Traveller’s Tales

So the Big Edit is… done!

Sort of.

What I mean is, everything I wanted to get done, is done.  But there are other things that I’ve discovered, in the process of getting the things that needed to get done, done, that now also need to get done.

For one, the manuscript bloated.  Predictable, and something a more experienced writer would have known intuitively would happen as a result of an edit that deep, but I hadn’t thought about it along those lines, so I need to do a third pass, to trim the bloat.

There’s more, of course — a lot of little things that I found while I was digging around in there.  I won’t go into the gory details, but it’s going to put a few more days on the edit schedule.  Definitely not weeks, and the worst, I think, is over.  Very much thinking it’ll be DONE done by end of the holiday weekend.

And at least it won’t depend on bus drivers knowing how to not drive like a piston, or seatmates oozing over into my side of the seat, or the fans not being on — I’m off starting Thursday, and that’s all edit time, baby!

(well, not ALL edit time, there’ll be fun and OMGWTFBBQ to be had, considering it’s the 4th… but that’s a lot of good time for writing, and my new writer’s hideaway beckons!)

Other people call that “editing,” I suppose, but that’s what my edits were like during the first pass of this latest, most complex revision.  I mentioned that earlier, so I’m not going to belabor the point other than to say it was hard but rewarding, and I’m really happy with the resultant edits, now that the first, painful pass is complete.

So now it’s a simple numbers game.  I’m about 3/4 of the way through the second pass of the big revision, and I’m doing it like this:

Because it was such a sweeping change, I feel as though I should be not only checking the changes for little tense and person shifts I missed the first time through (and there are a scant few of those), but also checking to assure I’ve kept tone and character intact. I had some good insights towards the end of the first pass that standardized some concepts and let me work in a little bit of the original internal dialogue without defeating the purposes of the original person/tense shift, so now I’ve gone through and made sure I’ve leveraged those ideas throughout the book.

As for the changes, I feel as though they’ve made for a much stronger story.  It’s okay if Erik relies on denial and dissimulation to survive, psychologically speaking, so long as the reader can perceive the internal conflict he’s going through and identify with it, or at least understand that it’s a defense mechanism being used by a desperate man under duress to try to cope with a highly stressful and deadly situation.  That makes him sympathetic, even tragic — which is good, considering what I’ll be doing to him soon…

But that’s a story for another day.

In the meantime, 3/4 done with pass 2 means that pass will be done tomorrow — I’ve been doing a quarter a day on this pass.  After that, there’s some basic polishing to be done, a few minor elements to incorporate, and some verbage to trim, and it’ll be ready for lobbing at my agent and co-conspirator.

David Eddings died this week.

I first read him back in the early 80’s, when the only mass-market fiction was Tolkien, Brooks and Eddings, and when I was a very young and impressionable lad.  Oddly, I remember trying to get into the first series at book 3, not realizing it was a series, and had a wretched time of it, hiding the book under my bed in dismal failure (I got very upset in those days when I couldn’t get into a book).

A year later, I was (being forced to) clean under my bed, and I spied the book under a massive dust bunny.  Grimacing, I steeled myself, swearing I wouldn’t let this one escape again.

I didn’t.  It was glorious.  I picked up the other three in the series (the last one hadn’t come out yet) and devoured them all in a week.  His characters were awesome, their interactions so honest and believable that you had no problems believing you might one day run across Belgarath in the corner 7-11 picking up booze, or spy a uniformed Mandorallan pulling over a cursing Silk in a Corvette to give him a speeding ticket and a long, pointed lecture.  They resonated with each other, proved the strength of the ensemble performance in the fantasy genre, and it really didn’t matter what the book was about, because it was about them.

While I will not say that my writing style borrows from him in any particular way, he is most certainly a great influence in my work, in that he made me want to write.

I think it’s time to give the Belgariad another read.

Thanks again, David.  Well done.

Safe travels.

I don’t have any writing or sales updates to provide, but I do have an awesome link from a colleague of mine — Niki Smith, a very talented artist also agented by Colleen Lindsay of FinePrint Literary Management, was looking for some practice concepts and materials to work on book covers.  After sending her entirely too much information, she’s done an execution which is totally nothing I would have considered doing, and also totally cool (hence the subject).

