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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Once upon a time, this would have been half of a book.

Word count: 50,839
LBR census: Love. This book is sadly lacking in blood so far, but the love is shaping up to be even more cruel, so it balances out.
Authorial sadism: Did I mention the love? Also, Irrith just planted her foot so firmly in her mouth I think she stepped on her liver. If faeries even have livers.

I’m roughly halfway through Part Three, and (assuming my target word count doesn’t end up being wildly off-base) a little over a third of the way through the book. It’s hard to pace myself, in terms of expectations; this is the first time I’ve set out to write a 140K book. (Ashes got there accidentally.) Normally I’d be thinking of this as the middle span of the story, since most of my novels, both published and unpublished, fall in the 100-120K range. I’m definitely in “the middle,” broadly speaking — this isn’t the beginning anymore, and it sure as heck isn’t the end — but I’m a good 20K away from the actual midpoint.

I must admit, I’m not sure a seven-part structure was my brightest idea ever. It’s a strange number, and not one we really have a model for, as far as story structure’s concerned, but it fits in other ways. I just have to figure out what kinds of things go in which sections. On the face of it, this should not be a challenge; after all, I could just pretend the part breaks aren’t there, and pace things however seems natural. But there’s such a thing as three-part structure, and such a thing as five-part structure (which I did, for the record, pay attention to while writing Midnight), and the four days of the Fire meant I needed four spans of time in Ashes which dictated some of my structure there, too. I just need to figure out what the seven-part version is.

Well, any way you slice it, the next part is the middle one, when the book stops heading away from the beginning and starts heading toward the end. And I know some of what will be happening then.

Now I just need to figure out what happens in the rest of Part Three . . . .

lessons I shouldn’t need to relearn

I’m currently trying to revise something, and the further I go into it, the more I’m bogging down.

Maybe because I, y’know, skipped over that one scene, the one where I need to change it around to do something new, but I’m not yet sure how I want to spin the thing I want it to do, and even once I figure that out I’ll need outside help to set up the execution correctly, and all of that’s a valid reason for skipping over it, right?

Yeah. Right. Except for the bit where I’ve snagged my narrative on a thorn, and can’t go on until I’ve un-snagged it. My alternative is a narrative with a big ol’ rip in it, and that kind of defeats the purpose of revision.

<sigh> I shouldn’t need to remind myself of these things. And yet I do, because when you get right down to it I’m lazy, and this is a big indigestible chunk of work I keep wanting to put off. But obviously it’s past time for me to writer up and deal with it already.

double-you. tee. eff. — Part Two

Okay, the algebra has moved on to calculus and from thence to astrophysics (kniedzw‘s idea), picking up a side order of Norse mythology along the way, and now I’m trying to decide on a suitable driving weight for what started out as the world’s most improbable clock and has gotten weirder since.

. . . I love my job.

Even if sometimes it randomly requires math.

still digging my way out of the hole

Wrote a cumulative 3806 today in various new scenes, rummaging around in the guts of Part Two to make everything fall into the new order. Still need to replace the scene that introduces the CR itself, and then do at least a rough polish on the Magrat conversation, the coffee-house, and Carline; then probably wholesale replace 80% of the Vauxhall scene, and I’ll finally be ready to finish the scene I was in the middle of writing when I realized I needed to redo half of what I’d done.

One of the cherished delusions of the aspiring writer is that this stuff gets easier as you go. Sure, maybe you have to rework your first novel three times, but after a while you learn to produce clean drafts, right?

Yeah, I’m going the other way. I’ve never had to hack a book apart half as much as I’ve done with this one already. Please, please, don’t let this trend continue.

Word count: 36,810 and trying not to think about how I’m running to stay in place
LBR census: I had to work really hard to find a reason why it wasn’t blood.
Authorial sadism: Yes, Galen, when you get a good idea I will make you share it with the class.

damn you, British astronomers!

I’ve been digging for ages now, attempting to discover when people in Britain first sighted Halley’s comet in 1759. Not when it was first seen in general; I know Palitzsch spotted it on Christmas Day, 1758, and Messier picked it up a month later, and then lots of people saw it after perihelion, throughout March and April. So I figured that if I aimed to have this book in seven sections, one per season, then I should start in summer 1757, because odds were it got spotted in Britain some time in winter 1759.

Those lazy bastards of eighteenth-century British astronomy apparently didn’t pick up the damn thing until April 30th. Which means that, for the purpose of my structure, I need to start the book in autumn 1757.

