2017 Changes

If at first you don’t succeed; try, try again.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on the blog. I think I warned people that I might well go long times between posts. If not, I apologize because I should have.

2017 turned out to be a pretty lousy year on so many levels. It started off with me unemployed and my best friend/housemate breaking her ankle. Not just breaking her ankle, but breaking it in the 2nd worse way it’s possible to break an ankle. That resulted in us swapping living spaces (she got my ground floor apt, I took her 2nd story), along with her being unable to basically function for roughly 2-3 months. Oh, and I got a temp job that started three days after she broke her ankle. Yeah.

That job lasted roughly two months, then I was unemployed again. Which was good for helping her with her ankle, tough on all money fronts. And as many people know, the less money, the more stress. The more stress, the less creativity.

It took a little while to get another temp job, this one lasting six months. It was a high-mental-stress job, and I came home mentally exhausted pretty much every day. That job ending was both a blessing and a problem, because I’m presently unemployed yet again.

My previous times without gainful employment has proven that we can barely survive on what we have coming in from various sources. I’ve signed up with a number of temp companies and a head hunter, but jobs aren’t forthcoming. Thus, I made a decision that I wasn’t certain I wanted to, but now that I’ve made it, I’m committing to it.

I’ve opened a page on Patreon.com: Deleyan’s Patreon page. I am committing to writing every day (but Sunday), regardless of whatever else is happening. In the last week, I’ve added roughly 15 pages to the book in progress. For those patroning me for at least $3.00, I’m giving snippets from each day’s writing.

It’s kinda frightening to ask people to patron my work. That anyone has agreed already is humbling, that someone believes in me and mine that much. But I possess a very strong work ethnic, so this is now the day job, this is what’s bringing in however much money, and I will endeavor to give what I’ve promised.

And so, there might well be more blog posts and I move forward in this full-time writing mode. While I’ve been unemployed before in my life, I’ve never really treated writing like a money job, giving it all the effort and dedication that I have any other job I’ve taken in my life. Here’s to doing my damnedest here as I have every other job.

I’m dedicated to writing the Magical Crime Unit series. This world was created in my short story Alchemy of a Murder and is expanding into a series of novels and other short stories. I’ll likely post more about it as I canoodle world, plot and writing Mysteries set in an Urban Fantasy world.

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Running on Empty

I don’t know how many others have said or felt that there’s only so much energy for any given story. And when that runs out, it’s damnedably hard to keep going without some kind of motivation.

I’ve hit that point with Legend’s End.

Now, I’ve hit that point with this particular book many times. I’ve struggled more with this particular book than I have with any other book I’ve written. It’s to be expected because after many decades of doing things wrong, I decided to not stay in my comfortable writing ruts. This has been a big experiment book, trying to discover what’s natural and what’s been piled on during all the years of “how to write” nonsense. Frustration and problems were expected.

And those frustrations and problems were overcome. Writing this book has gone in lots of stops and starts as I figured things out. What works, what kinda works, what really sucks. Some of the how-to-write stuff is helpful. Most is not. To some extend, I’ll probably be figuring that out for the rest of my creative life.

But this, this is different. I’m probably 1-2000 words from finishing this book. Probably about 3-6 scenes, at most. And it’s like pulling hen’s teeth to put words down on it.

Sitting here, staring at the file, I realized what the problem is now.

I’m damned tired of making decisions for this story.

That’s what writing is, after all. Making decisions and putting that into words. Then explore the ramifications of said decisions. Then make more decisions, and keep going and going and going until all the questions have been answered and there’s no more decisions to be made. Everything’s tied up for this story. Yeah, there might be a sequel, but that’s a different story.

Now I’m to the point where there’s not many decisions left. Yeah, I’ll press on and get it finished. Yes, I will put proper consideration into it. But at this point in time, at the heat of the climax, these decisions have normally been no-brainers. Obvious. Natural.

As I type this, I wonder if I’ve done something horribly wrong in the telling of this story that I’m to this point and it’s not natural or obvious. And, if I have screwed up, dear ghods, what will I do then with this book? It’s not something I want to think about. And when I finish the book, I’ll have to look at that possibility. Even more, I’ll run the risk of not seeing it myself and discover it only when my betas read it.

So maybe this is a tired born of procrastination–something else I’m not accustomed to in my writing. Ah, the joys and wonders of learning something new.

