Night sparkles, cloaked in /
ancient messages scarred by /
the fury of time.
Writing Tip Wednesday: “Plotting, part 1”
MAKE PLOTTING EASIER WITH THE PLOTCLOCK – PART 1
By JOYCE SWENEY
WHAT IT IS
Plotting takes time.
novels that are not tragedies. It’s based on my lifetime of research as a bad plotter into the secrets of good plotters such as scriptwriters,
intensified by my time partnered with Jamie Morris, another wonderful writing coach. Jamie and I took long walks together, argued about various books over the telephone and eventually co-created the Plotclock of today…which I have to say works darned well.
But you can certainly plot a novel *without* this tool, have high points where the clock suggests low points, follow another map, etc., and you’ll
be fine. It’s just a great map for writers like me who get very lost when trying to plot a novel.
WHY IT WORKS:
I believe there’s a basic ‘story’ hardwired into all our brains. We can’t articulate it, but we know it when we see it and we respond emotionally to it. It is the story of the character we love, overcoming all odds to do the thing they must do and somehow gaining something in the end. The highs and lows
of this are surprisingly similar and predictable, hence the effectiveness of The Clock.
HOW TO USE IT:
The story should begin in the main character’s ordinary world. But the early scene/scenes in this world should suggest to the reader something is lacking. I don’t like ‘What does the main character want?’ Who cares what they want?
A better question is, ‘What needs to happen to a person like this?’ So a shy person should be propelled, lured or trapped into a story where they will have to speak up. The ordinary world should make the reader say…I like this person but I wish they would ______. And then comes …..
The Inciting Event – the thing that makes that wish come true. This new thing crosses the main character’s path and invites them into the Special World of the story. In some novels it happens pretty quickly; in others, much closer to the Binding Point. In memoir, for reasons I haven’t figured out, the inciting event tends to come first, with the Ordinary World shown in flashback. But in fiction, it seems to be better the other way.
The Binding Point – comes about a quarter into the story and begins Act 2. Since the Inciting Event, the main character has probably been resisting or avoiding the Special World (because who wants to get involved in something that might change you?), but at the binding point they agree, are lured, tricked or shanghaied into the Special World. Dorothy in Oz is an easy binding point to understand. She can’t go back the way she came, so she now has to follow the Yellow Brick Road all the way through a story to get home.
Next time: From Low Point to Denouement
—-
Joyce Sweeney is the author of 14 novels for young adults and one book of poetry. A writing teacher and mentor to aspiring authors, she runs writer’s workshops, critiques manuscripts, and conducts classes and seminars throughout the state of Florida. This article is just one of the ten lessons included in her Fiction Writing Essentials which starts in July and is taking registrations now at: www.sweeneywritingcoach.com.
[Editor’s note: This entry comes courtesy of Bruce Hale. Bruce has written and illustrated over 25 books for kids. His Underwhere series includes Prince of Underwhere and Pirates of Underwhere. His Chet Gecko Mysteries series includes: The Chameleon Wore Chartreuse, The Big Nap, The Malted Falcon, Hiss Me Deadly, and others. More at http://www.brucehale.com/]
Filed under Writing Tip Wednesday
cARtOONSDAY: “wORD TO THE wISE”
Some days, each word feels like a year.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Monday (morning) writing joke: “That’s the spirit”
A ghost walks into a bar and asks for a gin and tonic.
“Sorry,” says the bartender. “We don’t serve spirits.”
Filed under Monday morning writing humor
Haiku to you Thursday: “Thunder jests”
Skyward, thunder jests /
a voice beyond placating /
rain and tears collide.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
Writing tip Wednesday: “Giving books”
Giving the gift of writing takes on many forms.
Answer: You can’t take the reading side of the relationship between writer and reader for granted. You have to help “grow the market,” as it is called in marketing-speak today. With all the options available to occupy people’s dwindling free time, you can’t assume books are the first thing somebody thinks of. In short, if you want people to read your work, you have to help make sure they are reading.
Below is the opening of an article by Alanna Okun. The title of the article is “Books to Give as Gifts for Every Occasion.” You may not agree with all the selections made in the article, and that’s okay. I didn’t. But if you aren’t giving books as gifts, how can you expect others to give yours as a gift?
