League of Incredible Colleagues

Or, “Time to step out of the author’s fortress of solitude”.

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Original artwork: Designed by Freepik. Labels by Megan Tayles

So, there comes a time in the writing cycle when you have to let people read what you’ve written. I understand this works better if there’s a sort of trial run, an alpha-, beta-, gamma-readership, before you start asking for money for the privilege.

I joined a writers’ group a few months back, for the express purpose of finding some like-minded alpha readers to trial run on. Well, there were other reasons to join a group–encouragement, motivation, information exchange, the almighty networking–but reading was the one I really didn’t think I could fudge. The upshot is that I’ve joined a tiny posse of SFF writers who (more or less) want someone to read over their work and give an opinion. I’m both excited and incredibly, super-duper, extra terrified.

The plan is to trade segments of our works-in-progress once a month (3000-5000 words) and then meet to discuss. If this seems unambitious, well, we’re still attempting to calibrate our level of ambition. Also, we’re nervous aspiring authors who don’t want to let our babies out of the house, and who also have day jobs, so a certain lack of ambition may be deliberate. I, for one, feel a strong urge to take my precious segment-to-be-sent and polish it to a ridiculous rosy glow before it escapes anywhere. It’s not that I don’t have the words–I have a whole novel draft to work from–I just think they should be better words first.

Also, green shall be the colour of the pen that marks up our fellows’ work; red has been verboten, in case it causes psychological damage. We’re taking our cues from another group, at least up until the moment when something they’re doing doesn’t work for us. It has also been suggested that we each indicate what it is that we would like the others to consider in our work, so I’m mentally attempting to pare my list of issues down to something manageable.

I guess there’s a bit of excitement mixed in with all that terror after all. At least this arrangement provides the comforting sense of a friendly hostage exchange: nobody’s going to rip another’s work to shreds if there’s any danger the same will happen to theirs.

I hope.

PS: Why does WordPress spell-check object to my Brit/Canadian spelling of “colour,” but raise not an eyebrow if I throw in a little random German? *Shaking my head.*

Excerpts from the cutting room floor

Words fallen in the gap between two drafts…and how much they make me cringe.

absorbed-2409314__340This is a bit of writing that was wholly cut between draft 1 and draft 2 of one of my projects. The larger scene more or less survived the purge, but I believe the sandwich suffered an abrupt termination.

 

At last round three ended when Bishop agreed to get Tara a sandwich and a better cup of coffee at a local deli, and he left her alone again. Tara decided that this round had been a stalemate, although she wasn’t quite sure why she thought it had gone less well than round two.

In the stillness of the otherwise empty room, with only coffee and a sandwich for company, Tara became absorbed in the question of her situation. Oddly enough, she was less concerned with ending this ordeal than with explaining it, as though she was on a mission where information was more vital than escape. The problem she kept running into was that she didn’t have nearly enough data to go on.

….

Even as Tara’s mind paced in circles, she kept herself still in her seat, some instinct telling her not to show agitation. Because she was overwhelmingly agitated. Some subconscious manifestation, or some lizard-brain synapses, were showing her a premonition, the certainty, of incipient doom. From every direction around her, Tara felt the cruel jaws of a waiting trap. But she couldn’t see it.

I must not have hated it enough to erase all traces (because I still have the words), while not liking it enough to preserve it in some other way. It’s getting posted here because, a) I’m not going to use it, and b) I’m attempting to acclimatize myself to exposing my writing. For the latter purpose, it helps that I already know it’s crap. Odd.

The first paragraph is boring. Why was I going on about sandwiches and coffee? There’s a level of detail I’m still trying to hit, a balance between realism and pertinence, that seems to be an itty-bitty, moving target. Basically, I couldn’t see myself surviving an interrogation while hungover without a sandwich, so I couldn’t see my protagonist managing it either. But honestly, was it necessary?

Then there’s the second paragraph, with my protag’s internal monologue that’s somehow painfully generic. Internal monologue hard.

And don’t get me started on the third paragraph, which seems to dive into the shades of “purple”, with a hint of cliche melodrama to really wreck the taste.

Ack. Cringe.

One thing I was trying to do was put my every-person protag into a position out of her depth, and then give the impression she was learning to tread water pretty damn well on the fly–this is the first crisis of an ordinary existence that’s only going to get less ordinary. An unexpected but not too revealing competence is important, and I think this section sort of manages that.

And I like the “lizard-brain synapses.” Even if I decided I wasn’t using the reference properly and dispatched them to the cutting room floor.

Trajectory of a Horror-Fairy Tale Romance

Is this what a romance trajectory should look like?

Recently I plotted out the chapters for a new book idea I’ve been working on, trying to keep it down to a concise ten (and a prologue).  The book is a horror fairy tale with a romance central plot, which is a bit of a stretch for me–the romance center, not the horror fairy tale. Horror-fairy tale just sounds like fun.

So I threw a “romance trajectory” scale into my outline, trying to make sure it had some kind of natural buildup and that it wasn’t just an “Act of Author” bringing the romance into existence.

So is this what a romance trajectory should look like?

romance trajectoryThe two columns are the two characters. The warm colours are for fuzzy-feeling interactions and the cold colours are for relationship chill. Grey is neutral. Each subsequent colour becomes deeper because, hey, relationships are built up on the sum of all previous interactions; you don’t get to reset to the faded pastels just because something new happens. And I tried to make sure their impressions of each other were nicely mismatched during the buildup, mutually disastrous during the crisis, and mutually fuzzy during the climax. (Plot climax; clarification for the gutter minds out there.)

The darkest colours, not so coincidentally, happen to coincide with the most horror-filled of my horror fairy tale scenes.

Keeping it balancing throughout guaranteed that there were some believable evolutions on both sides. So now that the colourful little map in my chapter outline has convinced me I know what I’m doing, I’m eager to actually write the thing.

~ And yes, in case there is any remaining question about it, I am an outliner. A Mad Outliner. If I didn’t outline, I’m afraid my characters would have stream-of-consciousness conversations and walk in and out random doors like they were in particularly lame farces. Also, I might never reach the ending. ~