridge.’

Every day, I start the workflow over again. I look at the old chapter, make these very colorful notes, and then realign myself with the current revision through my past very colorful notes. I’m always going back into the notes proper to make sure I haven’t overlooked anything huge. This also saves time because I don’t have to inch through the original doc in search of miniscule shit.

My process works for me! What works for you?

Creating Space

So I’m in the middle of revisions for my last completed MS and I had to not only rethink elements of the story but elements of how I’m creating the story. I needed a soft, welcoming place to put myself through the ringer again. And what with the timeliness of my favorite season’s arrival….

My side of our home office.

Revamping my office space! Pumpkin and book-scented candles, soft lighting, new chair, new atmosphere. I figured to change the work, you change the workspace.

It’s hard to think about changing something from the inside out, really. Revision has always been an unwieldy word for me because the scope of it can be so large. But I’m no stranger to it. We did it all the time back in MFA land, back when profs told you there was nothing to salvage but the characters’ names. (Ugh.) You get through it.

My agent gave me tons of extremely helpful line notes in the doc itself and also a long write-up. From there, I went into my notebook and wrote out in bullet points the main changes suggested, and then wrote a side of it that were the main changes I wanted to make. Then, I circled everything that needed to change for it to work.

The hard part about getting revision notes from anyone — whether they’re your agent, editor, critique buddy, prof — is that you’re not always going to agree. You, as the creator, have to examine why you don’t agree.

Is it because you really think it’s fine?

Is it because you’re being lazy?

Or is it pride?

And it’s a new ask every time you look at a problem. At some point, the revision verges, carving its own path. You can think of it a lot like building a person; the first time you built that person, when they rose from the workbench, and you told them to walk, they almost fell down because their legs weren’t strong enough to carry them — low muscle mass, or the heart isn’t pumping enough blood. In this case, for this MS, the limbs seem to all work, and the face is cute, but there’s a real problem in the heart.

The heart of the story changes a lot. If you go in and fiddle with the heart, you’re also fiddling with arteries and blood flow. So many new things pop up. The great part is this is more about building than tearing down, so it is in scope easier than if I had to, say, cut 20,000 words. (Always low-ball the first time around.)

I find myself playing Can You? daily, too, which tells me I’m going in the right direction. What also makes me smile is seeing the story get better in front of my very eyes. A second go-around gives you a chance to embolden characters and let them go off and do things they may have been too scared to do the first time, or you were too scared to let them do.

There’s a fine line — for the changes you know the story needs but may not actually be fun to do. The challenge then becomes: you need to make them fun to do. You’ve almost got to. If you aren’t having fun writing it, no one is having fun reading it. Slog for you is slog for everyone.

There are a few things I hold back on, because I know I’m right about them. It’s certainly possible I didn’t express them correctly, and it’s also my duty to say them more clearly. But when I heard those words the first time, I knew they were true by the way they felt.

Wish me luck! We are 100 pages in and counting.

Hintlord Series #3: Way down in the hole

Ever hear the saying that there’s only two types of writers: gardeners (the nurturing) and architects (the planners)?

Well, it’s BULLSHIT. Know what that is? Archaeologist erasure and I’m. Not. Having it. Of course there’s not only those three either, I’m sure; somewhere out there, there’s a deep-sea diver and a space explorer and a hobo type of writer. But me, myself, I am an archaeologist.

“Beautiful and wise Robyn,” you say to your screen, hands clasped between your breasts, “whatever do you mean by that? What does archaeology have to do with writing?”

Why, I’ll tell you, my needy reader!

First off, we’re gonna use my current project as an example. I just wrote a first draft of a manuscript (no, please, you don’t have to throw your underwear at me) and I’m in the resting phase before I move on to the second draft. But in the first draft, as an archaeologist, what did I do? How did I approach it? We all know first drafts are a mad word vomit, a blueprint, a layout, nothing fit for other human eyes to witness. But when I come to it, it’s a constant dig. Not always down, sometimes out, sideways. There’s something there, I know it. Something hard and strange under the shifting sands. A first draft is me coming by with a giant leafblower and sending the dust away so that I can see the bony ridges rising up.

When writing, often people will get stuck on revising chapter by chapter or bit by bit, knowing that whatever they wrote just now won’t make it to the final draft. Okay, who cares? Who are you showing this to? Nobody, right? If I think a subplot that started in chapter two has hit a dead end by chapter five, I drop it. Just stop writing it. Obviously, that bone has chipped off and is lost, or the rib ends there. Keep it moving.

It’s feeling the creature out. Following lines. One of my favorite things to do is, if I encounter something that I didn’t start digging up earlier but obviously is too good to pass up, I just write it like I’ve been developing it the whole time. Again: who cares? The first draft is supposed to look like a half-unearthed dinosaur. It’s not supposed to be pretty, it’s supposed to tell the writer WHERE things are.

Here’s a good tip, as well, and this does have to do with being an architect instead:

• Build rooms! When you start writing your world, hint at stuff, give people things, give people too many things even. Set up a big important place. And then never go there, if you don’t need to. The point of this is to have recourse later on in the story and to encourage recursion. Having the characters relying on someone, something, somewhere that was set up and developed before will save you in a pinch and if you don’t use it, on your second draft, cut that shit. The first draft exists for you!

