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!

Hintlord Series #4: Character building 101

Your Hintlord returns! I’ve had a request from a reader who asked about characters and how to build original ones! Here’s her note:

I'd love to hear if and how you manage to create characters who not merely represent a part of who you are or would like to be. I really struggle with creating someone new who is independent from who I am.

This is a great question and I am AWARE there are many schools of thought on this. Even some from my own alma mater that may differ from what you read here. But what you have to understand is: I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶m̶a̶r̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ I do things differently and they’ve worked out for me so far. :)

For example, some may say that good characters inform the plot; their choices direct the plot and therefore the character’s personalities come first. That’s all well and good in theory but sometimes it doesn’t work out. What if you’ve started your story with a couch potato character who sees something going on out of the corner of his eye but Maury’s on and he doesn’t wanna go check it out? That’s the end of your story unless your “something” comes barreling into Couch Potato’s living room. But that is a conscious choice of the author, so don’t give me that spiel about characters being voodooish and moving around on their own. That comes later.

So, instead, try out this lesson from the School of Robyn: try thinking about your story first. What does the story require?

I’ll be the first one to call myself out on this — my stories often require a blushing, rather submissive twink to be anxiously receptive to another guy’s advances. So I build one. Now, for the reader’s question. How to do this without your character being you/someone you want to be? Well, first of all, don’t make them look like you and there’s a world of separation there to begin with. Second, there’s a difference between who you ARE and what you KNOW. Just because something is in your wheelhouse — for example, characters I have that are into poetry/drawing/yoga — doesn’t mean the character is exactly like you. You use this to add spice, not meat.

In terms of “who you want to be”, hopefully you don’t want to be a shitty person, so you can make the character a shitty person! Trust me, this is always fun. And shitty people are good for a story because they inherently bring conflict with them. They pump in new blood.

(There’s seemingly this stigma against “negative character development” in this new day and age, which is just stupid. There’s nothing wrong with a character deteriorating over the course of the story, becoming less and less someone you’d feel comfortable meeting at night in a parking lot. But that’s a rant for another day.)

So let’s do it how I do it: first, we start with the story. The story always comes first. What do I need to make this idea in my head pop off? Well, let’s use my last published story Impossibly Tender as fodder. The story idea was: man kidnaps kid. That’s pretty basic, huh? To embellish it, I needed a flourishing, multi-layered character to pull that kind of thing off. He would need to be well-liked at least locally (so: teacher), deemed non-threatening to law enforcement (read: white), and he’d also need to be the kind of person who’d do something like that (unhinged) and also have an internal reasoning so that it seems reasonable in both his head and the reader’s, for a time (his own moral compass). And, why would he do this? (Past transgressions.)

When we use the story to build the characters, you’ll be hard-pressed to build one that’s like you.

Now: for all you voodoo purists out there, that’s not to say that building characters this way ensures they never do their own fantastical things and make choices on their own that informs the story in turn. Of COURSE they do. But they can only stand on their own feet if you give them bones and tendons and muscles. It’s not magic, it’s storytelling.

[Would you like a writing hint from the Hintlord? Just send in a request here!]

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.

Hintlord Series #2: Publication for beginners!

So I had another request for my Hintlord series!

As a disclaimer, this Hint will focus on short story publishing for those who HAVE NOT ever published anything before, or maybe they got accepted into one magazine and haven’t had luck since — maybe it was an act of God or the condition of a coven with a demon. Whatever. You wanna do it again.

The initial ask had to do with which magazines are best for someone who has not been published before, but since I wouldn’t consider any mags a “beginner’s” mag, I will just give some helpful hints and how-tos below.

I have like seven writing spaces.

So, what do you need to do first?

• Finish your story!

  • I know this sounds very DUH but no, no… finish your short story. Make sure it’s edited to within an inch of its life. Keep in mind that while typos are never a bonus, one or two will never keep you from being published if your story is really stellar and resonates with the editors, so if you later find you said effect but meant affect, chill.

• Find a magazine or fifteen.

  • Two things! One, you can either find mags by searching “lit mags” and will find some arbitrary lists, or you can use Duotrope.com which has a searchable database. It’s five dollars a month but you can get a free trial if it’s your first time. There are other sites like this, like Poets & Writers, and The Review Review, which is currently under construction. You shouldn’t have a hard time finding them.

    And TWO, only submit to mags who encourage simultaneous submission.

    “What does simultaneous submission mean?” you wonder, fearing that it sounds painful.

    It just means that you can submit your story to different magazines at the same time. Most mags are okay with this, as they understand it’s a waste of the writers’ time to sit with their thumb in their ass while one diffident mag hems and haws and ultimately rejects the piece. Any mag that doesn’t understand this is a waste of time, if you ask me, and you’re on this page so you did ask me.

    “But, Glorious Leader Robyn, how will I know if they accept sim… sima…”

    Simultaneous submissions! And you’ll know because they will say it on their…

• Read the Submission Guidelines!

  • Please read these. Please! Everywhere is a little bit different but they mostly all tell you the same shit. The only reason you read these is so you know approximate response time, if they accept simultaneous submissions, how to submit, i.e. via email or Submittable, and if they have some sort of credo that you do or don’t agree with. Some like you to put your name and info on the first page of the story, others don’t want any identifying info. Some want you to include a summary, MOST do not and don’t do it if it doesn’t specify.

