The Confabulator Cafe

Author: tboone

  • Forgive me, Padre

    Forgive me, Padres, for I have sinned. And I will continue to sin, throughout the month of November.

    My confession?

    I edit. During NaNoWriMo.

    I edit every single day. Sometimes more than once. I probably spend as much time editing during November as I do writing.

    There. I said it.

    Now, let me explain. (shh, Padre, shh. You can assign me my act of penance later. First, an explanation for my awful behavior. The other parishioners can wait, dammit!)

    I have tried, over the last seven years, to adhere to the mantra (as an aside: there are virtually no rules in NaNoWriMo beyond 50k in 30 days. But there ARE suggestions, and some are more zealously encouraged than others. This is one of those) “DO NOT EDIT.” You will see these sagely words of wisdom repeatedly and with various means of emphasis during NaNoWriMo.

    The reasoning behind this school of thought is that your inner editor is, in almost every case, a man/woman with his/her hand on the brake lever, ready at any moment to pull a Full Stop on your writing progress. And, in the process, scream epithets in your ear about the utter uselessness and awfulness of your writing efforts during November.

    To wit: your inner editor is an asshole.

    So, during NaNo, where the goal is 50k in 30 days, many writers make the conscious effort to lock their inner editors away, in deep vaults under heavy mountains on distant planets, and throw the keys into the fiery furnace of the local star.

    No editing = no brakes, and no internal monologue of self-loathing.

    Does this work? For some/many/most people, yes, absolutely.

    For me? Nope. No way.

    My stopping mechanism is different. It’s not a set of brakes being applied by a hypercritical inner child whose parents never showed any affection or approval. It’s rusty, creaky, near-to-frozen gears of thought that need constant and lavish lubrication to allow the machine to even function, let alone move forward at more than a snail’s pace.

    What’s my manuscript-writing-machine lubricant of choice? My WD-40?

    Editing.

    During November, I write for a few minutes. Then I stop. I ponder. I reconsider. I go backwards. I tweak. I add words. I rearrange paragraphs. I interject conversations.

    I edit. Line by line. And while, on occasion, that results in the deletion of words, the net effect is always, always, an increase in word count.

    Unfortunately, this line-editing process does mean that I move slowly. Sometimes embarrassingly slowly. Last year (much to the perverse delight of my local WriMos) I wrote 67 words during a 15-minute sprint. 67. That’s…not fast. That’s the opposite of fast. Writing 1,667 words a day, words I’m willing to live with, takes me forever. So, when people say they’re busy during November, I tend to roll my eyes. Busy? You have no idea.

    It’s my own fault, but, yeah.

    The next day, when I first open my manuscript?

    I get sadistic.

    I reread my scenes, and then I kick my complacent characters down the stairs. Then I march down the stairs and punch said character in the head, steal their lunch money, and make fun of their hair style. Then I stand back and see how they react to my torture. If it’s boring, I go back in and do it again. With flair and panache. Rinse and repeat, until my re-re-re-read elicits an evil grin.

    Once I’m happy with my new, revised, dastardly scene, I rinse and repeat.

    Write. Line edit. Sleep. Torture.

    The end result has been, historically, a manuscript that’s passable. Not necessarily a first draft, but not exactly a zero draft either. Zero point five. Zero point seven, if I let my ego speak its mind.

    So, yeah. I edit. It’s part of my process, and for me, it works.

    Don’t agree with me? Cool. Have your own process that works? More power to you. And if anyone tells you your approach is wrong?

    Push them down the stairs.

     

    P.S. Two more quick things. 1. Square brackets are your friends! [insert something pithy here]. 2. Retconning during your own story is completely acceptable. There’s no WAY my Chapter Four can happen without completely rewriting Chapter Two. [Change Chapter Two in December] fixes that.

  • Brilliance and Awfulness

    Ugh, this is terrible. Just atrocious.

    No…wait just a minute, wait just a…Yes! This is awesome! Pure perfection! Woo hoo!

    No…no, it’s terrible again. Really, really terrible. Oh, man. What’s that stench? Ugh.

    This is my typical experience during November. Some days I’m lucky, and it’s a reasonably equal mix of highs and lows. Rarely, when I’m really lucky, I’m soaring on inspired writing and amazing plotlines. Most days, however, I’m down in the trenches, trudging through the dreary doldrums of limp, lifeless writing.

