Slowing down, but in a good way

Normally when I write a book it comes out sounding (or reading) similar to a movie or an episodic television show. I like to cut back and forth between story lines because it feels right. When I write I’m usually watching the movie in my head, so it seems only natural that my books should feel quick filmic and be fast-paced.

But I wonder if it’s going to be that way with Heather. I feel, as I’m writing this first proper full draft, that the frenetic pace isn’t as natural as it should be. Thing is, I can’t tell if that means it’s a problem with the story itself, or if it’s more about the way the story is best told.

I like to give my characters a sidekick or foil because dialogue is my favourite thing to write, and it’s what I love reading. I’m not a fan of long passages of description just for its own sake. Anyhow, Heather has a sidekick/stalker, Grant, but since he’s stalking her, they can’t really talk. They’re texting now. But that feels weak. Which is odd in and of itself. We text all the time now, so why shouldn’t the characters in a piece of fiction? I suspect that texting, like ‘uh’ ‘well’ ‘umm’ and those ticks we have when actually speaking, works differently in fiction. I don’t let my characters waffle on (too much) or repeat themselves endlessly, or pepper their conversations with too many uh, erm, well, huh, I means. I think texting falls into the category of ‘Just because we actually say it/do it like that, doesn’t mean it’s right in fiction’.

It feels like the pace of this novel is different. And I’m going to explore that. I don’t know how it’ll come off… but it’s fiction. There’s room for experimentation.

Otherwise engaged.

It has been nearly three weeks since I’ve spoken to Heather. Which is a long time, I’m sure you’ll agree. I had some other work to do. Some non-Heather related writing.

In the section on this website called Full Nest you’ll see that my mother and I write little articles back and forth as a coping mechanism for the time that we live together. The Mom has been nagging me to get my end of things shored up and I had neglected it for too long. Since I live with her and pay nothing in the way of rent, I felt it behooved me to at least finish up my half-finished articles. Which I have now done. Yeah!

Though I’m quite pleased with the articles themselves, the timing of the whole thing couldn’t have been worse. I think. I had just started to get a handle on Heather and all things stalker when The Mom decided the articles needed to be finished Right Now. (You have a mother, you understand how it is actually impossible to say no to them, right? This isn’t just me, is it?)

To be honest, I finished writing them five days ago. So for the past five days I’ve been looking at what I’ve written (just looking at it, now reading it) and wondering about jumping back in. It’s kind of like standing on the edge of a pool, lake, other body of water: you want to jump in, you know it’s going to be so nice, so refreshing, but you also know that initially it’s going to be quite the shock to the system and you’re not entirely sure you want to put yourself through it. That’s what I’ve been doing: standing on the edge of the pool, wondering how cold the water is exactly.

I think though that having taken a few weeks off has been good. I’ve been thinking about Heather and why she’s so desperate for fame/celebrity. It’s because that’s how we measure success these days.

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is the way the novel’s being written. Well, not the way in which it’s being written exactly, but it’s form. The books I’ve written in the past have been very quick, and story-boarded. They function like soap operas or serial TV shows, the focus never stays with one person (on one scene) for too long. But I think that might be different in this one. I think it might be a bit more leisurely. It’s more of a sense than anything like a firm thought, though, and knowing myself, I think it’s best I don’t dwell on this idea.

The important thing is to power through. Press onwards. Keep writing.

It's not a fashion show

My mother used to always tell me that when I had a fit because I had nothing to wear to school. Her point was that I didn’t need to look like everyone else at school in order to learn. Learning is the point of school, not fashion.

I suppose the same thing applies to draft of a novel. The point is not for them to be pretty, the point is to get the story to take shape. The details are something to worry about another time.

I started typing and writing badly last week, which is very exciting. Very, very exciting. It’s good to have got going. The unfortunate thing is that the going is not always good.

I am not the type of writer who worries every word, every phrase, every sentence. I’m more of a ‘hindsight is 20/20’ type of writer. I write my drafts all the way though, and each time I go back and edit, I look for different things, depending on what stage I’m at.