GRADUATION
The Elements of Style, by Strunk & White
Bonus points if it’s the version of this classic that’s illustrated by the luminous Maira Kalman; that’ll make it feel more like a keepsake and less like a standard-issue textbook (albeit a wonderful one) on the first day of sophomore English Lit.
This Is Water, by David Foster Wallace
This legendary speech was given by the late David Foster Wallace at Kenyon College and contains the kind of simple yet staggeringly important advice that any high school/college/grad school student/actually human, in general, would benefit from thinking about for at least a few minutes.
“It is,” the speech ends, “about simple awareness — awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, that we have to keep reminding ourselves, over and over: ‘This is water, this is water.’”
For illustrations and more suggestions, go to http://www.buzzfeed.com/alannaokun/books-to-give-as-gifts-for-every-occasion
Filed under Writing Tip Wednesday
cARtOONSDAY: “tUESDAY mORNING”
The Tuesday Morning Terror
Don’t look behind you!
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Monday (morning) writing joke: “It depends”
Diapers
There many be some truth to this.
We will (with apologies to Shakespeare) call this: What’s in a name?
Query: Does anyone know why disposable baby diapers are called Luvs & Huggies, while old people diapers are called Depends?
Hypothesis: Cause if a baby poops in his(her) pants, you are still gonna Luv’em & Hug’em. But if an old person poops in his(her) pants, your love might Depend on if you are still in the will.
Filed under Monday morning writing humor
Writing Week in Review
Writing Week in Review
or
Ten minutes You’ll never get back in this lifetime
by DAVID E. BOOKER
Practice, practice, practice.
Summary: Up and down week for my computer, my Internet connect, and for my writing.
Details: I don’t know if my computer is on its last virtual legs or headed for silicon senility, but it has taken to spontaneously rebooting, and even telling me after it has done so that it has “Recovered from a System Error” or something like that. There is no set time of the day for this to take place. It has happened while I am sitting at the computer and while I am away.
My Internet connection has also been up and down. That was also without a set time of the day, though it tended to happen more after 9 PM. It had been going on for several weeks, building from a spotty event to a continual-though-hard-to-predict-when event. I finally reached the point of exasperation, having done all the things I could do, such as reboot the modem (several times), check the inside connections (again several times), and run the diagnostics provided with the modem, which only tended to confirm that my Internet was down. (Dah, don’t you think I already figured that much out?)
First, an inside guy appeared and checked out everything. It was one of those appointment windows – you know the type – where you get a window of opportunity, as I like to call it. The technician was scheduled to be there “between 4 and 8 PM.” Fortunately, he arrived a little after 4 PM and even called my wife, who was at home, at 4 to say he would be at our house in ten minutes, and he was. He was polite and checked things out and said everything on the inside was fine, that an outside technicians would have to be scheduled to come out. He couldn’t say exactly when that would happen. I guess technicians don’t have a secret handshake – virtual or otherwise – that gets them any more inside information that the rest of us get.
Well, the outside guy arrived the next morning. He called to say he was outside, but nobody was at home at the time he called. The inside technician seemed to think the outside guy might have to replace the line running from the pole to the house, and so would need access to the house. Not likely to happen when nobody’s here. I have heard of one person in my neighborhood who leaves her house doors unlocked when she leaves, but she ain’t me. I lock, lock, and lock again.
Anyway, whatever he did, short of replacing the line, appears to be working. For the past few days the Internet connect has not dropped out at unexpected times for explained reasons. So, I give high marks for the workmanship, the promptness of service (even if one part of it came without a confirmation of the schedule), and for the courtesy of the technicians, including the person at the call center, for whom I’m sure English was not his native language. Or maybe it was my tired ears that couldn’t quite understand him and had to ask, on several occasions, for something to be repeated.
As for my writing, it has been a bit skewed this week. Normally, I get up at 3 AM to write for about 30 minutes or so before going to work. I have a modest goal of 300 words a day on the two novels I am working on. However, due to a change in my work schedule, I am not getting up at 3 AM to get to work. Because of that my modest goal has fallen behind this week. I have tried writing in the late afternoon or early evening when I get home, but there are always chores and family obligations and evening meetings that get in the way. I am trying to adjust. Maybe I can catch up some this weekend.
