Kaning It!

Well, for a change this blog has been quiet for a *good* reason: Kane's back, and just like last time, he's kicking ass in longhand!

I don't know what it is about that character (maybe that he's pretty old-fashioned and low-tech himself), but writing him goes quicker when I break out my trusty old fountain pen and a thick blank book.

Of course, that first draft is not all I'm up to. As usual, I keep my plate pretty full: I've got another short story about halfway done, a couple of workshops I'll be leading for New Zealand Book Month, a novel set in rural Georgia just getting its final touches before release and staying booked out about a month in advance for my tattoo work.

But every day I force a block of time to sit with Kane: It's two years after the end of Crossroad Blues, and he's been in Paris. He's got his own apartment, a regular gig at a small Blues club and some money in his pocket. An indie record label's showing some interest.

One night he sees a girl in a party dress go down a manhole and pull the cover shut behind her, and everything changes...

Memory Lane

So, I recently re-read my ebook, Crossroad Blues. I wanted to see how it played out on Kindle, correct any formatting errors, etc. I did find a few (corrected now), which was good.

Thing is, I also found something more.

I started out reading with my editor's hat on. But as the book progressed, I found myself actually sucked in to my own work. It was a strange experience: on the one hand, I wrote the damn thing. On the other, I couldn't wait to see what happened next.

Not to pat myself on the back, but Crossroad Blues hums. I love the pace of it, the action, the murderous intensity of Maeve, the overwhelming arrogance of Jack Terraboone and the sheer creepy monstrosity that is Harlan Winters.

I read that book, and I hated the novel I'm working on. Right now I'm lurching from scene to scene. I can see revelations coming, but I have to write my way through where I am before I can get there. If where I am even leads me there at all. My current novel is nothing like the streamlined mayhem of Crossroad Blues.

And then I remembered:

At one point, Jack Terrabonne had a wife. She was the real genius, stifled by her husband's success and terrified of his fixer, Harlan.

At one point, Kane was in a love triangle with Maeve and Beth. Sometimes he was with Maeve and attracted to Beth. Sometimes vice versa.

At one point, Harlan Winters was a dapper little gray man, sharp and slick and looking to capitalize on his employer's indiscretions.

By the end of the book, things changed...

Jack's wife left. There were some great scenes between her and Harlan, real scary stuff. But as Harlan developed, I realized there was no way in hell he'd keep his hands off something he wanted. She shows up off-stage as a soon-to-be-ex, with a younger boyfriend, a hit album and a scandalous photo spread in (I think it was) Vanity Fair. It was the least I could do for a woman who suffered so much only to be written out.

As Kane revealed himself, I realized I was writing a Western. He's the classic cool-eyed stranger in town, a gunslinger who doesn't pack a gun. He was honest and decent and upright, a solid moral point in a wicked, wicked world.

That guy couldn't be in a love triangle. I lost scenes where he met Maeve and traveled with her for a time. Where he found himself disgusted by her wickedness (back then she wanted to hook a rich man, which is how she fell afoul of Jack) and was increasingly attracted to local girl Beth. I lost something like 30,000 words of that plotline.

And Harlan. What to say about Harlan...

He started out dapper and smooth. In those days, Jack's sexual appetites led to the death of the French girl and Harlan stepped in. He covered up the crime and began to extort Jack for his own purposes. There were some mighty nice scenes where the balance of power in that house shifted.

And I cut them all.

The Harlan who stepped up about halfway through the book was half based on a ruthless predator in my family, and half based on a family friend who used to babysit me-- a man now wanted for questioning in the rape and murder of one of his neighbors.

What I'm getting at is, Crossroad Blues came to be streamlined. It grew into something fast-paced and coherent.

This memory, this process, helped me. My current novel is nowhere near such a mess as that one was- and look how that turned out!

Fan Factor

This is one of those best/worst days: four, five drafts down the road, sitting down with a printed copy of the new manuscript and actually reading the damn thing.

Sure, I make notes here and there. I'm still trying to iron out the weather and make sure nobody's name changes too much, but that's all little stuff. The literary equivalent of 'mom-cleaning', the saliva-drenched thumb scrubbing vigorously across the child's face in the moments before they're turned loose.

The big stuff is Suction. Does the story draw me in? Can I forget that I wrote this story and just enjoy it? Would I feel good about buying this book? Does this story make me a fan?

You see, I'm my hardest reader. I always see something I might have done differently, maybe a little better. Same with paintings, drawing, everything. Sooner or later you have to let go and move on, but the urge remains. And the urge is to fix those 'horrible' mistakes.