So stop gawking here; go read the article and check out the art.  Check out the rest of her site while you’re there, she does some great work.

I’ve invested a lot of bitching into the painful process of ripping out a first person present tense  narrative and re-tuning it for third person past tense.  The tense is psychologically tough; the character has been a first-person thinker for quite a number of years now, so that’s what’s causing so much of  the ‘go back and re-read it, and correct all the tense mistakes’ process.  Maddening, as I generally consider my grammar to be moderately polished, and mistakes like those look seriously grade-school.

I think I’m done bitching about switching into third person though.  In fact, since I’ve already given away the game in the post subject, I’ll say I think it’s not only necessary, but it’s fixing a lot of what I didn’t realize was broken.

Yeah, stuff was broken.

Among many other things, I’m an actor.  Unlike my writing, which is on the brink of professional art, I’ve been paid many times in the past for my acting, and I’m told I’m pretty good at it.  Because of that skill set, I do a lot of dialogue in my head before I commit it to paper — give myself a little private performance, lay the characters and the scene out, figure out what dialogue sounds awkward, that sort of thing.

For the first-person narrative, I’d do the same thing to get the character’s thoughts nailed down before I wrote them.  Unfortunately, I now realize I was acting more than I was writing, and that’s where the bulk of the disconnect — which is resulting in the POV shift — took place.

It’s taken the last few reviews of the manuscript to realize it, but the first person POV was actually robbing that character of depth, because I was failing to weave external expressions and unconscious mannerisms into his internal ruminations.  I hadn’t realized it because, when I ‘did the part’ in my head, he was plenty deep, plenty conflicted, his physical confidence and mental competence short-circuited by severe disorientation, physical conflict and psychological horror.

But many of the acting cues I ’saw’ while I was doing my own internal performance failed to make it to the paper, because he was thinking to himself and I didn’t know how to fit the action into his internal dialogue.  The fidgeting, the nervous glances, the smiles a bit too wide — very, very few of these kinds of things made it to text, and so he came off as a much shallower jerk than he really is.

And really, turning people off from one of your primary POV characters isn’t such a smart thing.  Donaldson may have been able to do it, but I’m not Donaldson, and I did not want this character to be anywhere near as disliked as Covenant.

And so, I’ve made progress.  Much yet to do, but the work continues.

I’m editing.  I like what the results look like, and I think I’ll be very, very pleased with the end result.

But I am fighting a pitched battle with one of my lead characters, and he’s not giving an inch without inflicting pain or drawing blood.

This is the guy I had originally written in first person, present tense, as a way to make his thinking more accessible to the reader  (this was my theory, and my thought experiment has officially backfired and gone horribly wrong; lesson learned, mea culpa, see my other post about that).  Now I’m wrangling him into third person past, like the rest of the narrative.  What’s coming out, I like — but Oh My Freaking God he’s taking For Bloody Ever to make the transformation.

I keep re-reading the chapters I think I’ve just wrangled, only to find massive errors in tense and in person, even in the brand new stuff that’s gone in to replace the first-person ruminations.  Beyond that, I have to write, put it away, and re-read it fresh the next day because I’m not sure it’s reading true until well after I’ve written it.  The shift in POV is so jarring to me, after living with this character for so long in first person, that it’s even tough to be certain I’m writing well, and that’s not something I usually worry too much about.

I’m finding myself very interested in this phenomenon.  I’m fascinated that a mental construct like a character can associate itself so strongly with linguistic concepts (tense, point of view) that the process of revising those concepts can so thoroughly screw with my head.   It’s a serious crash course in pragmatics (not pragmatism), which I may have to dig into a bit deeper after this edit is done.

Wacky stuff.

“So now that we have the interruptive crap out of the way, how the hell is the book coming?”, one might ask.

Were one to ask, I’d answer thusly:

The new version went out in mid-March and got read quite thoroughly.  There were a few basic bits of feedback which I agree with enough to accept, incorporate and move on without question, and they’re on the edit schedule right now.