It is often frustrating how little things and acts of life can get in the way of writing. Of course, I can do a good job of getting in my own way, but that is a topic for another time.
[Author’s note: this is the first time I have done this and it may not be a regular thing. My intention is not to bore and certainly not to call attention to myself as someone special. If anything, it shows how ordinary a person a writer is, except for the desire to accomplish something that looks so easy, but is far from it.]
Photo finish Friday: “Up in smoke”
[Author’s note: This is where you write a story, poem, even essay based on a photo. I have placed the photo a little further down in the story, but you are free to write what you want based on the photo. The photo is mine, so if you use in a blog or other publication, please give me credit: David E. Booker. Thanks.]
by DAVID E. BOOKER
It was almost the end of his shift when homicide detective C. Sparks got the call to go to possible homicide on East S. Ave. He had plans for his evening, a nice dinner with the victim of another murder case he had worked and solved only three weeks ago. The widow was so grateful that after four months he had not given up on the case and actually figured out who the murdered was and built a solid case with which the D.A. could easily prosecute … and win.
He turned from N. Center St. onto East S. and saw a blue SUV in the middle of the road, a prowl car on the other side of it. Both were in the middle of the street. Both were holding up traffic.
Detective Sparks pulled up behind the SUV. No, he’d block traffic from the N. Center side. He opened his car door and stepped out. The summer heat, even the evening version, was more than any reasonable person should stand, particularly – especially because it was being reflected back up by the baked street asphalt.
The beat cop was talking to a very animated man. Sparks glanced around. There was no body. There were no crime scene technicians. What the hell was going on? Was there a body or was somebody just trying to get him?
The beat officer saw him about the same time he saw her. She broke away from the animated man and met Sparks about halfway from his car to the blue SUV.
“What’s this about?” He looked at the name plate above left breast pocket, then added, “V. Slims.”
“It’s Virginia. Most people call me Virgy.”
“Okay. Virgy, what’s up?”
“This man claims he turned the corner on the E. Scott and out of nowhere this man appears, stops in the middle of the road to light a cigarette and before he could anything, he ran into the guy. He was sure of it. But then he stopped the car and got out and the guy was gone.”
“Yeah, it was as if he disappeared in a cloud of smoke,” the man said.
He had walked up and Sparks hadn’t noticed. Sparks knew then he had been working too many hours.
“And you are?” Sparks asked.
“Leonard M. Bold,” Officer Gordon said. “I checked his ID when rolled I up.”
“Most people call me Leo,” Bold said, extending his hand.
Sparks stared at it for a moment before taking it.
“What were you doing on this street,” Sparks asked.
“I’m in real estate and was driving through this historic neighborhood seeing if there were any houses for sale. See who has them listed. I have a client who might be interested in a historic house.”
Sparks nodded. He then walked up and around the SUV. No sign of dents or broken headlights, or any indication that it had even collided with a house fly let alone a body. The SUV gleamed so brightly, it even hurt his eyes to look at it.
Up In smoke
He squinted a little harder to make out the brand of cigarettes: L, M, Bold. He looked up at the man, then back down at the cigarettes, then up at the man again.
“This is a joke, right? You think you’re funny, calling me out here, Leonard M. Bold.”
“But it’s true, what I said.” Leonard walked over to where Sparks was.
“Yeah, right.” Sparks looked over at Slims. “How much you in on this, Virginia Slims? If that’s your real name. What the hell is going on here.”
Sparks was angry, but even he was surprised when sparks started flying out of his mouth. The first ones hit Officer Virginia Slims and she caught on fire and was burning up. This couldn’t be happening. He turned to look a Leonard, who was already running away.
Sparks yelled after him and flames shot out of his mouth and hit Gold squarely in the back. Gold caught on fire like a book of matches or a pack of cigarettes.
The air smelled like burned tobacco, and Sparks realized how much he actually missed smoking. Even after six years, the craving still seized him every now and then. Right now it was suddenly so strong he might just kill for a cigarette.
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday
Booker's Blog 