I've been on an extended hiatus from fiction writing. This was partly because of pursuing other interests (I decided to start hybridizing irises again, and that consumed my attention for some months), but it was also partly because I felt like I was in a rut.
In January and February, I took two online classes through
Odyssey: one on three-act structure with Jean Cavelos, and one on writing in scenes with Nancy Kress. Both were extremely helpful, but I knew that to get the most out of these classes I would need to do more than just nod my head and think "yeah, that's good" - which is my usual reaction to reading books on writing. To take the next step, I would need to internalize what I had learned and change my writing process to reflect that.
Here are some of the issues I faced during my hiatus and during the classes, and what I have chosen to do about them.
The Plot Thickens
Plot is my nemesis as a writer. When I read books on writing, what they say about plot usually makes me think of thrillers and action movies. Escalating conflict between protagonist and antagonist, constantly raising stakes (usually involving threat to life or limb), and the implication that character development, setting, and theme need to take a back seat to suspense. It all struck me as pretty crassly commercial, like a formula for a Rambo sequel or something. This is not what I enjoy reading, and so I was resistant to learning to write according to this model of "plot." Jean Cavelos's workshop was an eye-opener, though. We looked at all different kinds of fiction, some commercial action fiction, but also other examples that were much more literary and with more subtle or internal conflicts. It became clear that classic structure and plot, although perhaps easiest to explain through an example like
Star Wars, pervades all different types of writing, not just action stories.
In simplest terms, three-act structure works like this:
In the first act, something happens to disrupt the character's life and engage them in a problem of some kind.
In the second act, the character pursues solving the problem, which becomes larger and more complex than it seemed at the outset. The second act ends when the character seems on the brink of solving the problem (or failing), and something happens that changes the rules.
In the third act, the change at the end of act two plays out and the basic problem is conclusively resolved.
Although this pattern can be criticized as a simplification and generalization, and it can certainly lend itself to formulaic storytelling, I think it carries a chord of truth about what keeps a story interesting. A story is about an interesting episode in a character's life, and begins when the character becomes engaged, somehow, in something out of the norm. If nothing new is added to the problem as the story progresses, there is no reason to keep reading. And if the story ends in a predictable success or failure, there is no gratification in having discovered something or learned something. So it seems like the "turning points" at the end of act one and act two almost
must be present in some form if the story is going to hold interest and deliver some kind of reward at the end.
I've resolved to build this kind of structure into every story I write for publication, at least until I can say I have mastered it and made it second nature. It's something I need to make my own, despite my early misgivings.
Revise, Revise, Revise
Revision is another specter I was reluctant to face. I worked as a technical editor for many years, so I'm certainly comfortable with the idea of improving a piece of writing by editing. I edited all the stories I wrote before sending them off. However, my editing tended to be superficial: polishing the words, adding a bit of description here or there, changing the emphasis of a passage to make sure the reader would get the intended impression.
This is all well and good, but most drafts require deeper editing than this. Writing a story is like thinking out loud: interesting stuff may come out, but not necessarily in the right order or in the right combination for making a coherent, interesting point. To make the most of draft, a writer needs to be prepared to go in and slash out whole scenes, characters, or ideas, and arrange what's left in the most compelling pattern possible. I resisted doing this because I was afraid that the story would become stale if I actually wrote it over. I rationalized by saying that I'd rather take what I learned from it and move on to the next story.
I'm now convinced that it is deep revision and rewriting that separates recreational writing from professional writing. I got over my psychological barrier to doing this by telling myself that
the draft is not the story. The draft is the raw material of the story, the ingredients. The draft is a tool to help you learn whatyou're writing about. It's like grocery shopping when you're not really sure what you want to make for dinner.
I also intend to take a long pause between draft and rewrite, to gain perspective and pick up some critiques. This will give the ideas a chance to stew and reassemble, and perhaps help the piece feel a little fresher when I return to revise it.
Wanderlust
For many years, my passion for world building was dominant over my desire to write stories. I love thinking about the geography, history, languages, and ecology of fictional worlds. When I started writing seriously, I made a conscious choice to reverse this predilection. I was determined to produce actual stories, one after another, fleshing out the settings only as needed. It was good discipline, because it taught me not be afraid of banging out a story, and another, and another. I learned I didn't have to wait to get that one perfect idea all lined up and ready. I could just get on with it.
I'm a fan of the
Magic: The Gathering game. I like to read the weekly columns by Magic designer Mark Rosewater, as he often has interesting reflections on creativity. In one column, he told of his first day in screenwriting class. (Rosewater worked briefly as a writer for
Roseann before becoming a game designer.) The professor said their assignment for the semester was to write a screenplay. Rosewater asked how long it should be. The professor said "as long as it needs to be." Rosewater countered that he had heard new writers couldn't sell screenplays unless they were around 90 minutes. The professor said that was true, and that part of becoming a good writer was to recognize which ideas would develop into a screenplay of the length you hoped to sell.
This hit a chord with me. Like most creative artists, I feel a tension between the ideas that I want to explore and the constraints of marketability. In bad moments, it can feel like having to choose between what you want to do and what you think others expect. This anecdote suggested that this a false dichotomy. I can write whatever I like, and then
select from that work ideas that seem to have commercial potential. With practice, I expect it will become easier to notice the marketable ideas earlier in the brainstorming.
So I resolve to allow myself to have free reign to write character vignettes, bits of backstory, historical appendices, and spontaneous stories without planning or plotting. At the very least, this is a world building exercise. At best, I may find some diamonds in the rough.
Writing is More than Writing
What this all comes down to is a shift of focus away from completing one draft after another. I had been spending perhaps 10% of my time planning, researching, and world building, 80% writing the first draft, and 10% editing. I'd like to shift that to 25% brainstorming, exploratory writing, world building and planning, 25% writing first drafts, and 50% revising. This probably means only a few stories ready for submission each year, rather than one a month. I'm glad I tried that more aggressive approach for a couple years. It did keep me writing and submitting, which I think is an important hurdle for an aspiring writer. But now it's time to move on and focus on making better stories, not more stories.