Tag: story

About Writing

Improving Story Progression Through Handwritten Drafts

Autumn

I’ve mentioned before that I write all of my rough drafts by hand. One of the benefits of doing this is that ink is permanent, thus effectively neutralizing the urge to edit as I go. My main focus with my rough drafts is getting the story down on paper with as little critical thinking as possible.

I’m a firm believer in the power of editing and let quite a lot slide through in my rough drafts, but every now and then I do write something that’s so bad, it grinds the story to a halt. Sometimes it’s necessary to rewrite as I go, just to keep the story progressing. I average rewriting about five pages out of a hundred, which is more a testament to how forgiving I am than anything else.

Since transcribing onto the computer is an eventual necessity, that’s where I do the bulk of my rewriting. That’s when I start to think, “How can this be better?” I usually end up rewriting about 90%.

Ever since I started cleanly separating the steps of writing and rewriting, I’ve been able to finish books, rather than collecting files of unfinished beginnings.

Tiny frog
About Me

The Man Who Invented Christmas and Characterization

Autumn

I have a thing for watching corny Christmas movies in December, which is how I came across The Man Who Invented Christmas. It’s about Charles Dickens during the time period in which he wrote A Christmas Carol.

Overall, it really wasn’t my cup of tea. I finished watching it anyway, despite interruptions breaking the movie up into multiple sittings, because I did like how it portrayed Dickens chatting with the fictional character of Scrooge whenever anyone else wasn’t around.

My favorite moment was when Dickens entered his study, stuffed full of fictional characters milling around, and one of them asked, “Who is that?”

Scrooge replied something like, “No one of any import — just the author.”

I’m going off of memory here, so forgive me if I got the line wrong. The spirit is there.

I busted out laughing, because that’s how I write.

My characters are as real to me as, well, real people. I talk to them and listen to the stories they tell me. Writers block happens when they refuse to answer my questions, and getting through it is a matter of finding out how to get them to open up again with better questions. Sometimes, I feel like I’m helplessly scribbling down as much as I can while they chatter away too fast for me to follow. Othertimes, they patiently work with me through the interruptions that come with being the mom. It’s often very sad when the story is done and we say our goodbyes.

I suppose that being crazy isn’t necessary for being a writer, but it certainly helps!

Stories

Control [short story]

Autumn

I wrote this when I was 15, and it won a Moderator’s Choice on Elfwood — one of the most exciting things to ever happen to me during my teenage years. I’ve decided to post it in its original, award-winning (snerk), form, for old time’s sake.

I’m honestly really embarrassed by this, so do me a favor and don’t read it.

It’s strange, how you never think you will become the subject of discrimination. When I was a child, such a thing happening to me never crossed my mind. I never thought that my existence would be confined by a barbed wire fence. I remember how it all started, as clearly as if it had been engraved into my mind. I’m one of the few who can wield the power of magic, and for that reason alone I was hated and despised.

Continue reading “Control [short story]” →

About Writing

The Benefits of Using a Handwritten Binder for Writing

Autumn

I like to work on one novel at a time, as I have found that not only is my focus much better that way, it serves as good motivation to actually finish the story before moving on to the next — otherwise I’d have a million works-in-progress and no endings.

Inspiration, on the other hand, doesn’t follow my schedule. It strikes whenever it pleases. That’s one of the reasons why I prefer keeping a handwritten binder rather than typing on a laptop. My binder is indispensable, always nearby, and never low on battery.

Whenever a new idea hits me, I write a page or two like this:

It’s not beautiful or elegant. In and of itself, it’s too vague to be particularly enjoyable for reading, but it contains everything I need to remember the idea.

Sometimes I don’t know any names, so I write down variables instead, such as “B” or “Z”. Those pages tend to look really weird.

Then it goes into the back of my binder, and waits for its turn. The proximity ensures that I often see it and thus never forget its existence.

When it’s time to start a new novel, I pick the idea that has the loudest voice.

Stories

The Midnight Window

Autumn

I recently came across this short story that I originally wrote in 2008. I liked it enough to use it as editing practice, and brought it up-to-date to my current skill level.