And then there was one major piece of feedback that absolutely made me piss fire.

There’s been this bit in the story that I was always really in love with, but that I’ve always known was a bit of a controversial (and possibly foolhardy) thing to do.  While the rest of the story reads in third person past, the fellow I’ve always imagined as the primary character reads in first person present.  The story was, when it wrote it this way, more about him than any of the others, and he’s a more modern-feeling character, so having him available as a stream-of-consciousness narrative made perfect sense.  It’s always been important to me that people understand and empathize with him, and I figured the best way to do that would be to have the reader right in his head.

Naturally, the feedback this time, incontrovertibly and inevitably, was ‘Lose the first person crap for crying out loud.’  Nicer than that, of course, but that was how I decided to interpret it when I first read it, and boy did I get lit.  I probably set a personal record for chain bitchery that day.

And then I sat my sorry ass down and really thought about all of the feedback instead of throwing a little kneejerk tantrum.

The novel has changed considerably over the years.  Not so much the story itself, at least not since the first big rewrite, but the structure has had some serious overhauls.  What was once a story about one guy, with two other characters thrown in for timing and interaction, really had turned into a story equally about three main characters.

So point the first: I realized I was shortchanging two of my three favorite guys by making the other guy different.  This was bad enough to give me pause.

Point the second was a painful but necessary detail.  One of the readers revealed that she was so thrown off by the change of tone that she found herself wanting to skip the part of the story I’d once considered central.  She graciously added that she enjoyed how the other parts were written, but the change in tone whenever the main guy showed up completely put her off that part of the story.

Wow.

A few bumps in the name of artistic expression are warning signs.  An engaged reader wanting to skip an entire part of the story is a massive all-hands-on-deck this-is-not-a-drill alarm bell.  It doesn’t matter how much I love the concept of doing things my way, if it’s kicking a reader out of the story, it’s broken.

My bitching died off pretty quickly after that.  My story had evolved, and what I’d loved years ago just wasn’t working anymore — and it reasonably took an external reader to see that, since I’ve been reading it pretty constantly in its current form for the last 8 years now.

I feel good about this change.  It’s been a long time coming (sorry, Shelly, you were right!), but now that I’m at this stage I feel like it’s one of the last big hurdles I’ll have to leap — it really has come a long way in the last few months, farther than I ever thought it needed to, but excellent progress that has only made the story stronger.

So just a little longer… just a few more changes… just over the next hill…

TLDR: Big changes are big, but give it another two months and I’ll have something that looks a lot more like a final draft than I do right now.

This life thing we all do sure has some weird side trips.  Keeps things interesting, but I’m not sure I’d recommend some of them.

The one I was just on, for instance — the ‘go to the doctor for chest pains and let him tell you that your blood pressure is so high your head is about to explode’ adventure really isn’t all it’s hyped up to be.  Sure, you get some time away from work, that’s nice in theory, but it’s hardly quality vacation time.  I mean, you can’t enjoy it because you’re constantly going to some doctor or other to get poked and prodded, to get your blood sucked and your chest x-rayed and your heart stress-tested and electronically scrutinized and to get a wide variety of drug cocktails introduced to your system (”Hello, system, we’re Hydrochlorothorazide and Irbesartan, and we’re about to spend a lot of time together.”), and all the while the tour guides don’t tell you whether this is the end of the ride or just another turn.  Really dodgy design for a ride if you ask me.

Anyway, in my case it wound up being just another turn and I’m back from the trip, rowing along with the current with everyone else again, but wow does shit like that change things.  Like what you eat, how much you drink, how often and how hard you exercise, how long you sleep, how hard you can work — you know, pretty much every aspect of the crap you do every day goes through a big ol’ WTF loop and comes out the other end looking like, well, the opposite of what it did going in.  Overall, I find myself enjoying the changes I’m having to make quite a bit — almost as though I needed some sort of excuse, which is dumb, but which would not be the first time I was accused of that fault.  But those old bad habits sure do lurk.

Still no idea how this will affect my working life over the long haul, but at least there’s still a working life for me to consider and no immediate plans for doom and/or gloom.  Certainly doesn’t affect the writing, but I’ll save the updates on that for next time.