Ideas Become a Story Seed

Ideas come constantly and some stay for ages before they’re actually used. The novel I’m working to finish now is the result of long-lasting ideas coming together at the same time. So set the Way-Back Machine and let’s trace how things came together for Legend’s End.

Back in 1979, I started attending SF/F conventions and discovered filk. (That’s not a typo anymore, it’s what SF/F music is called.). One the songs I heard and loved was Crimson and Crystal by Cynthia McQuillan. Even simply played on a guitar and sung, it was haunting. Unlike many of the other songs I loved, I didn’t recognize a book or movie that might’ve inspired it. I determined to write a book someday that song might be filk of.

Fast forward to 1986 when Julia Ecklar recorded Divine Intervention, going outside the traditional voice and guitar and using a fuller orchestral experience and her own awesome voice. While the album contains many of her own fantastic songs, track three is Crimson and Crystal. The orchestration magnified all my feelings for that song and renewed my determination to write something inspired by it. But I’d also matured enough as a writer to know I didn’t have anything at the time.

So the idea went into the eternally simmering pot in the back of my mind.

When 2000 brought the launch of the Xmen movie franchise, one of my favorite fandoms got a kick in the pants. Hugh Jackman brought one of my favorite comic book characters to life: Wolverine. His is a different interpretation from the simplistic quasi-psychopath in the books, which worked and I liked it.

Talking to a good writer friend some years later, she told me about a world she’d invented where immortals had been created in ancient times, so I decided to translate the movie Logan into her world and we started role playing there. Over many RPs and several years, that character came into his own and, as I’m wont to do, I wanted to write a book about him.

The world he “grew up in” belonged to my friend, so that wouldn’t work, so I had to find a world, a plot, a story, that he would fit into. In 2006, I decided officially participate in NaNo at the writer’s site I was active in at that time. I decided to grab my Logan-clone and do something with him. But I needed at least a world and a conflict idea to pull it off.

I guess I kinda turned the simmering pot up to boil, in a manner of speaking. I wanted something to bubble up and I was open to whatever ideas it might toss at my consciousness.

On the commute home on day, I popped in Divine Intervention and started singing along. And up came Track 3. Something twinged inside my head, but I couldn’t grasp it. I put the song on repeat and played it the entire trip. I put headphones on at home and kept repeating the song over and over and over.

My first thought was that my immortal character could be the singer of the song–he would have a unique relationship with Lady Death, after all. But that wasn’t it. It just wasn’t it.

What it was hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks: This wasn’t a character or a plot or anything, this song was the World. (More on that in another post, probably the next one.)

Then things started coming together, the feel of the fantasy, the type of magics I’d be working with, societies, and such.

But I still didn’t have a conflict. Immortal vs. Lady Death just didn’t cut it.

And here’s where myth mugging came into play. Y’know how I said that I get a zillion ideas in my breakfast cereal? Well, one popped out of “nowhere” to smack me between the eyes:

What would happen if a reborn king is murdered on the eve of saving his country?

Y’know, like Arthur is Britain’s reborn king–there, waiting somewhere, to be called to save his country when it’s in dire need. What would happen?

Somehow, in my mind, that dovetailed into all the thoughts of the immortal guy, Lady Death and a world based on a haunting song. It all came together so that when November 1st arrived, I could start writing.

Now, mind you, I failed that NaNo. I didn’t get 50K words. I got about 35K or so. The push to just get words didn’t work for me and I had pages and pages of word salad. So I went back, started to work through it, to get things together, adjusting characters, pulling it this way and that until it finally jived. I worked on it, on and off, since then. But the initial ideas came together to form a story seed with so much energy, I haven’t been able to put it away and forget about it in all this time.

And the ghods willing and the creek don’t rise, it’ll be finished very soon. Wish me luck.

Going Through Hell

Many moons ago, I had a column in a RWA chapter newsletter called Phoenix Rising. Here’s a column that I’ve found inspirational on many levels.

January/February 1998

“If you’re going through Hell, keep going.” — Winston Churchill

Did any of you see the last George Foreman fight? That he won is the product of only one fact: He never gave up. Forget the fact his opponent was half his age. Forget that he took two or three punches for every one he gave. Each time he took a hit he didn’t fall back–he took two steps forward. He chased his dream all around the ring, two steps at a time. Some people say that he won with a lucky punch. But if he hadn’t taken each of those steps after each hit, if he had given up at any time, he would not have been there to take advantage and deliver that winning punch.