He was watching them again.

He found his nose pressed against the cold glass window, his eyes locked on the room beyond, unconsciously counting the rising and falling breaths of each dark lump snuggled warmly in the bed, and he had no memory of how he had gotten there. They were bigger. They always seemed bigger each time he huddled against the side of the house, watching them sleep. He wondered how many years it had been, then found it absurd that he would even still care.

He used to also watch through the window on the other side of the house, gazing at the sleeping woman with some unknown regret pounding at his frozen heart. Used to, that is, until a man appeared next to her in bed, and he realized that his former position was no longer empty. After that, he lost all desire to venture beneath that particular window, and the pain that seared him never flared up again.

Now he spent his time with the small ones, peering at them through the blackness. Sometimes he would stay there all night, unable to tear himself away until the threat of dawn forced him into hiding. Those two sleeping mounds, buried under blankets, contained the last living fragment of him. When he saw them, he felt calm.

The littlest one woke up one night. Her head had lifted from the pillow and she looked toward him, riveting him in place despite his desire to flee. She didn’t seem afraid as she slowly slid out of bed and tiptoed up to the window. He could see her face clearly, and her long blonde hair that flowed down her back over her lacy nightgown. Her familiar blue eyes met his, as she put her hand against the glass, and he felt compelled to press his own hand against the other side. Then she whispered a single word,

“Papa.”

Something shot through his insides when he heard her speak, and he found himself floating as a silver mist, terrified that the wind would scatter him across the surrounding forest. It was some time before he found the strength to will himself back to solidity. He learned something crucial about his nature that night, and it gave him the resolve to stay away.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he went back, but the longing had become to much for him to deny. There was a third shape now, much smaller than the others, nestled between them with a tiny fist held up into the air. He knew what it was, and was surprised that he didn’t care. Perhaps he was now too far removed from his humanity to experience that emotion again.

This would be the last time that he would gaze at his children. They had moved forward with the life that he could never share, and it was time for him to let go. He was a vampire now, and didn’t belong in the world of the living. The final threads that kept him chained to the place were broken, and soon he would forget that they had ever existed.

About Writing

Why Plot Twists Need Logical Consistency

Autumn

I suppose that one of the side effects of taking lots of creative writing classes in the early 2000’s is that I follow a lot of guidelines that have been tossed aside by my contemporaries. With years of contemplation and analysis, I have decided that they are very good ideas indeed, and I kind of wish that more writers thought the same way.

Plot twists that don’t make any sense.

The most egregious example of this is Disney’s Frozen, with the whole, “Hans is secretly evil” thing. His accounting for his actions is that he wanted to be king, but going through with marrying Anna would have given him exactly what he wanted, especially with Elsa running around crazy — come on, it’s not like marrying into an advantageous position never happened historically. Also, wanting to be king is ambitious, but not wrong in and of itself.

The whole, “I’m going to let you die while I laugh evilly” scene is nonsensical and jarring. After all, if the guy is that much of a sociopath, he’d maintain the act right through the very end, and never reveal his true thoughts under any circumstances.

The worst part is, there isn’t a single ounce of foreshadowing. I know that plenty of people have come up with “epileptic trees” style theories trying to prove there is, but I’ve seen that movie a million times thanks to my little girls, and there isn’t even a calculating look or anything. Rule of thumb: if foreshadowing isn’t immediately obvious the second time around, then it isn’t there.

It’s like the writers didn’t have the slightest clue how it should end, so they randomly threw that in as a drunken late night decision, and it killed the whole movie.

Plot twists must stay in character and make logical sense.

Even if you feel like you’re giving everything away by mentioning that Martha was irrationally jealous five chapters before she runs Jimmy over with a car, remember that the readers aren’t going to know what you’re building up to, but they will feel jilted if they think you’re deliberately jerking them around. Also remember that bragging, “I SAW IT COMING FIRST!” is just as much fun for the readers as being taken completely by surprise.

Or maybe the story will later reveal that Martha was possessed by a demon, and that’s why her actions were suddenly out of character. After all, these are only guidelines.

About Me

On blogging

Autumn

I actually really like blogging.