Since I’m at the beginning, the smaller to medium sized things are getting glossed over in a way. Right now, the thing I need to remember to focus on is getting a draft done. That’s all. That’s all I have to do; every morning when I get up, I know that what needs to get done is that draft. And nothing else. The words don’t need to be pretty, they can repeat as often as they want; it’s an anything-goes sort of situation at the minute. The Wild West of drafts.

Thing is, it’s tricky. Because I think all writers have this thing in them, sort of like a gag reflex that makes it incredibly hard for them to write in a way they think of as bad, sub-par, not up to scratch. But it needs to be done. It’s something you have to do to get to the other side. Traveling itself isn’t always fun, but arriving is great. I’m traveling right now.

Even though I don’t worry every word, I still find it hard to get through the first draft. As I’m writing it, I know each successive chapter is far better than the one before, which is possibly part of the problem. As I’m writing I’m still exploring characterization, figuring out who does what, what the physical ticks are, what their favourite phrases are.

You know, I suppose in many ways, I’m writing a pinata: This draft will be destroyed, thrown away, binned. It is built to be thrown away.

But, unlike a pinata, once this draft is done, and ready to be shown the door, another will emerge in it’s place, and so on and so forth, until it’s done and the whole thing starts over again. With possibly a six month break in the middle for resting.

The plot thickens

I write these following words with caution, but I think I may have settled on a plot. I think the time has come when I’ve organized it as well as I can and I have to stop worrying about it and get on with it.

I was talking to one of my best girlfriends this morning, Jena and she’s a poet who is considering writing short stories again. We were chatting and she said, in an off-hand way, that she might have some questions for me. And that got me to thinking about my own process.

I’ve been banging on about plots and outlines here, and it’s occurred to me that what I consider a plot/outline might be a draft in someone else’s eyes. The thing I’ve written that I’m calling a plot/outline isn’t written in point form, isn’t written on cards (that method never clicked with me, much as I tried to force it), and it’s not set in stone. It’s pretty long winded, there are a lot of sentences that start with my favourite over-used words: so, and, anyhow and but.

So many people are against plots and outlines. Either they seem a waste of time, or unnecessary, or restrictive, but people – in my experience – are loathe to write one. But if you’re going to write a novel, that’s a lot of information to remember and cover, and to organize it you really need a bird’s eye view. So I put all the key bits of information into my outlines and I’m wondering if they might be considered drafts by someone else.

I’ll give you an example. Here’s the plot/outline for the opening section/chapter:

Starts with Heather telling Robin, Harvey and Winnie about the reality show at a deflated celebratory party at home. She’s been gone one week in total. Kicked off ‘Welcome Home’ competition to see who’s the Best Housewife In Britain. Winnie’s trying to pump up Heather’s confidence, Harvey thinks the whole thing is stupid. Robin is happy to have her home – didn’t like the idea of her ‘playing house’ with another man/men. Heather goes over the comments from the cast – that she’s average, plain, unremarkable, satisfactory but no real pizzazz. She’s distraught and the party only makes her feel worse. She also tells the family about her post-show interview and how she really played up ‘her character’s’ strengths. She was going for ‘ingenue’ but comes off looking like she’s faking being a lot younger.

That’s how the entire outline is written. I’m beginning to agree with the children’s author Jean M. Auel who said:

There are two kinds of writers in the world: the organized ones and the organic ones. When you’re organized, you do an outline, you do character studies, you do all of this and all of that before you write. The other approach is the organic one. You know where you’re going and you kind of just let it take you there. The outline I’m working from now happens to be my first draft.

I think the outline I’m currently working from is a first draft of sorts too. You know, when I finish a First Draft my tutors, mentors and teachers have always looked at me sternly before reminding me that all writing is re-writing. And I’d always thought that meant starting from scratching and re-doing the entire thing. Like when you screw up the batter for a cake, you start from scratch. That’s not the way for novels, you can add the eggs you forgot (I seem incapable of remembering eggs when baking for reason’s that remain unclear) and the cake/novel’ll turn out just fine.

All this is to say that I might start thinking of my strange – slightly obsessive – habit of writing outlines/plots as really just a very rough first draft. Though, now that I feel like the plot/outline’s finished I don’t feel comfortable saying I’ve got a first draft done. That seems very premature.