Drawing the analogy now isn’t hard. Writing isn’t easy. The fledgling writer has to deal with learning the actual craft, the trials of comma placement and danger of dangling participles. The mysteries of character and dialogue have to be solved. The labyrinth of plot and pacing needs to be navigated. With every attempt, you take a hit, be it from a critique partner, a contest, a rejection letter or your own opinion. Do you fall or keep writing?

Then comes the realization that the learning never stops. That’s a hard blow and it staggers many writers. The rules don’t change, but there’s just so many of them and how do they mesh with style and creativity? Once the basics are learned, years can be spent developing finesse. The work just continues.

If you’re like me, you have years dedicated to writing. Manuscripts fill notebooks and disks. Ideas pop into your head more often than your name gets called. Rejection letters fill a folder, drawer, trash bin or wallpaper the bathroom. They’re also handy if you have a young puppy and no newspaper. You might enter contests and despair because you never win. Even worse, you place well the first time and never do well again. You network and submit but nothing moves your career forward.

Stomach punch. Connect to the jaw.

Is the fight too much? Is it too hard to keep taking those steps; looking, hoping for the lucky opening,; knowing you’re likely to just get hit again? Not every fighter can do what George Foreman did. Not every writer can weather the rejections, the critiques and the waiting for responses. It takes a strong ego to labor month after month, year after year of nothing to show for the work except dreams. There’s the bemused looks of unsympathetic family and friends when you talk about writing. The outside perception that writers don’t do anything and can be interrupted for inane things. Or the cross-eyed looks when you say, “I’m a Romance writer.”

Kidney punch. Bloody nose.

In 1998, I will celebrate my twenty-third anniversary of declaring I wanted to be a published author. I’ve fought the fight, taken the hits and kept moving forward like so many of you. I see people who have dedicated less of their lives gain my goals and smiled and wished them well. I’ve seen people give up the fight, unable to take another step and I’ve mourned their going from the writing community. I’ve kept going and, with every hit and every step, I’ve realized the blow that can truly KO the drive.

Despite the years of dedication, all the effort and all the knowledge gained, the goal of publication is not guaranteed to me. Staying in the fight does not mean I’ll win some day.

But quitting means that I won’t be there if the lucky opening comes my way some day.

Do you step forward after a hit? Or do you throw in the towel? The decision is yours.

The Rebirth of an Idea

Fifteen years ago, our shared world series, Children of the Vortex died because of the cost of publishing the physical issues and the reluctance of the reading public to accept e-publishing.

In 2014, not only had publishing changed to favor e-publishing, but the readers had pretty much accepted it. More and more, even preferring the e-versions to the print copies.

With this new means to publish, even get “real” books out that didn’t cost a fortune, June and I realized that COTV could survive, perhaps even thrive in this new world we found ourselves in.

However, it had also been 15 years. We looked back on all the work to keep up with the creative output of so many authors and realizef that our burn-out was as much the reason for ending COTV as anything external. We thought about having to dedicate that much time and energy to it again and just weren’t interested in doing that again. We realized that if we were going to rebirth COTV and make it work, we couldn’t have as many writers on staff.

We’d also lost touch with many–most of those writing friends over the years. So we touched base with the few we still talked to regularly and asked if they’d be interested in trying this again. One had personal commitments and couldn’t. The other two were game.

Once again, there were long conversations, long emails, long computer chats, and within six weeks of deciding to give this a go, we’d rewritten the introductory two novellas and a short story. Out came Flamechild and the free short story, Stonechild (which is included in the “real” book version, separate in the e-version).

We had hoped to have the second issue within another 2-3 months.

Then we hoped to have the second issue within 6 months.

Then a year.

Now it’s been almost two years since Flamechild came out.

It’s not that the enthusiasm has died. No, if anything, that’s as high, if not higher than it was when we started.

No, what’s happened is that we realized, first June and I, and now the other writers–this isn’t the same Children of the Vortex anymore. It can’t be.

Fifteen years is quite a bit of time. We’ve changed as people. We’ve changed as writers. The stories that excited us then, well, they’re just so–then. Yes, we’re nostalgic about what we didn’t do, but when we thought about actually writing it, we weren’t as enthused as we expected to be. In talking, we discovered we were interested in something a bit darker, more mature than the previous lighter hearted stories.

