Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creation. Show all posts

12.02.2012

Character or Plot?

So. There are a few things floating around about this now (see end), and honestly, I think the attitude in some of them is just downright counterproductive.

It's a chicken and egg question.

Personally, I go with character. It's just what happens. The idea for a particular character comes to mind, and then the setting forms around that, and then the situation (or several situations) materialise out of that. I have conversations with my characters. I yell at them when things aren't going the way I want. I praise them when they are. I also do all three with computers, printers, cars, phones, and pretty much any other inanimate object that performs a function.

Do I think my characters are real, three-dimensional beings capable of sentient thought? No. (The computers, cars, phones and other inanimate objects I'm not so sure about, though.) I have favourites among my characters. I get fond of them. I get fond of characters I read about, too. That is kind of the point, darlings.

A majority of the things I write are character-driven. Hell, in the shorter things, quite frequently plot only makes the briefest cameo appearance, if it shows up at all. But it works.* I would also say that a good 90% of the time I only have a very loose idea of what is actually going to happen, and those rare cases I start out with a more solid plan, I am usually surprised by where it goes at some point. Flannery O'Connor wrote a whole essay on how she got surprised by what her characters did. 

Example 1 : "Detox"

I had a character (Magpie), the idea of sin eaters (if you don't know what they are, look it up) and 1500 words to play with. I actually started with the idea that Magpie was going to die, and it would have some sort of repercussion on the narrator, blah blah etc. I didn't have any clue the narrator was going to kill Charley until I got to that point in the story. I could just be dense or a little slow, but I didn't. Looking back at everything leading to that point, I realised I'd been setting it up all along, and that, really, it was the only thing that could happen. But I didn't expect it.

Did my characters take over and dictate how the story would go? No. They're little voices in my head; they'd have a rather difficult time forcing me to do anything. Then again, they're little voices in my head, so by extension, they're little versions of my own thought processes, so even if they did stage a revolt, it would be one part of my consciousness rebelling against another. That's another little tangent, though.

Example 2 : The Great Never-Ending Epic Novel

Somewhere along the pile of drafts, I found myself stuck because there wasn't sufficient motivation for the protagonist to do what he needed to do. Gradually after I came to that conclusion, I realised the solution was the kill off the universal favourite character. 

I was not happy about this. In fact, I was quite sickened by the idea of doing it, so much so that I wasted a lot of time scrabbling around for some alternative just so I wouldn't have to kill that one character. In the end, I accepted it. He has to die to get to point X. And yeah, that scene was fucking hard as hell to write. Most emotionally intense things are because I'm a kinesthetic writer, so I have to feel what's happening to write it. Method acting for the wallflower, so to speak. But again, this was not something I planned from the beginning. In fact, the theme of these two examples is that I always think the wrong person is going to die. 

I know there are people out there who plan out every little detail before they start writing. They have an outline and little summaries and everything all figured out before Once upon a time even graces the page. Fantastic. It doesn't work for me. I don't plan a damn thing out. The plans I do make, I never write, and for my long projects, it's only about halfway through that I start making notes about things just so I have a reminder without having to sift through thousands of words to find a particular description or spelling or whatever. I also, generally, don't go through a lot of physical drafts; I do an awful lot of writing in my head. There are certain pieces that I have done entirely in my head and only written down the final product. But I know other writers who go through draft after draft after draft because that's part of their process. 
And that's the thing I find a little disturbing about the things being said around this realness of characters/importance of plot (my word; 'story' is the one being used, but 'story' is character + plot + themes/subtext so I'm going to be more correct). 

Your experience does not entitle you to dictate another writer's process.

Sorry, but it just doesn't. So you start with a plot and build characters around that.  Or you have a setting and work up. Or you do some other combination. Great. Cool. If that works for you, go with it. That doesn't mean every writer has to write the way you do. It doesn't mean that people who choose a different method should be condescended to, or are less valid for whatever reason. It's just different. 

So, come on, grown up writers - start acting like it. You know a lot, but you don't know everything. I don't know everything. We only know what works from our personal experiences, so stop making it sound like there's this big mandate of the One and Only Way. 

Oh, don't going smirking yet, kids, 'cause you're not off the hook, either. One thing that is definitely true: when you talk about your characters the same way you talk about your friends or, y'know, any other corporeal entity, you sound like an idiot. And for every grumpy grown up writer ready to flay you for that, there's a good number who are just too polite to say anything, but do silently roll their eyes and sigh, 'Oh, children...' 


* I'm not saying it works when everyone does it. I'm not even recommending that beginning writers going playing without a net. I took the time to learn the rules before I started breaking them.

7.01.2012

Day 1: Challenge

July is that wonderful masochistic time of year when a group of those slightly odd wordmonkeys attempt to spew creativity on a daily basis, because trying to churn out a novel in a month or a poem a day just aren't hardcore enough on their own.

Challenge #1
Write a story that incorporates elements from urban fantasy and comedy.