And finally, I don’t write the ending in the first draft. The last twenty/thirty pages? Nope. I just stop there and call it a draft, because what’s the point? When I go through the next time, the ending will probably change so dramatically that I’d have to rewrite it bottom up anyway.

Okay, so now your first draft is done. Time to wallow in should-haves, could-haves. This is great! You have the opportunity to get your ass in there and bridge things that are gaped, fill in those ghastly plot holes, explain why Mickey keeps stealing Patty’s panties and how he gets in her room. People tend to look at the second draft like it’s this horror coming for them, but it’s your salvation. You’ve got to look at it like learning from your mistakes.

More on my archaeologist ways after I finish the second draft. Keep digging, friends!

100 Pages

There’s a couple milestones for me when I’m on a new project.

1. 50 pages - a testing of the waters. Does this idea suck giant monkey dick? Well, you’ll know it within fifty pages, trust me. Some things just won’t be able to be smoothed out or over and if things don’t work out, best to cut the losses. But if I do make it here and feel strongly or stronger, that’s a good sign to keep going. Around this spot is when the world of the story starts opening up, I can see my way forward and realize some things I did wrong in the beginning.

2. 100 pages - woo! A real save point if there is one. Now I’m really into it and trying desperately to keep momentum going. If I were to stop here, for any amount of time, it would probably go downhill like if I stopped rolling a boulder up a mountain and tried to take a breather. Just got to push.

Right now I’m on that second milestone. My new project is breathing steadily and I’m working everyday with a minimum word count of 2k. See, here’s the thing.

I was talking to a budding young writer yesterday and she asked me how I draft, as she was having trouble managing drafting one chap at a time. I don’t know how they do it elsewhere and, to be honest, I don’t care. Don’t edit chapter by chapter, you’ll be driven insane. It sounds like a lot of work.

As I told her, I write out the whole first draft, ugly bumps and plot holes and all and I really don’t care how bad it is. Everything comes out in the wash. The first big edit, I start from the top and smooth out plot holes, missing scenes, all the big stuff. When that’s done, the third paving is for texture and smaller faux pas. When I say how many times I tend to go over things, it sounds like a lot of work but it’s waaaay less work than attacking it piecemeal.

The best part about considering the manuscript in save points and drafts is that it’s like standing at the summit, surveying the mountain trail you just climbed. There’s a clarity about it. Next save point is at 150 pages. See you there.

Another MS Bites the Dust

Remember the manuscript-in-progress I mentioned here? Well, today it took the leap off the cliff. That’s right! My agent sent it on its way to some unsuspecting and no doubt terrified editors.

It’s one of those feelings that’s a five in one. I’m happy, of course, and relieved this version is done with, excited to see what people might think, scared out of my fucking mind that no one will like it and also just like WELP DEAL WITH IT.

Usually now I’d like to take a break to… just be without any characters taking up space in my head but alas. I have to be searching for something else to write, because it would be… a misstep to just not write during the time it’s being submitted. At least I can say my stuff is out there somewhere, and not just this book but about twenty-five short story submissions as well. All I know is some eyes better be reading my work at any given moment of the day. READ ME, dammit. Love me or hate me, I do take up space in one’s head.

But there’s another feeling too, and that’s one of longing.

It’s stupid, probably, and pretentious on some level, but I miss my characters from that last book. I can’t dwell forever and with any luck I’ll get to revisit them with some edits but they’re largely gone and I know that. I faced such hurdles with it. Having such a hard time with the initial birth and facing a Great Depression in the middle where I stopped work on it for months. It’s literally a tiny miracle I managed to finish at all and I’m so fucking proud of doing that, come hell or high water. It’s so me it almost hurts.

Now, turning towards the future…

So, how I normally get ideas is getting beaned. I’ve mentioned this before — maybe briefly — but beaning is essentially walking about your day as normal and then experiencing a baseball to the back of the head. It comes out of nowhere, with no reason or origin behind it: the perfect idea, nearly fully formed. That’s how it’s always worked. But I’ve recently come to understand that maybe I have to have the ability to drive myself into writing something, powered by… imagination?

The fuck is that about?

But I digress.

So I’ll be actively looking for something to turn into my next book. I’m a little… fearful. And confused. And worried. I’ve never had much luck in forcing it. But I know I can’t just rely on the sky to produce something for me. In these uncertain times, I turn towards my manual for writing, Misery by our lord and savior, Stephen King. Paul Sheldon struggled with having an idea to jumpstart the revival of Misery book, one that would satisfy Annie. He knew trying to have an idea in the middle of books was common but was unsure if trying to have an idea for the start of a book would work. In the end, he was able to do it through a combination of beaning and being open to the universe. But I feel there was something inside Paul, the great Can You?er, that made that necessary. I was a good Can You?er once upon a time.

If there was ever something in me that had the power to produce on command, now would be a great fucking time for it to announce itself.