In addition, in not inviting back all the writers, there were characters missing from the storylines that had to be considered. While the world belonged to June and I, characters and their storylines didn’t. We didn’t feel right in claiming what wasn’t ours for the reboot. This also necessitated changes.

Our skills as writers has also improved, frankly. Our ability to tell deeper, more involved stories has improved. We’re more interested in and able to playing with darker themes and characters than we were before.

Let me give you an example. One of my main characters in COTV is Shavonet Fleureaux. She is the eldest daughter of the reigning Duc d’Florant. As a child, she had a marriage arranged for her with the heir to the Duc d’Lascelles, Guion. Just before their wedding, she is Claimed by LLucin (the flamechild of the anthology’s title), which makes her a magic user, which negates the marriage and the treaty.

This has to happen because it sets up a war between the two duchies that will drive the first several planned issues.

In the 1990’s, Shavonet was a spoiled brat. She liked her lifestyle, she wanted to be duchesse. When she was Claimed, she imprisoned LLucin and left him to die–which didn’t work. When she was sent to the Cadre because of the Claiming, she continued to be a spoiled brat. She refused to deal with LLucin. She was snippy to every one. She didn’t want to learn magic. She was a “princess”, damnitall, and that’s what she wanted to be. The story arc I wanted to follow at the time was to change her into a worthwhile person, which I did.

Now, I’m not interested in redeeming a bratty princess. Now, she’s a tomboy princess who was looking forward to her marriage. When Claimed, she keeps her father from executing LLucin and negotiates with her groom to keep the marriage and the treaty intact. When her father screws that up and sends her to the Cadre, she deals. She gets to know the people, gets involved in the working of the Cadre, and discovers she’s a natural with magic.

Even more, Shavonet realizes how important it is that she finds a way to stop the war so all these people she’s come to know. People she realizes she’d never thought about as people before. And in her attempts to stop, she’ll discover that more things are not as she thought. Her attempts will also affect other characters and shifts their paths to darker locations.

Same, but very different. This is more a character for the writer I am today.

This is not to say that Flamechild is going to be pulled or rewritten or redacted or any of that. It isn’t. There’s enough changed there from before that we can move forward from that start. It’s a good new beginning.

And from a new beginning must come a new path, with new stories.

Which is what we’re now very excited about. And now we’re writing again, getting our feet back under us and starting down this new path through Deau.

It feels good. I can’t wait to see where we go with it.

The Birth (and Death) of an Idea

I met my best friend, June Dal, at a writer’s group meeting back in 1987. June introduced me to Pern fan clubs in the 90’s. Back then, you created a persona (or more) and wrote stories. As you got to know other members, you used their characters in your stories as well. More friendships blossomed for both of us (mostly the same people). However, clubs such as that are largely groups held together by the leadership. When the leaderships change, the group changes. It’s a natural cycle we’d seen multiple times. One by one, the groups changed and my and my friends’ interests lapsed.

However, we missed the fun of writing with other people. We regretted not being able to explore story lines we were developing for the various characters, or seeing what our friends were really going to do with theirs. But, we no longer were part of the club environment we had all enjoyed.

After some months of lamenting this loss, June and I sat down to create our own world, one we could write in with our friends again. Since most all of our friends came to us through Pern, we looked there to do the world building.

We talked frankly about what we enjoyed about the Pern fan stories we’d written, what about the world we found good story material. What we discovered is that we liked having our heroes be the “outcasts” of society. We liked having some kind of animal bonded to our characters, and that being what made them outcasts. We liked having a strict social structure, with distrust between different levels of society. We wanted a world-wide threat that our heroes were destined to combat.

Then we talked about what we wanted to be different. We wanted it to be Fantasy. We wanted there to be magic, furthermore, we wanted Good and Evil magic.

Even with what we liked, we changed. We didn’t want bonded animals that could be ridden. Dragons, horses, they’d all been done. And, frankly, we hated how many Pernese fan writers treated their dragons like cars and not characters. So, we decided we wanted smaller creatures, perhaps one that could fit on a person’s shoulder. We decided to base our creatures, the tereges, on the archaeopteryx. Tweaked, of course.

We made magic the ultimate corruptive agent, with the tereges the only “filter” to keep people good. Being magic users would make our heroes outcasts, but they would be the only way to defeat the corrupted magic users.

We decided to very loosely base the society on the Sun King’s France, so many different writers would draw from the same source for names, etc.