Let’s just say that now I know where I want to go, and I’ve got some very good directions, and pit-stops are marked. The car’s gassed up, snacks have been packed, the weather looks good.

Off we go then.

I love research!

Further to my previous post…

I was talking about how Heather needs to struggle to get what she wants, and have been considering letting her go on a Reality TV show of some kind, and be the first to get kicked off.

So I set about doing a bit of research, and what did Google bring? An article on The Wrap about former reality TV contestants. It’s moments like this that remind me research is The Best. Apparently, eleven former Reality TV stars (and in one case the sister of a contestant, and in another a Producer) have killed themselves. Killed. Themselves. After being on a reality TV show.

What if Heather offs herself in the end? Ooohhh… how exciting! (please keep in mind Heather is not a real person and I am not a sociopath.)

Maybe that’s the ending I’ve been looking for!

Getting vs. Having

Yesterday, it must be said, was one of those less-than-productive type days. I may have possibly been suffering from Writer’s Block, but I don’t believe in that. I was suffering, more likely, from Writer’s Frustration At This Book Writing Thing Being Hard. I was not blocked, ideas were coming right, left and centre, but none of them were grabbing me…

Let me tell you about Yesterday first, then we’ll move on to Writer’s Block…

So, yesterday. I’d nearly convinced myself that the outline I’d finished a few days ago was The One. That I had to convince myself, should’ve been an indication that the outline wasn’t going to work right – it’s hard to explain exactly how it’s wrong – but it’s sort of like when you try clothes on in a shop and though they may fit nicely, and the colour suits you, there’s just something Not Right and you know if you buy whatever it is, dress, shirt, belt, that it will never see the light of day. Same thing with the plot. It worked as a series of events, but just didn’t feel… right.

There’s a bit at the beginning where Heather’s going to the premiere of her crappy reality TV show, and she’s hoping it’s going to be really glam and fancy and star-studded (she’s picturing the Oscars or BAFTAs or something really big) and when she arrives it’s just a soft launch, no red carpets, no gowns, no press, and that’s a crushing disappointment for her. Except that, the thing is, with novels, the interesting bits – and this goes for life too, I think – are the struggling bits. The point of a novel – I think – is to watch the characters struggle to achieve their goals, and then how they deal with the consequences or repercussions of their actions. So Heather, whose goal is to achieve fame/celebrity status, doesn’t get to really struggle for her goal if she’s on her way to the launch of a TV show she’s hosting. She’s already reached her goal. This is a problem.

So I’m thinking of options:

1. She could be on a version of Big Brother, and be the first to get kicked off, which would give her cause to a) understand how ‘great’ it is to have cameras/eyes on you 24/7 and that would then b) give her reason to hire a stalker.
2. Or, what about if after her TV show airs, there’s a resounding silence and she’s not famous, or a celebrity, and the world basically ignores her TV debut and that’s a crushing defeat for her, so she has to go out and make herself a star by faking it til she makes it, and thus hiring a stalker would be the ultimate in celebrity status.
3. Similarly, the show’s not a hit, doesn’t make a ripple, not even commented upon in the TV listings, she could then, as a celebrity expert, make a list of ways to get famous and then set about achieving those goals – which would include: fame by association (with Robin’s father Iain, who is an artist whose degree show was shortlisted for the Turner Prize) by being a victim (hiring the stalker and then crying wolf basically), and by being attractive (which would involve Heather going out and spending heaps of money they don’t have on Botox, clothes, facials, waxes, mani-pedis, etc).

I think the best option is the failed attempt at reality TV. But I’m not sure yet.