Good to be back.  Now pass the tomato slices.

With all due apologies to JRRT, it was too appropriate not to use as today’s subject.

I’m back into The Grey Knight, the first book.  I’m executing some structural changes primarily based on good thinking from my kick-ass agent, who may have hit the nail on the head with a fascinating bit of counterintuitive, er, intuition.

I don’t want to gush too much just yet, mainly because there’s no guarantee that this change will result in a sale — but I do like what it’s doing to the story, and her fresh perspective has absolutely helped make things gel.

Basically, the critiques I’d been getting had been about pacing (of the ‘builds too slow’ variety).  My agent’s advice was to make the chapters longer.  I gave that a little WTF at first myself, and then I went back and re-read the first few chapters.

And you know what I found?  Holy shit, they’re too short.

The Grey Knight’s story is a whirlpool, not a straight line; there are three primary stories that begin separate and unconnected, and then slowly come together until they smack head-on into each other with a bang near the end.  Practically, that means a lot of scene switching, and, logically, I need to really get a reader invested in each primary character, to make them interested enough in each to want to go back to them after a scene switches to a different primary POV.

Short chapters, clearly, would not facilitate this reader-character bonding process, and as I re-read those early chapters, I’m forced to agree with her analysis: the early ride is way too bouncy.  Later on, I think it works just fine, first, because the reader is familiar with the characters now, and second, because the pace of the chapters speeding up as they near the conclusion makes perfect sense.  But early on… man, really bad idea.

I’m midly surprised I didn’t see it myself, but focusing so much on keeping things fast-paced, I wasn’t looking at the manuscript with the right set of eyes.  It’s a great bit of Craft wisdom to pick up, and already the story reads MUCH better as a result of the change, even to me.  I do hope it’s not just me, but I really think we’ve got something here.

Edits are in progress; my new netbook is a truly excellent technical partner, but I also have to give some credit to TextBlockWriter, which helped me visualize the structural change in the document before I started dragging chapters all over the place.  I’ve got a self-imposed completion date of 3/12 and a self-imposed delivery to my agent on 3/13.  She keeps telling me end of the month, but the writing is hot and fast, there’s some great stuff coming out in between the structural edits, and I want it out there again.

So, apologies if I’m a little scarce between now and then, but I’ve got a novel to polish.

I’m noticing something odd:  ever since I got my new little netbook and started writing on the bus, my job has gotten easier to stomach.

Now, maybe it’s a coincidence, which is entirely possible given it hasn’t been all that long since I started using it, but I’ve got this weird feeling that giving myself more time to do my own writing is resulting in me being better able to deal with the massive piles of bullshit that tend to get flung around at work.

So now I’m wondering if there’s a direct correlation between one’s personal artistic frustrations and one’s ability to do the “day job.”

Let me elaborate a little.

With all my time consumed by work during the week, I’ve grown resentful of all the time the paycheck steals from me, and the rigors of the job itself, combined with a not-negligible commute, have resulted in me often coming home too tired to write, or waking up too late to steal half an hour before the last bus shows up.

Enter the netbook.  While I can’t write for part of the ride (yes, I do get mildly motion sick, and the twisty windy rural roads near my house are way too twisty and windy for me to keep my lunch down if I’m trying to write), the latter part is smooth sailing, and I can get a good 30-45 minutes of writing in before we pull into NYC or leave the highways.

So now that I’ve done that for a week, I’m suddenly finding a bit more energy available for the job, find myself willing to make a bit more effort to keep things rolling along.  Which in a way doesn’t make sense, because I’m doing more than I was, but in a way it does, because I’ve recovered some great opportunities to do what I love to do.

So I guess I do think there’s some sort of correlation between having time for artistic expression and being able to deal with the mundane crap we all do to bring home the paycheck.  Don’t get me wrong, if I win the lottery I’m still outta there — but for now, this is a nice little discovery, and it’ll do nicely.

Finally, by way of backhanded review: my Acer netbook is the best money I’ve spent on myself in a long time.

(And no, I still haven’t installed World of Warcraft on it!)