The novel deadline is coming up. Thursday. I need an expanded synopsis and a first chapter to enter the next round of the contest (and a chance to be one of five people who get a thousand bucks and write the whole novelfor a chance at ten thousand and publications). Work is in full time progress and the deadline is buzzing at my ear like pregnant flies.
One of the metaphors I use for the research stage of a story is investigation. Figuring out the plot and who is involved in that plot and how it is told and lots of thousands of more subtly nuanced questions, is solving a mystery. Only you get to choose the paths that your investigation takes. The clues lead you to other clues and then to decisions and its as if the trail existed for you to follow all along, as if it wasnt random.
You follow clues in song lyrics and anecdotes and memories and movies and literature. Day dreams become hard data with poignant leads. Accents and road maps and ghost stories are forensic evidence. Characters from books and film become witnesses and suspects. You gather the clues and the story and the people take shape.
Today was the last day of my investigation. So it was busy. Lots of leg work. I go to places where my suspects hang out - like bookstores and libraries and the internet. I bring along my utility beltwell, its more of a bag (satchel is the right term), my old friend, my uncomplaining Watson. Inside is my investigation kit which, at the moment, contains [Im rummaging through it right now]: few books, my little leather journal, pens, my synopsis, a pocket rhyming dictionary (you never know), Advil (for headaches) and a condom forwait a secwhy do Iuhnever mind
I had to talk with my informant, Poe had to visit the crime scene at the Rue Morgue talked with an opium fiend and asked him why he was so obsessed with the lady Ligeia asked a monomaniac why he had pulled out the teeth of Berenice went to Key West to ask a self proclaimed Baron why he stole the body of his beloved and lived with it for years visited Sin City and asked Marv why he went up against all odds for a dead hooker named Goldie, sat in the rain and listened to how Sin City folk talked, watched the action to see how noir and pulp mysteries play out - read up on the order of proceedings during crime scene investigations and autopsies talked with forensic pathologists conversed with a caravan of Yugoslavian Gypsies about their belief that pumpkins left outside to rot, become vampires got a first hand account of the effects of excessive absinthe consumption
and all of these led me to a place.
My other metaphor for the research stage is Grave-digging. With a mad scientists planning, I dig up all sorts of body partscharacter quirks, voices, arms, legs, metaphors, phrases, rhyme schemes, an eyeball, a brain. I tend to right stories in chunks, rather than straight through. Maybe I figure out a paragraph in the middle before I write the beginning. Maybe I write the end first. I gather these pieces together. I dig in my old journals and sometimes old stories for characters or anecdotes or strange facts that dont have a permanent home yet. I take all these bits and sew them together. Then, I throw the switch. Revision is the process of making the stitch marks more seamless until youd never know. Frankenstein made his mistake when he thought he could get a beautiful being out of his first draft. Lazy bastard
Well. Ive got the mystery. Got the body parts. Time to assemble them togetherat least for a first chapter (well call that the head). Ill sew it together tomorrow night and put a brain in it and throw the switch sometime on Thursdays before I email the monster in.
But the sun is up and its time to sleep now.
Ive got grave dirt everywhere
One of the metaphors I use for the research stage of a story is investigation. Figuring out the plot and who is involved in that plot and how it is told and lots of thousands of more subtly nuanced questions, is solving a mystery. Only you get to choose the paths that your investigation takes. The clues lead you to other clues and then to decisions and its as if the trail existed for you to follow all along, as if it wasnt random.
You follow clues in song lyrics and anecdotes and memories and movies and literature. Day dreams become hard data with poignant leads. Accents and road maps and ghost stories are forensic evidence. Characters from books and film become witnesses and suspects. You gather the clues and the story and the people take shape.
Today was the last day of my investigation. So it was busy. Lots of leg work. I go to places where my suspects hang out - like bookstores and libraries and the internet. I bring along my utility beltwell, its more of a bag (satchel is the right term), my old friend, my uncomplaining Watson. Inside is my investigation kit which, at the moment, contains [Im rummaging through it right now]: few books, my little leather journal, pens, my synopsis, a pocket rhyming dictionary (you never know), Advil (for headaches) and a condom forwait a secwhy do Iuhnever mind
I had to talk with my informant, Poe had to visit the crime scene at the Rue Morgue talked with an opium fiend and asked him why he was so obsessed with the lady Ligeia asked a monomaniac why he had pulled out the teeth of Berenice went to Key West to ask a self proclaimed Baron why he stole the body of his beloved and lived with it for years visited Sin City and asked Marv why he went up against all odds for a dead hooker named Goldie, sat in the rain and listened to how Sin City folk talked, watched the action to see how noir and pulp mysteries play out - read up on the order of proceedings during crime scene investigations and autopsies talked with forensic pathologists conversed with a caravan of Yugoslavian Gypsies about their belief that pumpkins left outside to rot, become vampires got a first hand account of the effects of excessive absinthe consumption
and all of these led me to a place.
My other metaphor for the research stage is Grave-digging. With a mad scientists planning, I dig up all sorts of body partscharacter quirks, voices, arms, legs, metaphors, phrases, rhyme schemes, an eyeball, a brain. I tend to right stories in chunks, rather than straight through. Maybe I figure out a paragraph in the middle before I write the beginning. Maybe I write the end first. I gather these pieces together. I dig in my old journals and sometimes old stories for characters or anecdotes or strange facts that dont have a permanent home yet. I take all these bits and sew them together. Then, I throw the switch. Revision is the process of making the stitch marks more seamless until youd never know. Frankenstein made his mistake when he thought he could get a beautiful being out of his first draft. Lazy bastard
Well. Ive got the mystery. Got the body parts. Time to assemble them togetherat least for a first chapter (well call that the head). Ill sew it together tomorrow night and put a brain in it and throw the switch sometime on Thursdays before I email the monster in.
But the sun is up and its time to sleep now.
Ive got grave dirt everywhere
I am both sympathetic and envious of your situation. A friend of mine went to Sarah Lawrence for grad studies in Creative Writing, and part of the "package" there is a guaranteed book deal with a publisher. Her book was published, and she later entered it in a "contest" where the winner was given a contract to transform the novel into a screenplay that would be purchased by a major production company. She made the final 10, but alas, she didn't get the contract. I am excited and nervous for you, but more excited than nervous. You are a fabulous writer, from what I've seen, and I have faith your creation (continuation of the Frankenstein allusion) will be dazzling.
It's raining here, so I send a kiss on your neck for luck
I wish you well with your writing.