As for Writer’s Block…

I had a lovely brunch a few weeks ago with an old writerly friend and she was asking me what I do when I get Writer’s Block, and I told her I don’t believe in it – for myself at least, I mean, just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean you can’t get it. I don’t believe in it because…

1. Being a writer doesn’t mean being someone who types all day long. Being a writer involves lying on the couch/bed/floor and daydreaming. This often does not look like the writer is hard at work. But this is a key part of the process, because writing is more than typing, writing is thinking and thinking doesn’t involve much physical activity.
2.  Writer’s Block tends to attack people who are really fussy about sentences whilst they write. To me this is like getting dressed for an Important Event (job interview, wedding, whatever) and standing in front of the mirror worrying about your hair/makeup when you’re still in your underpants. Misses. The. Point. Your first draft – anything before the final draft probably – is going to be a bit funny looking. That’s okay, the point in editing and doing more than one draft is to fix that shit. If you write it perfectly the first time… I think that’s the hardest way to go about writing a book.
3. Lack of discipline. That sounds awful, but I think it’s true. Writing a book takes years – YEARS – and you have to do it nearly every day. So there are bound to be days when you don’t want to do it – the key thing is to do it anyhow. How often to you wake up and dread going into work? Just because you like being a writer doesn’t mean you will never have days when you don’t want to go to the office. The key is to go. You have to sit at your desk/on your couch/in bed with the laptop or notebook or whatever every day.

On that note, I will now get back to work.

Research

I’ve been doing research for this book, and I mention it for two reasons: the first is that this is a relatively new process and the second is that some of the things I’m learning are fascinating. To me, at least.

I have always been reluctant to research things for a novel because it seemed odd to me. A novel is full of made-up things, so what’s the point in peppering it with a bunch of facts? I have come to the realization that actually, that’s not the point of research. For me, anyhow. For me it’s about character development and finding that one peculiar thing, detail, moment, whatever, that really sheds light on something within the novel. With my book Carbunckle’s Flight I dutifully researched pigeon racing and that helped me to create a pigeon loft that was above and beyond. Without knowing just how much one could spend on such a structure, and what bells and whistles could be included… well, let’s just say that fact is stranger than fiction.

With this novel, one of the things I’m finding difficult is understanding the mindset of someone who actively courts attention. Let me explain: I do like being the centre of attention, but in a very different way from Heather. I like my work to draw attention to me, and sometimes at parties, after a few too many cans of beer I do like to be the star of the show. But, the idea of being a celebrity in the way Heather aspires to is very, very difficult for me to understand – and if I don’t get it, it’s going to be hard to write her character convincingly. So I did – and am still doing – my research.

Herewith are a few gems:

From the book Illusions of Immortality: A psychology of Fame & Celebrity by David Giles

p132 Celebrity fans are fans of nothing more than a single individual; it is that person who occupies the central role in their life and commands more time, attention and devotion than most people lavish on a romantic partner.

That’s the sort of singular devotion Heather wants from her fans and audience.

Another great book is Look At Me! The Fame Motive from Childhood to Death by Orville Gilbert Brim

p12 Second phase of stalking as social construction, from 1989 – 1991, was marked by the increasing use of the term stalker, usually in the form of ‘star stalkers’. These were men and women who persistently followed and harassed the famous. The murder of actress Rebecca Schaeffer by a disordered fan, Robert Bardo, gave a dramatic focus to this new construction… Victims were now celebrities.

I thought that, as part of her backstory, Heather might’ve watched a similar news scenario unfold, and that it would make a real impression on her, and also form part of the reason for her hiring a stalker of her own. The stalker would be the ultimate fame accessory, and if things really took a turn, she could cry victim and begin another fame-cycle all over again.

In and around all of that, I’m also researching The English. The novel is set in London, but being a Canuck I am very, very aware of the fact that I am not English and that there are certain things I need to get correct in order to write English characters. More on that in another post.

It starts with a suit

In my seemingly never-ending quest to settle on a proper plot I have today have a measure of success. I have figured out how the book opens. It starts with Robin buying a new suit – one he can ill-afford even though it’s relatively cheap – because he believes he’s going to accompany Heather to the launch of her TV show. As her husband, he wants to be there for her when it’s her time to shine, however Heather believes this will take away from her stardom.

I was thinking I’d start it off with Heather, as she’s the number one protagonist in my mind, but she’s also not very nice. I’m not at all against having horrible and unlikeable characters in my novels, though horrible sometimes winds up being eccentric or weird in the end but I digress… horrible people should be in novels, it’s the best place for them really. But I don’t think the reader will want to continue reading a novel that starts off with a horrible woman being horrible to nice people. It sets the wrong tone.