So far, this one is pretty promising. I keep finding myself worried less about my own techniques and more about what's going on with these people, all of them on the cusp of the worst day of their lives.

But rest assured, there's still plenty of technique to worry about...

Little more on that next time!

PS. As always, I have that odd sense of amused wonder: I *know* there were days I HATED writing and was sure I sucked. And days where I LOVED writing and was sure I ROCKED. But reading through the manuscript. I can't find those spots!

Feelings about work are impostors. The work itself is true.

Those Little Nippers

Turns out that gentle stoner whose original role was mostly the laying of pipe is a real passive-aggressive, backstabbing bastard.

And a Supporting Actress whose role I didn't (and still don't) quite understand has a lot more sand to her than I'd first thought. I'm starting to see how a gal like that might figure in the villains' denouement.

Oh, and my sweet-natured Innocent Victim? She might be a bit of a liar, and a thief.

At least, at long last, my Hero is finally alone among the villains, isolated and without solace on an estate that makes Thornfield or Manderlay seem like beachside holiday homes. The two Villains have different reasons for wanting him there, and Kane has his own reasons for going.

Yesterday was a day of surprises!

Official Semi-Daily Wordcount-o-Meter:

27,073 words

Will I make my unoffical Dec. 2nd deadline?

Let us hope....

Write Like the Wind

Burned the midnight oil on Sunday, then lit it up again Monday morning. So far, I am pleased.

It's a little daunting to know that I'm aiming for my Act II climax (which will also be the cliffhanger that carries us into Act III) by Thanksgiving. This point, it's all faith that these tangled bits of colored yarn will lead anywhere useful. But faith is part of the process.

Emotional Stages of Writing a Novel:

Infatuation: Like any relationship, we all start with that first rush of excitement. Based on anecdotal evidence, this rarely lasts more than 50 pages. After that wears off, mix at will:

Pride: Not just any old pride. No, I'm talking Luciferian Pride. Every word you write is pure gold. You're the shizzle, and you know it. Any old moment now, the world will lay at your feet.

This feeling is a lie. A tempting lie, but still a lie. Thankfuly, these days don't come too often. Not without chemical help...

Insecurity: The work's no good. Anything good you may have done, that was a fluke. Your words taste of ashes, and the light goes out of the sun.

This feeling is also a lie. Suck it up and keep moving. Tomorrow's another day.

Grinding: Most days are like this. Not too high, not too low, you just gotta have the endurance to keep putting in the work.

For me, these days are the challenge. It takes discipline to stick with the project and not chase after the next great idea. That's why I do 1000 words a day, like it or not.

Gethsemane: Every novel or graphic novel I've ever written has taken me through at least one long dark night in the garden. I'm pretty sure we all go through these. You just gotta have...

Faith: Where I'm at today. The work has enough of its own weight behind it to lend some momentum, but as writers we suspect the story is still fragile enough to shatter into a thousand fragments.

It isn't, but it feels that way. Hence, the faith.

Excitement: For me, that's usually when I turn the Act III corner. Everything's locked and loaded for the Final Showdown, and soon I'll be... DONE!

Sorta-Daily Wordcount-o-Meter:

24,572 words, not too shabby....

Progress

Butler is bigger.

So is my novel. As my tools have slowed down (still on the dip pen), my storytelling's speeded up. It's kind of fun writing this way, even if it is all a bit Still Life With Woodpecker. ALl the same, I hope it's just this one story.

At least the story's humming: 75,000 words, every one of them a struggle that made me feel like Jet Li's evil twin at the end of The One-- no matter how many of the bastards I beat, there's an endless swarm still coming.

That feeling's eased off a fair bit now. The characters are clear about their actions and not shy about letting me know what they are. The bad guys have been a long time in an increasingly untenable situation, and their whole dirty house of lies is about to come crashing down on them.

Oddly, I have no idea how much longer this story will go. On the one hand, I may find out that the first fifty thousand was just back-story and warm-up. On the other, my end may be closer in sight than I realize!

One thing I do know: I remain surprised. Part of it is supporting players retreating from the scenes or coming to the fore. After all, *they* don't know they're supporting; they think they're the stars and have to act accordingly. Part of it is a still-growing understanding of my leads and their own agendas.

But a lot of the surprise comes from my hero in this one. He's smart and tough, but also honest and direct. In fact, he's probably the only honest and direct person in this whole ball of wax.

When I started this story, I had in mind that a lot of his troubles would come from the deceits and manipulations of others. Instead, that direct approach to problems has been a real conflict-engine.

Last night, he went up to the viper's nest and knocked on the front door. He wants to see for himself if there's any truth to the rumors.

I can't wait to see what happens...

Writing Lessons from... Helena Bonham Carter?!

The Tiny Dynamo and I saw the new Harry Potter movie last week. I wasn't completely happy with the adaptation, and I wasn't completely disappointed, either.

But I was definitely struck by Helena Bonham's turn as Bellatrix. In her own words, she 'had five lines, and they cut three out.' Yet she was still one of the movie's most memorable players.

Her performance was no surprise. Every part she takes, no matter how small, she brings it to life. How does she do it?

No big secret. Actors talk about it. Writers talk about it. The big difference is, she actually does it: Miss Carter looks at ever part as though that character were the star of the show.

For that matter, Jk Rowling writes that same way. Her characters are so vivid, so memorable, because each one is an individual in his or her own right. From Cho Chang and Neville to Snape and Filtch, everyone in her books is the star of their own private lives.

After all, it's not like any of us go through our own lives thinking, "I'm the girlfriend/the sidekick/the gruff bartender with words of wisdom/the whore with a heart of gold/etc." Neither should our characters.

Sometimes, Miss Carter's method puts her in conflict with other members of the production. Sometimes, getting in your characters' heads will put them in conflict with the plot outline, with how you saw their function, with how you saw the story going in the first place. A well-realized 'minor' character can turn a story on its ear, and I think that's a good thing.

My current work is a thriller of the stranger-comes-to-town variety. The hero is clear. The two groups of bad guys (each with their own seperate agendas) seem clear at the moment. The femme fatale, she's right there. Or is she? I have to admit, she keeps surprising me, and may even end up being the protaganist at the rate she's going.

My hero is a drifter, tending bar when 'trouble strikes'. he's got a couple of co-workers. Why? Because dialogue reads better than exposition. Because it gives him an opportunity to have local contacts. Because he's, well, a drifter. Sometimes, the guy needs a ride to wherever he's going.

Except that one of the workers has a crush on him. Fair enough. She's motivated to give him local info and rides, anyway. And it creates an instant conflict with the femme fatale. She was meant to be a minor character, but she's gradually becoming more important to the story.

Fair enough.

Thing is, I needed a third bartender. After all, somebody has to keep the place open when the hero and the other tender are out running around. Enter Kevin.

Kevin may not survive to the final draft. There's every chance he'll end up a brief mention along the lines of, 'Ten minutes later, the relief bartender showed up so the hero could leave.' Just another of those lives that brush ours only slightly.

Except Kevin wrote himself a bigger part when the hero needed to use the phone. The more scenes where he shows up (or needs to be considered, even though he's off stage), the more I realize he doesn't like my hero much. Personally, I think at the bottom of it is that Kevin had his eye on their coworker. I may be wrong.

Nothing much may come of it. Or Kevin may get the hero into hot water at some point. Or he may deliver a timely bit of information about the true nature of the coworker (I'm not sure I trust her...). Thing is, at least I know why he's doing what he's doing, even when all he's got is a couple of lines.

Kevin thinks he's the star. He thinks he'll get the girl.

I think Helen Bonham would be proud...

Yikes

79,000 words

One thing I love about thrillers (and part of why I naturally gravitate to writing them) is that sense of doom, not impending, but hurtling at the protagonist at 100mph (or 180kph, since we're metric here...).

A thriller will have a built-in deadline to disaster, be it large (doomsday device, et al) or small (pay the ransom or we kill your child). The hero must struggle to get on top of a situation in which she's initially out of control and relatively powerless. The later the hero gets the upper hand, and the more her eventual victory looks in doubt, the more exciting the story.

A powerful way to keep the hero off-balance is to take that deadline and shorten it. Drastically. Move that countdown timer from 10 minutes to 10 seconds. Reveal that the kidnappers won't wait for the ransom to kill the kid; they're going to do it tonight.

One thing about my jump-in-and-write style is that in this first pass I'm often as surprised as anyone by the twists and turns in the story.

I should have seen the shortened deadline coming, but I didn't. And I didn't see how the stakes would suddenly ratchet up in so many ways as it shortened.

Sarah was supposed to have two or three days to get on top of her situation. Now she's got one night. She's going to need every resource she has to beat this. Now my heart's beating as a reader, but it's freaking jackhammering as the writer. I can't let her down, but I don't see how I can do it.

I'm going to need every resource *I* have to beat this. :-)