• Write your cover letter!

  • All the info on that I’ve already covered. Get it?

• Don’t be afraid of submission fees.

  • Unlike finding a lit agent, it is rather normal for lit mags to charge a $3 or so submission fee, particularly if they use services like Submittable. That shit costs money. A lot of them don’t, though, and so you shouldn’t have trouble avoiding fees if you try. Duotrope is especially good at filtering these.

• Finally: PUT YOUR ASS INTO IT.

  • No, submitting to two is not enough. Nor is five. Ten is a good amount to try for a round, but if something’s open, submit to it. It’s really a numbers game. Don’t get discouraged by rejection. You have to eat it like breakfast. It feeds you. You exist from it. Acceptance is only a sugary dessert, and we wouldn’t want to rot those pearly whites, would we?

The Common Man

I wrote more when I knew fewer writers. That’s just the truth of it.

I’m not saying that knowing writers or communicating with them is bad (well, I am kinda saying that but) but for me personally it makes me forget why I even started writing in the first place. Because it sure as hell wasn’t so some jumped-up MFA grad boy can shout “CRAFT!” at me every two seconds, or even so I could edit other peoples’ work or even to give talks on writing at all. I’ve touched on it before, but the only reason I ever picked up a laptop was to harass people. That’s the point, that’s the juicy spot. If I’m not harassing anyone, then the goodness of writing is lost on me.

Florida nostalgia from my recent trip down south.

All this to say that knowing writers and being around them overmuch drains the point. Because really, the common man is where it’s at. The guy who couldn’t tell first person plural from third person omni is the guy I wanna talk to about my writing.

“Tell me, Common Man, why isn’t my plot working? What’s going on with this character?” I ask him over a steaming plate of fries at Steak n Shake.

And Common Man will sniff it out every time, more reliable than a trained hog after truffles, and more straightforward than Craft McSentence Level on why he should be up for a Pulitzer. I miss my friend, Common Man. I don’t know him any more.

Back when I was in undergrad, when I was the DEFINITION of prolific, Common Man was my constant companion. That’s not to say Common Man was never knowledgeable in his own field—he could be a biologist or a waiter or a hostess or just a soon-to-be college drop out. He saw my blind spots. He sees yours too. He may not know what to call it, but I could always count on him to do a better job in talking light and straight than the average writer.

And I look on Twitter and cringe sometimes. I see these hashtags and this fucking DISCOURSE. Why the fuck do we have to have discourse? What does it have to do with writing? With storytelling? The writer’s head is so far up their own ass that they NEED Common Man to pull them out again, to gently wipe the shit from their eyes.

I remember going to Waffle House at 1 AM and looking at Common Man over coffee and pecan waffles.

“So, what’d you think of the story?” I asked him.

“The main character’s trying to fuck his friends.” Common Man inhaled a sausage link. “Sounds gay to me.”

“Yes, you’re right,” I said, tears in my eyes. “You’re so right.”

I love him. I miss him. I’m fairly lost without him.

Hintlord Series #1: Hold the cheese, please.

And the sex goes on.

I recently received a request for a blog post on how to do sensitive but cheeseless sex scenes! Which is right up my alley — well, that’s up for debate honestly since I’ve done far more noncon and dubcon but I HAVE had my fair share of CONSENSUAL writing escapades. So there.

Look, as a disclaimer, because people can get fairly butthurt when it comes to sex in media (which is a whole ‘nother blog post, believe me), I have to state that this is just one adorably talented and hilarious woman’s professional and licensed opinion. Write what you want, but don’t be mad when people don’t like it. Because you didn’t listen to me.

The best way I can sum this up is:

Necessity.

The sex has to work as a necessity to character growth and plot. This little nugget of wisdom is predicated on two things:

1. There’s actually a plot in your story.

2. You want the audience to feel the sex wasn’t just shoved in and that this was a natural progression.

One way to accomplish this is to have a plot where sex is a given. If the sexuality of the main character is in line with the plot, let’s say they’re approaching or enduring puberty or a kink discovery, then the audience will come in with an expectation so sex will be less jarring when it appears.

In terms of sensitivity, this also has to follow the line of the plot. The characters’ relationships grow with the chapters, and on a technical level, I personally make sure to dot notes in my workbook about furthering the relationship with dialogue, imagined scenes and actions every chapter so I don’t forget. Because I will if left to my own devices.

You can have consideration and sweetness in a sex scene without filling it with I love you’s or the dreaded phrase making love. A few things I’ve seen people do that really grinds my gears in order to make the relationship seem “sweet” is amp up the cringe factor by having excessive pauses in the action wherein the author spoon-feeds the audience the importance of this occasion. It doesn’t need to be said, it needs to be felt.

Something as simple as the characters talking throughout it and hearkening back to in-jokes or banter they are already aware of will do the trick. Minute details of the body a character notices will also let the reader in on the singularity of the moment, the importance as seen through the character’s eyes. And because you’re a conscientious writer, you already know what the consequences of The Sexing will be. Does this make the relationship better or worse? Or, preferably, both?

Plot points are all dominoes that trigger one another, and sex is no different. If you keep these simple hints in mind, you’ll be wetting panties in no time!

And if you’d like to request a new Hintlord writing post, you can do so on my new Contact page!