Yesterday one of the reasons my writing came to a halt was I’d introduced a possible new character along with Constable Ock. This character (unnamed in the writing, but suddenly alive in my head) has the potential to disrupt the remainder of the plot I’ve got in mind both because of her early prominent placement in the story and her general intentions. She also has the potential to insinuate herself into the plot neatly, but with added tension. I wasn’t immediately sure how to include her. The balance of my halted writing came from my trying to write a cop well enough not to be noticed.
Now that I’ve got a plot of sorts, I’ve got to develop the theme a bit. What cream is rising through the milky bubbles of my poorly stirred plot is that ‘mothers will always protect their children’. However, nascent instinct tells me some catalytic element is missing from that theme. Maybe there should be a ‘because’ at the end? Ugh, I had a book which defined theme in a way that resonated with me—I can’t find it.
Found it!
And he, James N. Frey, in it, “How to Write a Damn Good Novel”, calls what I’m thinking about a premise. Maybe that’s what I was thinking too. Based on a quick re-read I’d amend my phrase above to ‘protecting your child ruins the status quo’. I should make that sound more fun to read. I’m not sure there is much drama in not maintaining the status quo.
271 words on day 923
Platting
I had not meant to be gone this long. Bad discipline; nothing new. I’m going to try to do a focused talky thing here, so if you’re looking for story check tomorrow’s post.
Last night as I went to bed I employed a technique which I’ve known about for a long time. A trick to help me write the next morning. A thought game I neglect to use nearly all the time: think about what you want to write in the morning. Simple enough, but hard to accomplish effectively when the next twenty-five things through your head before falling asleep aren’t that one writing thing. This was the case last night.
Even before that, there was trouble. When I considered today’s writing, I couldn’t get my head out of the Hartwhile garage. I couldn’t imagine any other shops, bars, groceries, or tattoo parlors sharing the space carved out by Honey Farm Circle. I couldn’t jet out of Honey Farm Circle to imagine the clinic, or the RBG’s office, or the showdown locale. I couldn’t imagine what the constabulary (constablewick?) looked like. Where it was located or how far.
Today, as I write this, I’m wondering if having a defined setting isn’t one of those requirements I have for my writing, but hadn’t realized until now. A quick mental inventory of the things I’ve written here on 1000 Days seems to bear this likelihood out. Whether I convey that setting to the reader or not, I have one for my characters; even when they just talk on the page, they’ve got a place to talk in my head. Great.
Wait, non-sarcastic great. Could this mean I’ve unlocked a solution to some of my writing challenges? Could it mean that merely (ironic use here) coming up with a hut, street, mesa, corner, jungle, attic, or office in which to have my characters talk and act will keep me moving forward on the page? Surely such props are non-critical needs?
I know that some folks write by starting with maps. When I did that sort of thing before 1000 Days, I ended up spending a bit more time platting than plotting. I suspect I’d be able to rein that in a bit these days.
390 words on day 926