It isn’t a simple matter of changing date stamps on the scenes, either. Galen’s conversation with his father is partly predicated on the assumption that it’s summer, and therefore a lousy time to be attempting any kind of large-scale social networking. Ergo, his attempts on that front don’t begin until part two. Also, there’s a scene that has to take place on October 3rd, but part one is too early to use it, so I’ll have to rework that idea for part five instead. Etc. Etc.

The worst part is, I think this change will be a good thing. Example: I couldn’t introduce the Royal Society properly until part two, because they were on hiatus from June until November 10th. Problem solved! Now I can have them in play sooner. Another example: there was a comet sighted in late September/early October, that I was having trouble working into the scene flow of part two. It will, however, do very nicely for an early note in part one. I suspect a whole lot of things will balance out more usefully once I boot the story back one season. But this is going to mean a crap-ton of very frustrating revision on the 33.5K I already have written, because I didn’t find the answer I needed until just now. And that’s almost certainly going to put me behind, because I think I need to get my extant wordage sorted out before I’ll be okay to proceed forward.

Snarl.

And sigh. I do think things will be better this way. But I’m rather ticked at myself for not turning this info up sooner, and at Bradley and all his cohort for failing to spot the bloody comet until almost May. We’re going to have to make some changes around here . . . .

tonight’s random observation

I can tell I haven’t really gotten into the flow of a scene when all my paragraphs are of the same length. Long paragraphs and short ones are part of the dynamics and tempo of narrative; with no variation, everything’s at the same volume, the same pace. When they start contrasting more, it’s a sign I’m doing something right.

From this insight, I conclude I’m going to have to rewrite the first five hundred words of this scene.

But that’s a job for later.

Thirty K.

Word count: 30,038
LBR census: I think fear counts as blood.
Authorial sadism: Since my last update . . . making Irrith play politics, and making Galen face down twenty-five tons of By The Way You Know You’re Mortal, Right?

Halfway through Part Two (of seven). I don’t feel like my narrative momentum has quite cohered yet, but we’re getting there. Mostly it’s still Irrith giving me trouble. Unlike Galen, she didn’t show up with her intestines on a platter, asking if I’d like to play with them; I’m having to pry useful conflict out of her.

This is what happens when you write a relatively care-free character. It’s hard, getting her to care about stuff.

But Galen’s at the Royal Society now. I wonder just how many photographed pages of minutes I’m going to read through before I decide I really don’t give a damn when Henry Cavendish first attended a meeting, and that nobody will much care if I put him there in late 1757. After all, biographical info on the guy is remarkably sketchy, so aside from the minutes, there’s probably no record at all of when he showed up for the first time. And given that I had to photograph handwritten pages out of giant leatherbound volumes you can only get by applying to use the Royal Society library and then filling out request forms, the odds of anybody being able to call me on my error are pretty low.

(If a piece of historical accuracy falls in a forest and there’s nobody qualified to notice, does it constitute an error?)

Er, nevermind. Since they helpfully put visitors at the beginning of each set of minutes, and those are easy to find, I, um, already found my answer. June 15th, 1758. Possibly not his first meeting, but the first one in the range I copied, and therefore the first that will appear in this narrative.

(If a piece of historical accuracy falls in a forest and a deranged writer runs over to prop it back up again, does it constitute grounds for involuntary commitment?)

Bedtime now. Before I go even crazier.

minor neatness

The small neatness is that “A Mask of Flesh has apparently earned an Honorable Mention in the twenty-sixth Year’s Best Science Fiction, edited by Gardner Dozois. (I had no idea he also recced fantasy; that story is definitely not science-y in its speculation.)

The much bigger neatness is that I’m one of NINE Clockwork Phoenix authors so honored — which, for an anthology with eighteen stories in it, is a damned impressive success rate. Congrats not only to my fellow authors, but most especially to Mike, for putting together such a great volume!

(Now might be a good time to mention that you can buy the second volume in the series . . . or the first, if you haven’t already. I’ve got stories in both.)

One door closes; another one opens.

Sadly, it appears that Talebones is closing. When I sold them “The Snow-White Heart,” I hoped that meant the magazine would continue on, but Patrick Swenson has decided to call an end, after thirty-nine issues. I hope the plan to perpetuate it as anthologies works out, though; I’ve enjoyed my dealings with Patrick, and the anthology market appears to be reviving after years in a moribund state, so that may actually be a viable course of action.