Ziggy pressed his face between the flaky iron bars of the fence. Shadows hugged the sloping lines of brittle trees and cast dark loops across the overgrown lawn. In the centre stood the house. Gauzy curtains fluttered out through broken windows. Part of the roof had caved in, and the front door hung at a slant. In the distance, what remained of the chapel spire and the handful of broken headstones could just be seen through the fog. A shiver ran down his spine. The whole thing was delightfully creepy.
          ‘Right,’ he said, stepping away from the fence. ‘Up you go.’
          Zero looked up at the very tall fence, taking particular note of the very long spikes topping each bar. ‘Why do I have to go first? You never go first. It’s your turn.’
          ‘You can’t die,’ Ziggy said. ‘The person who can’t die always goes first. That’s a rule.’
          ‘You just made that up.’
          Ziggy tapped his foot impatiently and pointed to the fence. ‘Up.’
          Zero leaned forward and tapped one of the bars with a long, lacquered nail. ‘Can’t.’
          ‘What is it this time?’
          ‘Consecrated ground.’ Zero pointed between the bars at the fallen spire. ‘You know I can’t go on consecrated ground.’
          ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. They’re Protestants. It doesn’t count.’
          ‘Sorry. I don’t make up the rules as I go along.’ Zero poked his finger halfway between the bars, and stopped it, appearing to demonstrate he couldn’t cross any further.
          Ziggy was not convinced. ‘Even if the church part was consecrated, it’s way over there. They wouldn’t have gone around blessing every inch. You’re just trying to get out of climbing the fence because you’re a big scaredy-cat.’
          ‘Am not!’ Zero stuck his tongue out at Ziggy. ‘I would totally climb that fence and not even think twice about it. I just can’t. Because it’s consecrated. I can sense these things.’
          ‘Uh-huh.’ Ziggy climbed up on the stone base and tested the bars in front of him. It wasn’t the tallest thing he’d ever scaled, and was certainly feasible. ‘Give us a boost, then.’ He wedged his foot in Zero’s cupped hands and hoisted himself onto the top rail of the fence, balancing precariously between the spikes before dropping over to the other side. ‘Give me the flashlight.’
          Zero looked at the torch in his hand, then at Ziggy on the other side of the bars. ‘What do you want the flashlight for?’ he asked, clutching it to his chest.
          ‘So I don’t trip over some dead body and break my neck. Come on. Hand it over.’
          ‘What am I supposed to use?’
          ‘I dunno. Maybe your ability to see in the dark?’
          Zero clutched the flashlight tighter. ‘I never said I could see in the dark.’
          Ziggy levelled his gaze his companion. ‘Are we seriously having this conversation?’
          ‘What if something comes and I don’t see it because I don’t have a flashlight?’
          ‘So you can magically sense consecrated ground, but you can’t tell when some big, toothy beasty is about to sneak up on you in the middle of a deserted street?’
          Zero pressed up against the fence. ‘Do you really think there are big, toothy beasties?’
          Ziggy reached over Zero’s shoulder and swiped the flashlight. ‘Worst. Vampire. Ever,’ he said. ‘Have fun guarding for beasties.’
          Zero watched Ziggy head up the path, the flashlight orb bouncing ahead of him, and then they both vanished into the shadows. He looked up and down the abandoned street. ‘Damn it.’

6.22.2012

The Floundering Epic

I'm afraid to write. 

I can't tell you why. I haven't figured out why, only that the layers and layers of muddly things I put between me and what I actually intend to do exist solely to stave off that fear of actually sitting down and committing to something. 

It's risky, of course. It's huge. I've already been piecing it together for nearly two years now and can't even claim to be halfway done. To actually finish it will undoubtedly take several more years of my life, and I've been down that road before. Committing myself to a project wholeheartedly only to have it ripped from my hands at the last moment, nearly there, almost finished still slick and smooth with months of my blood poured in it. 

If I pull this off, there'll be no hiding. It's getting harder to hide as it is; people are starting to catch on that I'm not just all right at stringing a few words together into a passable aesthetic. Word is starting to get out I'm pretty damn great at it. And if I sit down, if I commit to all those words and lives and worlds and minute details I have to figure out because I'm not just creating something new - no, I'm changing the past ten years of what is and dear God 2002 was a long time ago -

If I do that, and finish it, then I'll have to sell it. Sell me. Put myself out there and not shrink back. Not skirt the shadows. I'll have to go chasing it. And what then? What do I do then? It's pass or fail at that point, no grey area to linger in. 

I do so love the grey areas. 

Maybe that's what I'm afraid of. Succeeding and failing. Aren't both equally terrifying? Either way, you don't have what you did anymore. Either way, you have to change. 

I said last time my words aren't worth listening to, and that's true. Mine aren't. But my creatures... That's another story. 

The other question is, and perhaps this is really where the heart of my fear lies - what if I sit down to do this thing and realise I can't?