Jennifer Crusie's Blog: Argh Ink

Bob and I met in Campfire to talk out something we usually don’t get to until the second draft: moving the story. In the past we’ve written our Don’t-Look-Down drafts and then gone back and shaped them. But we’re trying something different this time, a fast first draft, and we’ve got five scenes, or six depending on if we carve two scenes out of one of Bob’s, and eight thousand words and it’s sort of . . . not working.

Scenes one and two are okay for a first draft, protagonists introduced (M.I. in the first scene, Ethan in the second) and then the third scene sort of moves although not well, and then the fourth and fifth scenes . . . uh, not so much. So today, the question was, where the hell are we going with this?

In an attempt to move things along–please note I am not recommending this for first drafts–I made a list of the scene with protagonist vs antagonist with goals, broke down the beats to see if they escalated (they didn’t) and then added a section called “What the reader learns.” Like this:

Mary Imogen (who wants to finish her job and leave) vs. Glenda (who wants to know what MI is doing on the carousel roof) in the park just before midnight.
Beats:
MI stonewalls Glenda until Glenda says she’s coming up.
MI goes to the edge of the roof and asks Glenda why the hell she cares; Glenda orders her down
MI goes back to the top and finishes while Glenda rants
MI comes off the roof and gets mugged.

What the reader learns:
Something weird is going on in the park and Glenda probably knows what it is.

It’s the combination of escalating beats and that “what the reader learns” which is really “how this scene moves the story” that should help us get these scenes into tighter shape than they are now. And eight thousand words isn’t terrible for twelve days. It’s not good but it’s not terrible. Okay, it’s terrible. But we’re just getting started. I’m sure we’ll get the hang of it as soon as Bob stops throwing up and I stop freaking out over the political news (Sarah Palin? Really?). It’s been a rough twelve days. Note to self: Never blog the first twelve days of a book again

As Bob says, “I keep losing track of the days.” Also, he’s started a binder for Wild Ride. When Bob revs up his binder, we’re in serious writing territory. I spent the day running errands and thinking glossy thoughts about the Democratic party and came home to find out that McCain had picked a woman as a running mate who said, on tape, that she doesn’t know what a vice president does. I could say several pointed things here, but I think I’ll just wait and see what happens next. There has to be another shoe hanging fire here.

But while I was surfing the web trying to find out about this, I got zilch done. Met Bob in Campfire at five, but I was wiped out from not sleeping last night and he was still getting over whatever crud he had yesterday, so we talked about things and then went our separate ways, me to fix scene three and him to write scene four. The good news is, we’re getting into the groove again. If I could just find M. I.’s voice . . .

Every time, I forget how hard this is and how long it takes. Well, I’m old. Is it Day Ten? I think it’s Day Ten.

Okay, I just looked. It’s Day Eleven. I’d change the header here, but I think I must own my confusion. ARGH.

So today I rewrote Scene One again, fixed a couple of MI things in Bob’s Scene Two, completely rewrote Scene Three, read Bob’s Scene Four but didn’t comment because the poor guy is sick, and moved my old Scene Three to Scene Five, where it still sucks. Doesn’t matter where I put it, it’s still just a weak-ass scene. I’d be panicking now because I can’t get into the swing of this book except I’ve been distracted by the convention all week. That bastard Obama is giving me hope again, which means I must stir out of my apathy and help him win because if he doesn’t . . . no, it’s too horrible to think of. I know, you’re not supposed to talk politics on non-political blogs, but anybody who thought I was a McCain supporter probably hasn’t been paying attention anyway. So I blame the Democrats who seduced me away from the really terrible writing I’m doing in my book with one amazing speech after another. Really, I am just giddy with hope right now. Tomorrow I will remember that a million things can happen between now and November, but for tonight, giddiness rules.

I’m trying to write this book, bask in the Democratic convention where for once the Dems are getting it right, paint all the stuff in the house that still needs painted, clean up my kitchen, and write this blog. It’s time to just focus on the book. Once the conventions is over, the house stuff is painted, the kitchen is clean and I’ve finished this twelve days thing.

Bob and I met in Campfire again today, and I offered to let him redesign the whole cell concept (aka prison cell, the amusement park is a demon prison) but he said no, he could make it work. Right now we have the demons in ancient wooden chalices from early Rome that are sealed and put inside iron statues that are locked by symbols on the park’s five Star Attraction rides. It was my idea but it seems . . .complicated. I’m afraid it’s one of those ideas that we’re going to regret bitterly in the coming weeks, and it’ll be my fault because I designed it.

But we’re getting a lot clearer on the book now. I’m holding terror at bay by telling myself that I can write the scene in front of me, so that the vast wasteland stretching out beyond that is meaningless for the moment, but the truth is, I have big chunks of that wasteland written in rough draft and I’m still not clear about where I’m going. You know what looks good right now? You Again. Maybe I should just cycle through the three books, do Wild Ride until I panic, switch to Always Kiss Me Goodnight until I panic, move to You Again, until I panic, at which point I return to Wild Ride, which is looking do-able again.

As for where I find this stuff, I surf when I get tense. It’s amazing what you find once you start aimlessly following links to see what turns up.

But now I must go toss that second scene I wrote because it’s worthless and do it again with a different setting and antagonist. I think I can rock this one. And if not, there’s always You Again.

You know, we talked about this book in detail last January when we signed the contract, about placeholders and the amusement park design and I have a ton of notes and quite a few words written–pieces of scenes, first drafts of scenes, etc–and yet we still need to get on the same page. Bob asked me tonight for at least the eighth time, no exaggeration, “How do the cells work again?” and I said, “We need a new plan. If you can’t wrap your head around this, the reader will never be able to.”

Also I’m reading a cheat sheet on Palmistry from those Idiot people. It was at the supermarket checkout and I was about to start a scene where MI gets her palm read, so it seemed like a Sign. Or at least a good idea.

I’d type more but Bob is e-mailing me about the cells again. Plus we once again have a cast of seventeen, more or less, and we’re trying to figure out where everybody is and what everybody knows the first night. I will bet you good money, Bob’s firing up Excel even as we speak.

Argh.

Addendum:
It’s late and I’m catching up on what I missed tonight–go, Hilary, helluva speech–and then I tripped over another French ad (remember the safe sex print ads?) and this time, I have to say, I’m speechless. I pride myself on being open-minded to the point of ridiculousness but my mouth fell open about thirty seconds into this, and near the end I definitely said out loud, “You have to be kidding me!” It’s a TV ad for a kid’s orange drink and it’s . . . well, it’s NSFW, for one thing so do not click on this unless you are alone somewhere. And can take a shower afterward. I mean, I really wanted to like it, very imaginative and all that, but dear god, it’s like Bambi Does Bosch. (Hieronymus, that is.)

Second Addendum: No, it’s the world. An Italian priest just tried to organize a beauty contest for nuns. He’s decided it was a bad idea (YA THINK?????) and dropped it, but not before saying that “Sophia Loren is his feminine ideal, nuns are not “all wizened, funereal old ladies,” and some of the younger “foreign girls” with vocations are ‘really very, very pretty.’”

It’s definitely the world.