Let me segue from that bad news to some good news that arrived while I was on the road, hence not posting it until now. You may recognize the name of Beneath Ceaseless Skies, the biweekly online magazine that has brought you (among other things) my stories “Kingspeaker” and “Driftwood.” I’ve discussed them magazine before; they’re publishing good, strong narrative fantasy that happens to cover a broader range than usual of settings. In the nine months they’ve been running, I’ve seen Middle Eastern settings, African ones, Asian, Mesoamerican, frontier Western . . . Scott Andrews, the editor, has a real commitment to exactly the kind of experimentation I like.

I bring them up because Scott has recently completed arrangements for BCS to qualify as a non-profit, and that means he’s started seeking donations. (I don’t know for sure, but I think he was funding it out-of-pocket before.) He’s paying pro rates for a nice diversity of stories, both in print and podcast forms, and As You Know, Bob, the number of magazines doing that nowadays is shrinking steadily. I don’t know about you, but I want to see this one survive. It’s the only magazine I’ve ever encountered where I read every story (though not all of them work out for me), where I will in fact make the effort to go back and read issues I’ve missed, if I was busy or traveling when the new one(s) went live.

I can’t give it a stronger recommendation than that — without pretending it provides you with a free flying unicorn that shoots lasers and is a ninja whenever you read a story.

How much you donate, and on what schedule is up to you. You can give a lump sum now, or chip in fifty cents every time you read (or listen to) a story you like. Whatever. But check it out, and if you like what they’re doing, give a thought to supporting them. This isn’t charity; it’s a business model, and I hope it succeeds.

two things with me in them

It being the 16th, I’m over at SF Novelists again. This month’s post, “A matter of leverage,” is about my newest favorite metaphor for characterization. Go comment over there instead of here; you don’t need an account or anything to post.

I’m also over at PodCastle, but this time in a new capacity — I’m the reader! Rachel Swirsky, editor of PodCastle and ironically-minded lady, recruited me to read a story called “In Ashes.” I haven’t listened to it myself, other than to check the sound levels before sending it off to Rachel for clean-up editing; I can’t stand listening to my own voice. (Because it never sounds the way it does in your own head, y’know?) But hopefully other people will enjoy it. If you want to comment on that one, PodCastle has both blog comment threads and a forum, so offer your feedback there.

And that’s that

The last Deeds of Men winner has been chosen. Thanks to everyone who signed up for the newsletter — I’ll make it as interesting and news-ful as I can.

Don’t forget that you can still post comments or questions on the discussion thread (same goes for Midnight and Ashes, of course). And I do hope to have more Onyx Court short fiction for you guys in the future — not while I’m plugging away on this novel, probably, but maybe after it’s done I’ll get “And Blow Them at the Moon” or “Bow Street Runner” written.

But first, novel.

Break’s over; back on your heads.

On the one hand, taking a month off from the comet book gave me time to rethink some important things in Part One, which will make it much easier to proceed from here.

On the other hand, taking a month off from the comet book killed my discipline and momentum like whoa and damn.

Some of that’s the jet lag talking, mind you, which has hit me far worse than usual. (Might have something to do with me being on the road for a straight month; mostly I was in the U.S., but jet lag is as much about your general level of energy as it is about time zones.) I actually took a nap this evening instead of going to see a movie, just because I knew if I didn’t, there was no way I’d stay conscious late enough to get my work done. Another thing lost in my absence was my ability to sleep through kniedzw‘s alarm, you see, so I’ve been up since 7:30, which is just not natural for me. And my attempt to get work done this afternoon failed miserably.

I had more success just now, despite the lethargy brought on by a longer-than-expected evening nap. 1057 words, sending Galen to Vauxhall. It’s a pity the gardens there are long gone; I would have loved the chance to wander around them, instead of trying to put eighteenth-century paintings together with later plan views to understand how the place was laid out.

Word count: 21,146
LBR census: Love. Somebody in Galen’s family had to not suck.
Authorial sadism: Making it a windy night. Though that was only a little mean. (I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.)

Open Book Thread: In Ashes Lie

It does occur to me (now that I’m starting to get my brain back — I’ll be home this evening, yay!) that street dates are normally Tuesdays, but hey, Amazon swears blind that mine is today, and they’re never wrong, right?

Since I’m not a big enough name for bookstores to put me on the special “don’t shelve this too early or we’ll get sued” list, it doesn’t matter much one way or another. Happy Street Date for In Ashes Lie! Unless you’re in the UK, in which case I believe you have to wait just a couple of weeks longer.

Comments and questions on the book are welcome here (and you don’t need an LJ account to post). If you haven’t read the book yet — which most of you, I expect, have not — just come back later; I’ll link to this from my site so you can find it again.

(Previous discussion threads for Midnight Never Come and Deeds of Men are still open, too.)