Best Laid Plans

Well.  That didn't work.  In my last post, I proclaimed I would plan my next short story before I began writing in the hope it would shorten the overall process.  

I am here to tell you, it doesn't work.  Not for me, anyway.  Oh well, I tried.

I dutifully plotted my latest story, Gator Joe & The Mosquito, scene by scene.  But the minute I began, a new character came out of nowhere and totally took over and the treatment went out the window.    The problem I found was that in finding ways to show - rather than tell - I introduced a character as a device, found I liked him and before I knew it a whole new strand of the story emerged.  

I realise now my plan was foolish because creativity doesn't flourish when it can't flow freely - a wild river's course is more interesting and beautiful than a system of canals.  I also realised I enjoy being taken by surprise by my writing and letting it carry me off down random tributaries - an appropriate analogy given that the new story is set in the Louisiana Bayou.  

Any avid readers will be surprised by this.  In a previous post I declared that all my writing was very British but I thought I would take a break from High Tea and crumpets.  I will report on the successes and failures of this new venture in a forthcoming post - at least that's the plan but don't hold you breath 'cos we now know how bad at planning I am.

Scene it, done it

Taking a leaf out of my-friend-the-screenwriter's script, I am going to tackle my next short story in a scene by scene fashion.  I never plan out my stories.  I begin 50% with a full start-to-finish outline in my head.  In the case of the other 50%, I know where to start and hope that an ending will emerge during the writing.  It's the latter variety that end up with 7 or 8 versions before I'm happy.  What a waste of time and I ain't gettin' no younger.   

So, I'm going to experiment with a scene by scene treatment for the next story.  The scene synopses will set out the action against what I need to convey about the characters and the theme.  Only when I've worked out the story will I decide how to tell it i.e. tense, perspective, scene order. 

I am also going to attempt character profiles before I get stuck in too.  Not all of this information will make it in but I want to see if having fully rounded characters from the start helps the story-telling process or restricts it.   

At the moment, per story I spend about 40% of my time in production and 60% knocking what I've written into shape in post-production.   If this experiment pays off I'll be spending perhaps 40% in pre-production planning, 40% in production and 20% in post.  And, with luck, the overall schedule will be shortened so I up my productivity overall.  I'll let you know how it goes...

brief update...

...since my last post, I've found out that the initial number of entries has been whittled down to 150-200 per category (about 1000 overall).  So, I'm up against up to 199 others.  Not bad!  But hardly a done deal.  Final shortlist announcement will come on June 14th...

High Hopes

I'm pretty excited.  I received an email today informing me that I am through to the third round of judging for the BritWriters' Awards!  I'll be going into the final round to choose the finalists for the Awards in July but all I know is there were 21,000 entries.  I don't know what the second round was whittled down to or, indeed, how many competitors I have in the third.  I don't even know which of my three stories is in the running - although I did get the same email twice so maybe there are two??  All I do know is I am pretty excited.  

Just to be a finalist would be brilliant - I don't necessarily want to win.  But there'll be agents and publishers at the awards and so just being on the programme would be a huge benefit.  

So, at this time, Elevenses, Skin Deep and Boxed In are shelved until early June when I'll find out if I've made it to the final and if i'll be invited to the Awards at the O2 in London.  Fingers, toes and all other appendages crossed.

Speak no evil, hear no evil

I've met a lot of odd bods in my time and an alarming number of them were writers.  A large proportion of those have been screenwriters (excluding, of course, the supremely talented fellow blogger on myfirstscreenplay.com).  I was so disappointed to find Charlie Kaufman - genius author of the Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine scripts - to be someone I would avoid at a dinner party rather than invite to one.  But, let's be honest, many great works of art are born of some level mental or personality disorder.  

The disorder all artists share - especially writers - is chronic insecurity.  My writing is no good; it doesn't speak to people; it doesn't convey what I wanted to say; it's just not original enough.   

Yes, yes, yes.  We've all been there.   Who said it should be easy?  Who said everyone should love your writing?  Personally, I hate Jane Austen - what a yawn fest - but I accept others adore her stories.  You can please some of the people some of the time.  Twas ever thus.

But misery loves company.  That is why, perhaps, there are so many groups out there promising constructive peer group support for writers - all of which are mostly attended by new and unpublished authors looking for validation.  I was that person and may be again, so I'm not criticizing anyone, but this Meet-Up advert is a classic example of the problem:

San Francisco Writer's Community Positive Feedback Group

-This is a positive feedback critique group.

-Hear what is good about your writing so you can do more of it.

-Get the exact type of feedback that you want.

-This group is for people committed to helping each other and improving their own skills on an ongoing basis.