The book isn’t going to be an angry rant – I don’t think – but more of a disheartened comment. More pfft than argh, if you follow.

The common received thinking about horrible vs not quite so horrible characters in novels generally follows the line that your reader won’t want to read about a protagonist they don’t like. And so we often think that a likeable character is the same as a likeable person. They’re not, I don’t think.

Characters are able to be supremely horrible, thank you Bret Easton Ellis, and we still find them interesting. I think it’s more about that – interesting vs dull. Nobody wants to read a book about dull people doing nice things, it’s not dramatic, it’s not exciting, but I do believe people are quite happy to read books where awful people do really nasty things. Fight Club and many of Palahniuk’s books have people who are nasty, and they’re quite popular. Dickens also had a bunch of really nasty people and they made his books all the better.

But I’m starting this novel with Robin who is lovely if slightly pathetic because I want Heather’s narcissism and terribleness to stand out more in contrast. We shall see if it works!

My sister's blog

My sister is writing a blog about sewing and ideas about originality within a world where many things are no longer unique – like that cute shirt you got at the mall that was pretty great until everybody you know has it.

It’s called Common Thread and you should check it out.

Still working on Heather and her stalker… more on that later.

Write What You Know

In my last post, I decided I was a lazy person because I wasn’t getting as much done on the new novel as I’d hoped for. But I’m not actually lazy, just busy.

In between working and suchlike, I’ve also been working on a short story. Now, short stories for me are incredibly difficult. I’m not a fan of condensed. But I’ve been trying to write one, and I’ll include a little preview for you below.

It’s called, for now, Nothing To Declare, and it’s about a woman, Janice Hooper, who’s a freelance journalist. She doesn’t have much in the way of work when the story starts, but an old contact, Max, rings her up out of the blue with the promise of work. Janice is in no way prepared for the job Max offers her, but finds that her skills as a journalist and another personal quirk make her ideally suited to the job.

Janice has Crohn’s disease. Seamus, the boy in my novel Carbunckle’s Flight, also has Crohn’s disease. As do I. In writing classes and workshops and website and whatever else, writers are always encouraged to ‘write what you know’. And most people take that literally, and write stories about how a fictionalized version of them was recently dumped and so on and so forth. In my experience, these thinly veiled fictional accounts of real life rarely make for good reading. Unless you’re the fictionalized dump-er, in which case, they’re awful/fodder for a great lawsuit. I digress…

I write about Crohn’s disease for a few reasons:

1. People are embarrassed talking about bowel movements, but if you have Crohn’s (or anything similar) you quickly become immune to such things. I think it’s silly that mentioning poo or bowels or whatever is enough to make people embarrassed – we all do it.
2. Though it’s a fairly common ailment, not many people really know what it is, and what it’s like to have it.
3. People in fiction rarely have chronic illnesses, but people in life often do.
4. To me, there is something pathetic and hilarious about being at the mercy of one’s bowels.
5. You know how, if you meet a womanizer, you might say he thinks with his cock? Well, Crohn’s people think with their bowels.

Anyhow, the story isn’t just about bowel movements, but also about the value of words and stories in our society today.

Here’s the preview I promised:

If Janice Hooper had been asked, just after graduation, what she planned to be doing in ten years time, she might have said teacher, published author, or maybe even married. Drug mule would definitely not have been listed as a potential career choice.

But now that she’s on the wrong side of thirty-five, unattached and struggling financially, her days of refusing anything in the way of paid work are over. No more turning away editors who pay insultingly less than scale, no more choosiness with the topics she covers or the publications that publish her words. Janice Hooper is a freelancer in the truest sense: her allegiances rest firmly and solely with her bank balance.

She goes over the contents of her stomach, which have been carefully calibrated to suit this particular assignment. In the past twelve hours she has eaten one bagel with cream cheese, five doughnuts, and one cup of coffee: enough to upset her digestion, but not anger it to the point of rebellion. And, she figures it gives her another layer of protection during the body scan. If her belly is full, then the likelihood of the security guards noticing the hundred grams of hermetically sealed high-grade cocaine she swallowed earlier, has to be lessened. She has no data to back this up; but it makes her feel calm and that, in turn, has made it possible for her to get this far.