    Anyone that writes creatively has certainly experienced these peaks and valleys. I think it’s probably more pronounced during NaNo because of the breakneck pace. Getting 50k completed in 30 days means you don’t have an opportunity to pause and reevaluate your story and characters, or to think three moves ahead and plan out every step, every consequence, every eventuality. All you can do is keep moving. And that often means falling off the cliff of genius into the morass of mediocrity.

    Sometimes that’s a good thing. It forces you to plough through the Troughs of Terribleness at full speed, whether you want to or not. Inevitably, you come out the other side. You may have left a swath of completely unusable words, drivel of the highest order, but NaNo forces you past that moment to climb back up the slope towards better and better words, until you reach that pinnacle of, “Eureka! These words are absolute genius!”

    NaNo teaches you that there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, if you persevere long enough. And that light is pretty darn sweet.

    Of course, the sweetness and light part doesn’t last very long. But to me, those peaks, despite their rare, ephemeral quality, make the valleys worth it.

    Totally worth it.

     

    P.S. I’m learning, over time, how to make the valleys a little less deep, and a bit less long. I do so by violating one of the major tenets of NaNoWriMo: I go back to the lowest of my valleys and with brute force I jack them up out of the murky darkness and back up into the sunshine via a magical little tool I like to call “editing.” It’s a big no-no during November. I deserve a wrist slap for my impertinence. I’ll talk more about this next time.

  • Comfy? Or Crazy? (Or Both?)

    Comfy or Crazy?As with every NaNo, what I plan to write before November 1st and what actually occurs during the month is often quite different. I’ve got a synopsis/plan/set-of-notes that you can read if you’re interested in my story idea details. It’s a live document, so it’ll change as I progress through November.

    Rather than rehash the synopsis, I thought I’d talk about the underlying concepts that inspired this year’s story. Every year I start chewing on some “Big Idea” or two, and those big ideas often lead me to a plot, or a cast of characters, or both. (more…)

  • Start. Stop. Fix it. Ugh.

    I can keep this week’s post very short.

    The easiest thing about writing? Writing. Telling the story, inventing characters, creating places and events and conflicts and disasters. Delving into the motivations of the cast of sundry folk that make the plot twist and turn.

    That’s easy.

    The penultimate hardest part? Starting. Pushing past the inertia of not writing to start writing again. Once I remove the chocks and get the wheels rolling, I’m good. But I stop and start (which I shouldn’t, but I do) and that initial start is…very tough.

    The absolute worst part? Editing. Not copy-editing. That’s stupidly easy, and I do it on the fly. But going back and editing the actual story? Uh…how do you DO that? Maybe that’s  Which is why I haven’t bothered…yet. Gotta start that some time, but…see penultimate hardest part for my issue with that. 🙂

  • Blockhead (Flash Fiction)

    “…I’ve got nothing.” I stare at the blank screen in front of me. Blinking cursor, taunting. I tangle my fingers in my hair, tempted to start pulling. “Two weeks past deadline, less than 24-hours to publication, and I’ve got fuck-all for a story idea. This revenge assignment is a nightmare! It’s like it’s tailor-made to–”

    “Drive you crazy?” I say, from across the desk.

    I release my hair and glare at my doppelganger. He’s sitting comfortably across from me, grinning. “Something like that, yes,” I say.

    “Think it’s intentional?”

    That gets a laugh from me. “What? The editors handed out this assignment just to spite me?”

    “I do cause trouble. Always submitting late, always questioning the rules. I’m a rabble-rouser and a delinquent. Maybe they’re fed up with me.”

    I push my chair back from the computer. “Let me back up a minute. Give your ego a bit more room to swell.”

    My reflection gives me the finger from across the desk. “It’s not ego. I’m right. The topic couldn’t be more difficult for me. It’s the perfect tool to drive me crazy And it’s working, isn’t it? I’m seeing a perfect copy of myself sitting in the chair next to me. I’m conversing with myself, out loud. And I haven’t felt this frustrated about writing in quite a long time.”

    “I haven’t felt this frustrated in a long time. You feel nothing.  You are just a fever dream. Stop confusing pronouns.”

    “Still, I…sorry! You can’t help wondering if the assignment is meant to flush you out.”

    “How? Either I write the story, or I don’t. It’s not that big a deal, is it?”

    “If you write the story, are you being true to your principles? Revenge is antithetical to your person.”

    “So what? It’s just fiction. Shouldn’t matter where my personal feelings lie.”

    My mirage points to the screen in front of me. “So why are you struggling so?”

    I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to release tension. Trying to regain some semblance of sanity. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

    “Yes, you do.”

    I nod. I know myself quite well, it seems.  “ I’m scared. It feels like writing this story, dwelling on the concept of revenge, is…dangerous somehow. It’s stupid, but that’s how it feels. It’s terrifying.”

    “You find yourself tottering on the precipice. Peering into the darkness.”

    “Melodramatic, but yes.”

    “And if you don’t write it? If you don’t submit a story?”

    A sigh dribbles out of my lips. “It should mean nothing. But it feels like I’d be admitting defeat. It feels like they win. Even though that means they’re out to get me. Which they’re not.” I grind my teeth. “I feel trapped.”

    Across the desk, I look smug. “So…?”

    “So? If you have a solution, please tell me. Hiding ideas from myself is truly insane.”

    “Write this.”

    I raise an eyebrow. “Write…what? What’s ‘this?’”

    My reflection waves his arms about judiciously. “This. You, talking to you. Struggling with the assignment. Avoiding the issue. Not writing about revenge.”

    “Write a revenge story about not pursuing revenge? That’s stupid. Besides, it’s a bad idea to write about having trouble writing. It’s in poor taste.”

    “Fuck that! Who cares? Since when did those kinds of rules and guidelines ever inform your writing principles?”

    It’s my turn to grin. “Never. But what does writing this ridiculous, batshit-crazy banter with my imaginary self accomplish?”

    I just stare at myself, not providing an answer.

    “Oh,” I say. “Now I’m just me, talking to myself? Switching to a singular internal monologue all of the sudden?” Still no response. “Asshole.”

    What does writing down this fever dream accomplish? It’s not a tale of revenge, at least not exactly. The protagonist (and that’s…me? How odd) isn’t seeking it. The protagonist is actively avoiding the topic altogether!

    But…this tale, it is about revenge, at least tangentially. I’m no expert in existentialism, but I appear to be trodding all over it right now. Just talking about revenge means I’m addressing the topic at hand, right? And if this assignment is some nefarious, circuitous attempt by the editors to drive me out or drive me crazy with frustration (which it simply cannot be, even I’m not that paranoid or egotistical), then by not writing the story I’ve been assigned, but still writing an effective story, am I–?

    “Revenge in absentia? Revenge via cowardice?”

    I shake my head. “I don’t know. It hurts too much to think about.”

    “So, stop thinking. Start typing. Time’s wasting.”

    “You’re an asshole.”

    I smile at myself. “Yes. You are.”

     

    Disclaimer: This is PURE FICTION. I do not believe, in any way, shape, or form, that anyone at Confabulator Cafe is out to get me. On the contrary, I had a great time finally writing this story (although getting to that point was agony). I want to thank the Confabulator folks for challenging me, and getting me to write things I normally would never imagine or attempt. Also, I do NOT see doppelgangers of myself sitting across the desk. At least, not that you know of.

  • Rules (Flash Fiction)

    “Well, that’s it,” Nigel said. “Time to shut it down.” He clicked at his keyboard and the image on the monitor froze, the man towing the bright red wagon caught mid-step as he headed towards the open doorway. “Want me to prep another run?”

    “Actually, no,” Raymond answered. “I want to see where this run is going.”

    Nigel pointed at the screen. “This? This is our latest model opting for the shotgun before heading outside. We both know exactly where it’s going.”

    “There are no wrong answers,” Raymond said.

    (more…)

  • If they don’t stumble, trip them

    I’ve tried lots of structural things to keep the reader moving through the story. The first and easiest place to start is with mechanics. Things like cliffhanger chapter endings, ominous foreshadowing, alternating storylines, out-of-order plot sequencing. I’ve read lots of good books that use similar techniques, and to great effect. For my own writing, I’ve found that all of these techniques work, at least to a point.

    But none of them are particularly good substitutes for simply writing a compelling plot.

    So, how do you write a compelling plot?

    (more…)

  • Sad Days = Good Art

    Five years ago on Halloween, one of my dogs (who, for people who know me, we treat as our surrogate children) was playing in our backyard when she suddenly started to get sick. If you own dogs, you know that stomach issues are not that uncommon, so we weren’t that worried. I took her to our local vet and asked for them to keep her overnight and give her lots of fluids.

    An hour later they called and told us she’d suffered heart failure. Luckily, they were able to revive her, and we rushed her to Kansas City so the emergency unit could watch her overnight. Unfortunately, the next morning she passed away from unknown causes. We have no idea what happened. She was three years old, and perfectly healthy.

