Breadcrumbs

I appre­ci­ate that I don’t often write about tech­nique or the process of writ­ing here, instead bor­ing my few read­ers to tears with end­less hand-wringing and noise about all the things that stop me writ­ing.  Well, it’s time to give some­thing back I guess.  I’ve writ­ten four of my ‘shoes’ short sto­ries in the past ten days, which means the col­lec­tion is com­ing together.  I think I’m up to eight now, in var­i­ous drafts.  I’m begin­ning to get a sense of my own style, how I workm what I enjoy, and what I don’t.I’m find­ing that I enjoy writ­ing first per­son p.o.v. a lot. It feels like I’m explor­ing other people’s heads.  I was never quite sure about a phrase that Neil Gaiman uses a lot to describe why he writes — ‘to find out what hap­pens’.  But that’s exactly what goes on.  I start writ­ing, and the char­ac­ter slowly becomes more focused, more clearly moti­vated, more ‘real’.  And then he does some­thing, or says some­thing.  And the story changes. Each time I’ve sat down to write, with a clear end in mind, or a dra­matic turn­ing point, each time it’s changed as the pen skit­ters across the paper, and changed again when I’ve typed it up later.

I know a story’s good when I want to know how it ends.  I know that may sound stu­pid.  But it’s true.  Unfor­tu­nately, it also means that I need to get a lit­tle  bet­ter at the edit­ing part.  Re-writing when you do know the end is an entirely dif­fer­ent job.  Like ink­ing a comic.  Or, I don’t know, re-touching a pho­to­graph.  Anyway.

In my head, the ini­tial process is s a lit­tle like what I imag­ine ori­en­teer­ing or scout­ing is like.   The story sends lit­tle feel­ers out as to which way would work best, and then lays out the bread­crumbs for the mechan­i­cal human — the typ­ist — to join the dots.  And then it’s fun to look over my shoul­der, so to speak, and see where I came from.  Did I write con­sis­tently?  Did I cheat — is it a log­i­cal pro­gres­sion? But I’m not good at pick­ing that same story or trail up later, and see­ing where the foot­prints went.

My favourite part is the mcguf­fin search.  Did I leave enough clues and red herrings?I like my red her­rings.  I like the casual slip­ping in of a phrase or a descrip­tion, that over time, read­ers will come to recog­nise.  Two sto­ries I’ve writ­ten this week hinge on a sin­gle word.  It’s enor­mously sat­is­fy­ing when they come off.   If hap­pi­ness in writ­ing is about some­thing other than read­ers, or roy­al­ties, it’s about the lit­tle smile when you hide some­thing like that in text.

I guess it’s my ver­sion of an oli 360 tail­spin.  I said that like I knew what I was talk­ing about.  Some kind of skate­board­ing non­sense.  I need to work on my fac­tual detail.  A cou­ple of posts back I linked to a Cory Doc­torow piece where he advises against doing research while writ­ing, sim­ply write in a com­bi­na­tion of let­ters you won’t find in the rest of the text (such as TK or XYZ) and fill in the detail later.  And for the most part, in my shorts, it doesn’t really mat­ter what type of gui­tar some­one plays, or which two towns in Italy some­one is trav­el­ling between.  But it irks me that I don’t know.  I feel like I should know.  But I guess I should keep that level of com­mit­ment for the novel.

I’m also strug­gling a lit­tle with dia­logue and char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t per­son­ally know a lot of psy­chopaths or peo­ple with var­i­ous types of shoe fetishes and pho­bias.  So I have to imag­ine.  Which inevitably means that I’m build­ing on the descrip­tive work of oth­ers — from tv, books and occa­sion­ally the tin­tertron.  And this does mean I rein­force some tropes and use more cliches than I’d like.  I try to make clear that these char­ac­ters are grotesques, but I know it doesn’t always work.  And my female read­ers are much more for­giv­ing and com­fort­able with shal­low male char­ac­ters than shal­low female char­ac­ters.  Inverse sex­ism, but some­thing I need to look at.  Sim­i­larly, I’m ner­vous about writ­ing non-white char­ac­ters, and I need to get cuter about how I sig­nify regional differences.

But all things con­sid­ered, I’m pretty happy.  A lot of my char­ac­ters are deeply flawed, unhappy and supris­ingly vio­lent peo­ple.  I’m try­ing — hon­estly — to find more upbeat mate­r­ial, but for the most part it’s dark.  I guess all that time spent read­ing mur­der mys­ter­ies and ghost sto­ries as a kid is finally pay­ing off.  Or maybe I just watch too much CSI.  When I get back to writ­ing Tom (the novel), I know it will be lighter — exper­i­ment­ing with shade and tex­ture a lot more.

I don’t par­tic­u­larly want to be a hor­ror writer.  Or a crime writer.  But thriller writer (let’s see what MJ spam that throws up) sounds good.  Lit­er­ary thriller writer sounds so much bet­ter.  But I’m not good enough yet.  Prac­tice, prac­tice, practice.

Write on, my friends.  Write.  On.

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