Literally in an afternoon, we created the basis of the world we called Deau. We got home and emailed a few of our friends to see what they thought. This was a Friday night.

They were very excited at the prospect. So excited, in fact, that by Sunday night, we had our first story submission in the new world.

And so Children of the Vortex came into being.

In about three years, we put out 6 issues of 100+ pages (with full color covers, perma-bound and interior illustrations). At our height, there were 23 authors actively writing stories in Deau. June and I were doing all the editing, all the coordinating story lines through all the various writers, keeping the world consistent, guiding and approving new ideas and creations in the world, and physically producing the print runs. We went to MediaWest Con a few times to market the series. We hosted a Fete party to get the various writers together, most of whom had never met in real life.

All this on top of writing our own stories and keeping up the day jobs, families–y’know, real life.

It was exhilarating. It was 50-70 hours of work a week. And we loved it.

Then something happened to the price of printing. Between Issue #6 and #7, the price jumped from $125-150 a print run to over $500. Between June and I, we couldn’t afford that. Even with help from the other authors, it was too expensive.

In 1999, we tried putting an issue on CD. It was a miserable failure. Not even our own authors liked the change.

So, like the clubs we’d loved before, COTV died.

Finding “the Other”

So, the problems with writing continue. It’s not depression over my father’s death (though that still hits more often than I want to admit), but something much more, well, probably universal to writers.

I miss the days when writing was easy. I really do. When I could sit down and just spill thousands upon thousands of words onto the page in a few hours. Where everything from plot to character to anything just poured forth without any work on my part. Back when I didn’t have to think about writing or structure or story or any of the technicalities or techniques.

But I can’t do that anymore, not really. Back about 2001, I realized that I wasn’t reaching my writing goals (New York publication, fame and fortune, nothing much). After years–decades of personalized rejections from editors, it just wasn’t happening, so it was time to look at what I was doing, the stories I was writing, everything in my control.

That started my journey on the series of learning curves that I’m still on today. Every time I think I’ve got something figured out, I discover that just opened up yet another slew of learning curves that I’ve never considered and have no idea what to do with. This is my writing life for what seems like forever.

So the present learning curve I just realized I was on is characters. In days gone by, all my characters reacted to events just the way I would. Whatever the situation, they were easy to write because it was just me there. Which isn’t that bad if one character was like that, but not every character in the entire bloody book. Wanna talk lack of conflict and BORING? (One of the many reasons I wasn’t getting bought, after all.)

Now the main character, Shavonet (SHAH-vah-nay), I’m writing for Children of the Vortex is so not me. She’s a princess. She’s rich. She’s highly educated. She’s athletic. She does things when she’s afraid. She had good control of her emotions. She understands social intrigues and politics.

Basically, as a person, Shavonet isn’t an Aspie.

Wanna talk wishfulfillment? Yeah, well, but it’s not that easy either.

I can’t just write what I wish I’d do in a situation, because, frankly, it’s really hard to imagine what that would be. My natural state is to mentally seize up and emotionally go into overload, then shut down. Getting beyond that is something I’m barely able to do in real life–how can I conceive of how to put that into words? Let alone making the character believable, or sympathetic or any of the other many things characters are supposed to be.

There’s a few options. One is to change Shavonet so she’s more like me and make the writing easier. I could grab another character more like me and tell all of Shavonet’s stories from their point-of-view. Both have their challenges, but mostly I don’t like either of them. It feels like cheating my story, and Shavonet. I like Shavonet, after all. I don’t want to screw her.

Or I can knuckle down and figure out how to write people who are “the other” to me, but so normal to most readers. Which is what I’m trying to do.

There’s no answer–yet. I’ll find it, just like I’ve found so many solutions on these learning curves. This is just an update on why this blog, along with other writing endeavors, goes so silent for so long.

Writing Under Stress

Writing when your real life goes to Hell in a leaking hand basket. Let’s be honest, doing anything when your life goes bad can be a major undertaking. Many writers feel guilty because they’re not getting words. Sometimes they put more pressure on themselves because of that guilt.

Speaking from experience, that’s a great way to screw yourself over.

My father passed away last Monday. He’d been very ill on and off for the last few years and his quality of life topped out at “miserable” for the last few months. He went peacefully, with my mother (his wife of 55 years) and my sister sitting with him. I was on the road for the almost 11 hour trip and didn’t get to see him.

By any standards, this has knocked me for a loop. I was very close to my father. Though his passing didn’t come as a surprise, no one can really prepare for it. Until it happens, you don’t know how you’ll react emotionally. You can guess, you can suspect, but until it happens, you don’t know how it will hit you or how badly.

The thing is, this is a wound in your heart, in your soul. Just like a physical wound, it takes time to heal. Just like a physical wound, different things can help that healing, and other things can hinder it. Which is which is as individual as the person, as the wound. There is no one-size-fits-all answer. (As is so common in anything having to do with writing, y’know?)

I haven’t really written anything new since then, I admit, though I have looked at my MIP on occasion. My brain wants something else to think about, anything else. Work is only diverting while I’m there, after all. I’ve been able to make a few small edits, but there is no real creative juice there. Yet.

I’ve been through this before. My favorite sister died unexpectedly in 1999. That hit hard. It was months before I could do anything creative again but I guilted myself big-time for not being able to put the words together. I got very concerned that I’d never finish the book I was working on, that I’d never write anything good ever again. That added to the depression after my sister’s passing, which only made creativity withdraw further.

My grandfather passed from cancer the following July, just after I got back into writing. Again, big depression set in at the loss, since I’m prone to such bouts. Again, the guilt came because–damnitall, I’d just gotten back to writing and it wasn’t fair! The cycle started again and came back with a vengeance. I didn’t finish that book. I still haven’t, actually. In 2001, I kicked into learning about writing and pretty much didn’t really try to write a novel again until 2007–and I’m still working on that novel today, ’cause it’s been on-and-off with the creativity again.

So I’m not stressing about being creative. Yeah, I’m at the climax of the book, the big battle I’ve been building towards and wanting to write for over a year now. But the words aren’t there–and that’s okay. That’s the way it has to be because I’m wounded and healing. I’ve learned my lesson, I’m not picking at the wound again. I know the tears will dry some day, maybe sooner, maybe later. I know I’ll never stop wanting him to be there, but the moments of wanting him there will become more infrequent. I’ll heal and be able to tap into the creative well again.

After all, the only way I’m going to disappoint my dad is if I let his passing silence the writing he was so proud of. I’ve always endeavored not to disappoint him.

Plot Plodding

Something I hear writers talk (read: complain) about a LOT is plot. They worry about having one before they start writing. They worry about holes in it. They worry it’s boring. They worry about all kinds of things having to do with the plot.

What catches me up is that I’m not sure some of them know what a plot really is, so it seems to me that they’re worrying and fussing about the wrong things.

Plot is not the sequence of events, the flow of causes and effects, which is what most people talk about. It’s not the be-all-and-end-all of the story.

Plot is the release of information to the reader.

That probably needs more words to explain it better, huh?

Let’s go back to the beginning for a moment. What is story? What is storytelling? How does plot fit into it?

Story, in my experience, is the sharing of something that’s either universal or interesting to the human experience. Storytelling is the asking of questions by the teller and the interest in the answers by the listener. Thus, plot is the structure of that sharing, when the important points are revealed to listener.

In other words: You can run cause-and-effect scenes one right after another and get a novel-length manuscript, but, if you think about it, that’s all our real lives are. This happens, then this happens, and something else happens, and it’s all pretty boring. The bits we share are the unusual moments (So I was taking care of this customer, and all of a sudden he starts vomiting on me!), the moments that will connect us with other people (Oh, my child/pet/spouse/coworker does something like that too…) or the just plain humorous moments (And then she just slipped and fell flat on her backside!) that we’ve experienced.

It’s that kind of interest that makes it a story. The larger the story, the more important those moments, and the more frequent those moments have to appear. There’s an old adage in writing: “Conflict on every page.” I don’t know about conflict, but there’s got to be something on every page that will either have the readers asking more questions, giving them some tidbit of information or finalizing the answer from all those tidbits. That doling out of information is the plot.

Of course, this is assuming that the storyteller is aware of the fact that they’re giving questions to the listener in the first place. Many, many writers I’ve talked to don’t understand the concept of story questions, which is kind of amazing to me. To give an example of story questions, let me post the first two paragraphs of my manuscript-in-progress, Legend’s End

Sullore never thought he’d resent watching the moon rise. He could see its ascent clearly through the large opening in the cave wall. Its fullness washed over the farmlands outside of the city, highlighting the massive rise of the King’s Carn and, finally, hinting at the distant foothills. The landscape taunted freedom. As the light grew brighter, it sliced through the darkness of the prison floor.