I may be unfairly judging this group (I haven't been) or misinterpreting the advert, but it seems to be a general slap on the back type of shindig.   Of course you don't want people to be rude but if you can't take the heat, get outta the kitchen, right?  How is hearing what you want to hear going to help?  New writers need tough love if they're going to make it so they need to hear it straight, from the very start:  this is good, that is bad, this has potential...but keep up the good work comrade!  

In all critique, some comments are just trivial fluff but others are made of more valuable stuff.   As a new and unpublished writer myself, I've found that one of the skills I've had to learn from scratch is how to identify the good feedback from the bad (a more in-depth exploration of what I mean by good feedback must wait for another post).  All writers need to grow a thick skin as quickly as possible.  As for my own skin, it may not be paper thin anymore but it's still some way from being the rhinoceros hide I need.  So bring it on: all comments welcome.

Pillars and Bricks

I don't know what compels me, but I always make the mistake of reading my first draft to my fella, which invariably he loves.  But then I blow it later by reading him the latest draft, which invariably he hates and - for someone so easy going - he gets quite cross.

This happened again on Sunday over a very late lunch at Lori's Diner.  After some heated exchanges and much emphatic waving of french fries, he cooled down enough to explain his frustration rationally.  

His analysis was this:  the 'creative dump' of my first draft produces a story with solid pillars but some unrefined brickwork.  In subsequent drafts, instead of tinkering with the bricks, I tear down everything and start again. What I end up with is a technically well-constructed facade that masks what has ultimately become a flimsy story.  Somehow, in the crafting process, I destroyed the interior strength that existed in the initial rendering of the story.

The story that prompted this outburst is Guinea Pig.  Swallowing my pride and admitting he was right,  I went back to rediscover what it was that drove the story in the first place and in doing so realised the subject matter had darkened with each draft.  It's not supposed to be a pleasant story but it had become too dark and the theme of acceptable cruelty was too hard to see.  So I knocked out a lot of bricks and voila!   Restoration complete.  And, like all good restorations, its true to the original but greatly improved.

I just hope it stands up to scrutiny from his Lordship...

Piano Envy

Anibal Monteiro Machado's short story, The Piano, is as near to perfect as a short story can get. In my humble opinion.  It is precisely the kind of story I wish I was accomplished enough to write and  I encourage you all to seek it out.  

The story is about a family man who must sell an heirloom piano to make space in his house for his daughter and husband-to-be's conjugal bed.  He puts an ad in the paper and several potential buyers show up but are unimpressed by its quality.  Resigned to the fact the instrument has only sentimental value, the man offers it to his cousins as a gift but they politely decline.  Finally, frustrated but determined to do the right thing by his daughter, he recruits a team of local boys to carry it to the sea.  The local people are horrified that such an object is being discarded but none of them are willing to take it in, and the police want to charge him for illegal dumping.  Eventually the piano is taken off by the sea. 

I won't spoil the ending, in case you find the story.

So what makes it so damn good?  Well, here are just three reasons:

a.  The story is a perfectly balanced and subtle blend of the comic and tragic.  We really feel for the man's disappointment in finding out that his beloved family heirloom is nothing more than a heap of junk.  And the process he has to go through to get rid of it is funny and touching.  

b.  The personification of the piano is brilliant.  I found myself as desperate as the protagonist for it to be saved by someone, anyone.  By the end, it really feels like he's euthanizing an old relative.  With his skill, Machado shows us the ultimate superiority of the written word.  It is impossible to imagine how the piano could be so well humanised by any means other than  words.  It would take an exceptional director to effectively put this on screen or on stage.

c.  Freedom is the big theme in this story but it's totally unobtrusive.  The story is set against the backdrop of WW2 which has compressed the world and curtailed the freedom of all its inhabitants.  In the end, we sense that the piano is in fact fortunate:  it can float free and its parts can travel wherever the currents take them.  It is so difficult to have a big theme and not let it get in the way of the storytelling.  In the anthology where the story appears, the editor claims the ending is weak (dismissing it as O'Henry-ish) but - in my view - the neat, humourous ending is a strength.  It prevents the big theme, which becomes apparent towards the end, from hijacking the story for its own political ends.  As it is, Machado has given us enough to ponder, if we so choose, without ramming it down our throats.

It's this last point that makes me envy Machado's prowess.  I like themes but seem utterly unable to avoid bludgeoning my reader over the head with them; as my trusted friend and psuedo-editor is always pointing out.  I'm patronising apparently, unable or unwilling to trust my reader to make connections or reach their own conclusions.   On these grounds, my editor has - quite correctly - told me to give my story, Boxed In, a complete overhaul.  Fortunately, I have Machado's model of near-perfection to help me out.