As a teenager, I religiously kept a Livejournal for years, posting something every. single. day. In a different life, I would have transferred those skillz over to a less angsty platform, and made a shot toward becoming a professional blogger.

In a different life.

But 2011 found me living out of a car, and once I saw the world from that angle, I never recovered from it.

Just as well, really, because in interim a number of blogger-culture quirks popped up that make my teeth hurt.

I don’t read many blogs now. A few years ago I enjoyed crafting blogs, until I realized that the quality of the actual crafts was dropping precipitously, while those popular bloggers were publishing how-to books that were teaching sloppy techniques. They didn’t care about the crafts; they cared about monetizing.

I’m enough of an arteest to believe that money comes second to artistic integrity. I won’t try to sell something that I was too lazy to put any effort into.

Sometimes I wonder how many other people care. I wonder how many other people are tired of vapid content generators that are concerned more about page views than connecting with readers. I wonder how many people are like me … if anyone.

I like blogging. I’ll probably start putting more energy into it from now on, simply because I’m tired of hiding who I am for fear of being hurt. I just refuse to be anything other than me, especially for a paycheck.

About Writing

Rules, shmules

Autumn

I hate those “writing things to avoid” sorts of lists, as I feel that they rather miss the spirit of creativity. After all, slavish devotion to a set of rules will result in limited writing.

Take, for example, the advice to never start with the description of weather. If you say it fast and don’t think too hard, it seems like sound advice. After all, something like, “The sun was shining brightly as Timmy walked down the street” is pretty boring.

But sometimes the weather matters.

The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing cheerfully, and a cool breeze was playing through the leaves, making it the perfect day to work, Timmy thought as he pulled out his hacksaw and began cutting up the corpse in front of him.

The description of weather is used to deliberately create a juxtaposition with Timmy’s grim work. That’s interesting.

So, if you’re starting with describing the weather just because you don’t know where else to start, then you should probably spend more time brainstorming. However, don’t be afraid of describing the weather if it serves a purpose to enhance the story, no matter what someone on the internet might have said. Whoever wrote those rules was just after page views anyway.

About Me

On holding pencils

Autumn

When I was in kindergarten, I was officially diagnosed with ‘holding my pencil wrong.’ The adults fretted that my handwriting would always be crippled, that I’d never be able to write cursive, that I would always be a weirdo for life.

Being a little kid and all, I tried very hard to learn how to hold pencils the ‘right’ way.

The ‘right’ way made my handwriting worse and hurt my hand. I always subconsciously switched back to my wrong way, because it felt so much more natural. The adults practically melted with anxiety over my future.

Finally, in fifth grade my teacher announced that my handwriting was fine, and that I could keep holding my pencils however I wanted. After all, in her experience, if the correction hadn’t been made by that point, then it would likely never happen. Hallelujah, I was free!

In high school, the other teens said it was freaky how I held my pencil. I had a pronounced callous on my pinky finger from the amount of writing I did. My ceramics teacher predicted that I could be a calligrapher, if I wanted. I was proud of how I held pencils.

I write all of my rough drafts by hand. I have my fountain pen, medium nib, my collection of Japanese inks, and a binder stuffed to the gunwales with paper. My current WIP has reached 100 pages, with about 400 words per page in my handwriting. I don’t suffer much hand-fatigue; I can easily hit the 1,000 word mark without any discomfort. The callous on my finger as all but vanished since I quit using ballpoints. I don’t see why everyone made such a fuss when I was a kid.

I am, however, an irreparable weirdo; but I don’t think that has anything to do with how I hold pencils.

About Writing

Just write

Autumn

There are a gazillion blogs out there that are all to eager to tell you how to write, but I am not one of them.

My philosophy boils down to: just do it.

Remember, 50 Shades of Grey was a mega fad, despite the rather unnerving tie worn by Mr Grey in the first chapter. Obviously, the world can be forgiving.

So who cares about rules? Just write, rewrite, edit, and nitpick, then let it out into the wild. Maybe something will happen, maybe not. The important part is creating something that you enjoy.

So young – and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly.