Ganked from redredshoes
Plots are for wimps. Character is all.

You’re a Dialogue/Character Writer!
What kind of writer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Oh, and I don’t write fan fic. You knew that, right? Just checking.
Ganked from redredshoes
Plots are for wimps. Character is all.

You’re a Dialogue/Character Writer!
What kind of writer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Oh, and I don’t write fan fic. You knew that, right? Just checking.
This weekend I rented the first DVD of “Kindred: The Embraced“. I remember watching this show way back when and not caring for it much. I’m not sure what’s different now. Maybe my tastes are different. Maybe I see how this is not really a mobster show in vampire disguise like I thought last time, but a sociological study of what a vampire sub-culture might be like. Maybe it’s because I live in San Francisco now. Maybe it’s because I get to watch all the eps in a row and get more story before making up my mind. Maybe it’s because I have a better grasp of the vampire metaphysics of this particular universe this time around.
But I like this show. It’s pretty cool. And there are only eight episodes!!! (*sob*)
I noticed in the credits, though, that this was based on and produced by a guy who wrote for the “Vampire: the Masquerade” thingee. Was that ever in novelized form? I always thought it was just an RPG, and looking it up on amazon.com didn’t clear it up. Are they novels, or just rule books? ‘Cause I’d like a little more story, but I don’t want to spend my money on RPG rule books.
— Masquerade, who did NOT adopt her name because of this RPG.
I have no problem telling people I’m writing a novel. It makes me sound Interesting at parties. “You’re writing a novel?” But inevitably, people ask me, “What is it about”? They want a 30-second synopsis. Or is it 30 words? Anyway, that’s when I get tongue-tied. I suck at giving synopses, and usually just say lame stuff like, “I don’t know,” or “It’s complicated”, or… I change the subject.
It’s not like I’m embarassed about my novel or anything. It’s just it’s… it’s a character-driven novel with a bit of a complicated plot, and how do you summarize such a thing? Plot-driven novels usually have a concept, or a premise. Something that started the whole writing process in the first place, something the writer is shooting for that lets him/her know when it’s complete.
I complain sometimes about how doing my website/moderating the board takes up time I could be working on my fiction, but in other ways, the ATPo board has greatly enriched my fiction. I’ve made it one of my goals in life never to take a literature class (don’t ask me why, I have no principled reason, the thought just makes me squirm with the potential for sheer boredom).
Talking to ATPoers with literary expertise has taught me a lot about metaphor and symbolism. I never purposefully tried to incorporate those literary elements into my writing until recently. And now I seem to find interesting symbols and metaphors in passages I’ve already written.
Like this weekend. In one of the very last chapters of my novel, I have the protagonist (Valerie, a brassy graduate student) coming to a truce with the antagonist (Elizabeth, her control-freak advisor). The setting of the chapter is Valerie’s apartment. I wrote the first draft of this chapter years ago, and in it, I naturally had Valerie wearing no shoes, just socks. It’s her house; Elizabeth comes over unexpectedly.
But reading it lately, as I’ve been working diligently on details and descriptions, I noticed there was something symbolic in Valerie wearing no shoes. When she wears no shoes, her feet don’t clomp against the kitchen tile. Valerie is always clomping. She wears cowboy boots, and they are always heralding her entrance into a room. In one big early confrontation scene between Elizabeth and Valerie, Valerie ambushes Elizabeth in the laboratory where they work, and Elizabeth’s first awareness that Valerie has entered the room is through the clomp of those boots.
Naturally, Elizabeth tenses up at the sound. So in the final scene between them, Valerie’s new softer, emotionally spent attitude is symbolized in her lack of boots. Even as she and Elizabeth seem to clash one more time, they are on the verge of an understanding, and it is symbolized by the lack of clomping.
Pretty cool.
Now I find myself actually trying to incorporate more symbols and metaphors into my novel. Like with coffee. Nearly all my characters drink coffee (maybe too much, maybe I overuse this little detail). But each of their preferences in coffee says something about who they are as a character.
Felicia, who is in love with a playful artsy blonde, drinks her coffee with cream and sugar. At one point, her lover even comments of Felicia’s morning cup, “Just the way you like it. Blonde and sweet.” As the novel continues and Felicia starts having problems with her lover, the coffee she drinks becomes increasingly luke-warm and acrid.
Elizabeth, who is abrasive and a work-a-holic, drinks her coffee strong and black and bitter.
Elizabeth’s husband Arthur, who wishes his marriage was better than it was, douses his black coffee with sweetner.
Valerie, who wants to think she is nothing like her mentor Elizabeth, also drinks her coffee black.
Lisa, a teenager being drawn into Valerie’s more adult world, at first drinks orange soda, but later orders coffee and douses it in cream and sugar to make it palatable, but then doesn’t drink it. At the end of the novel, when Lisa has started coming into adulthood, she orders an mocha espresso and drinks it down. Grown up, but still sweet.
I just got back from my monthly free-writing class. I feel crappy because I didn’t share anything with the rest of the group, even though I eventually wanted to. I always tell myself that I don’t have to share if I don’t want to, because that loosens me up, allows me to write more freely. If I know I have to share ahead of time, I end up writing nothing at all. Or I write funny or goofy things that are purely for entertainment value. I don’t write “where my energy is”, I don’t write where my heart is that day.
Today I did manage to eek out a few interesting little blurbs. The first I wrote at the very last second, after wasting 10 minutes of a 15-minute free write session getting no where. It was swift and cryptic, so I didn’t share it.
The second blurb was in response to a free-writing prompt where we had to write about a memory. The teacher gave us several common experiences in life, like “A hangover”, “kissing”, “unexpected news”, “a costume”, etc. We had to write down memories we had around those events and then, after we made a list of memories, let one of those memories “pick us” and write about it. I immediately was drawn to a memory I had of kissing. We were supposed to make our lists of memories, then take a coffee break, then come back and write. I just wrote right through the break. That’s what it means to write where your energy is.
I wanted to share this one with the others, but the two women on either side of me read their blurbs, also about kissing, and mine seemed redundant. So I didn’t. And now I feel bad. So I’m putting this blurb in here.
OK, first the confession. I stopped listening to new music in 1992. Now, when I do listen to music at all, which I don’t very often because I find it distracting, I listen to old favorites like Depeche Mode or Elton John. I wake up to random classical music in the morning. But most of the time? I prefer to think thoughts, engage in mental argumentation and tell myself stories, and music makes it hard to concentrate.
Anyway, so I’m writing a novel. And my characters, who aren’t me (much), they listen to music. But I don’t have a clue what they would listen to. So I need suggestions.
What would the following people likely listen to?
• A seventeen-year old high school senior, female, white, middle-class, living in the ‘burbs*
• A 25-year old working class/no college woman, white, who is a bit of a “stoner” (do they still call them “stoners”? Loadies? *Ack*). I’m thinking she’s sophisticated enough not to listen to stereotypical “stoner” music, though. By that I mean she wouldn’t listen to music to enhance the “getting high” experience, but she would listen to things a somewhat intelligent person from her background would listen to.
• A 27-year old somewhat musically sophisticated male grad student, mixed race (white/native american), who I’m thinking listens to contemporary jazz
• A 24-year old registered nurse, female, black, middle-class, somewhat anal and neat-freaky and domestic
• A 22-year old hippy artist type, female, white, from a rich background she has rejected
Honestly, when I started this novel I was 29 and a lot closer in age to these people, but they’ve remained young and I’ve gotten old and I don’t know what these whipper-snapper young people listen to anymore!
*I would describe her as intelligent and bright, but rather sheltered and inexperienced. She’s spirited, but not really punk or “out there” in anyway. In high school, she’s part of the marching band crowd, but not in anyway a nerd. Developmentally, she’s in that in-between place where she might see things outside her experience (urban music) as interesting and exciting, but have enough intelligence not to be impressed by things that are rebellion for rebellion’s sake. In fact, I would describe her as someone who is learning as the novel progresses to be herself and NOT try to do those things teenagers do to seem more sophisticated/trendy that actually make them look juvenile.
I can’t seem to access it.
At the beginning of the month, I got back into the editing of my novel, and what I feared was a case of writer’s block turned out to be a necessary two months of focusing on other things, namely buying a house, moving, the holidays, and a brain vacation.
Now that I am back into it, however, I’m finding myself dissatisfied with my editing efforts. Part of the editing process is very left-brained: are the details in each chapter consistent with each other? Am I using too many adjectives? Does this section contribute anything to the plot? I do well with that.
Other parts are more intuitive. This is the stage where you actually really need to concentrate on making your writing sound pretty, and I am finding some bits I’m happy with, and lots of other bits that are totally bland sounding. Which is not a federal disaster, I just need to make them read in a more interesting way.
The problem is, the part of my brain that puts words together in interesting ways seems to be asleep. Or it’s back living in my old apartment. Or maybe I left it behind months and months ago but didn’t realize it because I was working out technical problems.
Where is my creativity, the part of me that comes up with novel catches of phrase, interesting details and complications, fresh perspectives on old material? Where is the part of me that takes mental leaps beyond the obvious?
*Ack*
note to self: I want to be aliera9916 when I grow up. Or I might just steal fresne‘s brain.
Well, I’m happy to report that I finally finally after two months, including two weeks of vacation doing nothing useful, just watching videos, I finally did a little work on my novel last night.
It was very mechanical work, the kind with little substance that allows you to say at least you did it.
I’m going through that “This novel is crap, I write like crap, I am crap” phase right now. Picking it up and looking at it after all this time, it’s slow and it drags and the characters spend every scene sitting and yapping with each other like talking heads and at this late date in the editing process, I’m not sure I can change that. Not without a heck of a lot more imagination and a major overhaul.
*sigh*
OK, this really pisses me off. Before my big move, I was fully in writer-mode, even asking in my LJ for writing advice and stuff. I was deep into the editing of my novel and slapping back an ep analysis of Angel once a week and otherwise typing prose to my heart’s content.
Then came the packing, and the move, and the unpacking, and the interior decorating. I managed to finish up the couple Angel analysis I was late on, but thank god they didn’t have more than eight episodes this Fall (did I just say that?), ’cause I was kind of dragging ass getting those done as it was.
And now I am dragging ass getting back into my novel. It all seems distant to me. “Oh, that.”
I am like a work-a-holic, I-have-no-life about my novel most of the time!!
Grrr, I hate this. Would someone tell me where my muse ran off to?