 

This was Sullore’s sixth time knowing judgment might well come with the dawn. Repetition made it no easier. There was no guarantee there would be another reprieve, and he refused to expect one. Sullore knew the crimes he was accused of, knew his actions, and knew the judgment was out of his control. He would die or live at the word of the yet-unknown queen, whenever she took the Crystal Throne.

If I’ve done the work correctly, the story questions I hope the readers comes away with are as follows:

1. What did Sullore do to be in prison?

2. Why isn’t there a Crystal Queen?

3. What is a Crystal Queen?

 If the reader has more questions, all the better, but those are the ones that will lead them into the main story. As for answers, the first one is answered later that scene. The second question is answered by the end of the next scene, which should also emphasize the third question. There’s tidbits of information throughout the first three chapters, but isn’t mostly answered until midway through Chapter Three. But in the course of giving those answers, I’ve raised more by introducing more characters and their situations and relationships. By the end of the third chapter, the war that is the main conflict of the book has been declared by assassination.

Please note that I called the war the main conflict. That is driving conflict that influences every character’s choices and attitudes, it is not the main plot. The conclusion of that main conflict is the resolution of the main plotline, but it, in and of itself, isn’t the plot. The conflict is the topic of questions and answers. The plot is still when questions are asked, and answers given.

Throughout the novel, I have a lot of topics I ask questions about. Character relationships, a certain character’s sanity, the nature of magic and gods in this world, the meaning of responsibility. Each of these questions form their own story arcs when the question is asked, heighten as tidbits are given, and end when the answer is given. And all of these story arcs intersect and merge with the main story arc of whether or not our heroes will win the war and prevent their homeland from being invaded.

Hopefully, this perspective makes some sense. It’s rather difficult to take something that I know fairly instinctively (plot) and don’t need have to think consciously about and try to explain it in words. How’d I do?

An Illiad

Earlier this month, friends and I went to see a one man production of An Illiad. Adapted from Homer by Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare, it was a modern retelling of one of the most classic works in the Western World.

And I do mean retelling. Literally.

The Poet (played exquisitely by Teagle F. Bougere) comes on stage in a trench coat and carrying a suitcase and tells us the story of from the taking of Helen to Hector’s funeral. Except, it’s not just the story. Though the Poet says outright that he has told this story countless times before a myriad of audiences, it’s understood he’s an eternal character who is sharing something of his own memories. He quotes Homer in classical Greek. He appeals to the Muses for inspiration, to give him the words, the courage to tell this story again, to please not desert him mid-performance. Many of his descriptions are direct translations of Homer’s original text.

Yet what the playwrights and actor managed was to relate this legendary war to modern life. There’s a particularly poignant several minutes where the Poet is describing the horrors of the battlefield and he says (from my memory), “I’ve not see the likes of it since…” And then he lists each major war in the world from the time of Troy to present day, in every country we have records for. Squatting on the table, his voice a sad monotone, the name of every single major war for pretty much the entire history of mankind.

It still brings tears to my eyes, just thinking about that never-ending list echoing in the absolute silence of the theater.

Though the show was intense, with the Poet once so overcome with battle lust that he “threatens” to attack an audience member, to Achilles’ rage at his friend’s death and the insults heaped upon his honor, to sobbing inconsolably after Hector’s death, the story still has moments of humor, a quick turn-of-phrase which keeps it from becoming morbid.

When I think about mugging myths, this is the kind of thing I strive for. To find a new connection in what is universal in humankind between the far distant past and the present. While there was much talk about war, yes, but it wasn’t about war in itself. It was still the point The Illiad always had: The hubris of people thinking that war will solve anything, yet it’s a lesson that the human race never learns, even as we face war again.

This is the universal connection in humankind I was talking about, that something that we all have a personal opinion about, personal fears about. This is the essence of what good stories touch on, talk about, bring to the fore and make relevant for the present audience.

This reminder came at a good point, after having spent too much of the last many months bogged down by things other than the real point of the story. A glowing example to steer my ship by as I start sailing the creative waters again.

 

The production of An Illiad I saw with Teagle F. Bougere continues at the Pittsburgh Public Theater (www.ppt.org) through April 6, 2014. I highly recommend it if you are in the area.

  • The Bag of Holding

  • Pigeon Holes