    National Novel Writer’s Month didn’t start for me on November 1st that year. I think I actually started writing on…the fourth? Maybe the fifth. And for the remainder of the month, every word I typed was infused with the emotions of my traumatic event. Anger. Frustration. Hopelessness. My main character was wracked by guilt and the need to lash out at…something. Anything. Just like me.

    It made for great writing. Channeling that energy led to one of the strongest manuscripts I’ve ever written. I wouldn’t wish that kind of tragedy on anyone, but it informed my writing that year in a very powerful way. I’ve always felt that sad writers are better writers than happy ones. Unfortunate truth to that, I think. When life is good, it’s much harder for me to write the tough scenes: I always tell people to push their characters down the stairs, but boy, that’s a dark place that’s difficult for me to visit sometimes.

    Would I like to write like that all the time? Yup! Am I seeking out misery and despair around every corner? Uh…no. What am I, stupid?

    Life’s good to me. I’ve got a great job, great wife, great dogs, great house. In the past year I visited France, Peru, and Ecuador. I got to visit Machu Picchu and the Galapagos Islands, and hike Quandary Peak with one of my dogs. I have nothing to complain about.

    But happy life does not equal a happy writing career.

    When life’s good, I really struggle to take my own advice: “When in doubt, throw your protagonist down the stairs.” Uh…nah. Things are good! I’ll take the elevator! Thanks, though!

    Without personal tragedy, I struggle to provide adequate conflict and heartache in my stories. I’m aware of the issue, but it’s not something easily remedied. I’m not willing to torture myself in order to inform my writing. Ain’t gonna happen.

    However, this year promises another sad note. Yay! (?) My spouse will be living in Washington D.C. for almost eleven months working for the Securities & Exchange Commission. We’ll both travel back and forth often, but it’s still going to be a long, lonely year. And already, my outline for this year’s story deals with long distance relationships, communicating and connecting across vast gulfs of space and time. I didn’t plan on that type of story, but clearly my subconscious mind has an agenda, and I know better than to argue.

    So, embrace life’s tough moments and allow them to inform my writing. Silver lining and all that rot. We’ll see if it pans out. I’ll let you know in December.

  • Kerjigger

    1950s bedroom, courtesy of the Library of Congress

    Master Bedroom — 1950

    Jonathan took two faltering steps into his parent’s master bedroom and stopped. His hand still rested on the door jamb, lingering outside the room for one final moment. Under the pads of his fingers he could feel the empty nail holes embedded in the wood. Remnants from the last time he’d done this.

    “It’s strange, what lingers,” he said, bitter amusement trickling past the dread leaching into his bones.

    “Is everything alright, sir?”

    Startled, Jonathan released his grip on the door jamb. He stepped properly into the room and turned to face the man behind him. “Yes, Jeeves, everything’s fine.”

    “Jeeves?”

    Jonathan cursed himself. Such a simple mistake, but potentially costly. Still, at this stage in his planning, did it matter? Throwing caution to the wind, he said “It’s not Jeeves, then?”

    “No, sir,” the butler said, his moustache failing to hide a frown of concern. “It’s Bob.”

    “Bob? That’s not a proper butler name. Have I missed something?” Then, seeing Bob’s quizzical look, he waved his hands dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. If it’s Bob, it’s Bob. It’s too late to change, anyway. Ignore me, and pardon my mistake. I’m not feeling quite myself today, I’m afraid.”

    “I understand, sir.” Bob, chewing his moustache, clearly did not understand. But his training forbid him from even professing anything but a positive demeanor.

    (more…)

  • {Insert Clever Title Here}

    Wasn’t sure how to approach this week’s assignment, so I went for simple: here’s a brief history of my writing experience.

    Years ago during a drive back home from graduate school with my then girlfriend (and now wife) to visit my parents, I took some NoDoz. I’d never taken any kind of anti-drowsy medication before, and I was skeptical that it would work. I was known to chug Mountain Dew right before going to bed, with no ill effects. How could two little caffeine pills matter?

    About an hour into the drive, my eventual spouse turned to me and asked, “How are you doing?”

    “I’mdoinggreat!ButIhaveawholelotofthingsIwanttotalktoyouabout!”

    Yes, it was that frantic and fast. No, I’ve never taken NoDoz since that day. What did I need to talk about so frantically? My first idea for my own science fiction story. The best idea ever for a story.

    Yes, really.

    (more…)