The "Aargh!" Catalyst

A few weeks ago a friend and I were talking about a short story manuscript I asked him to look over. The draft was flawed, which I already knew, I just wasn’t sure why or how to fix it. After we worked out both problems the conversation turned to my writing in general because I was frustrated that this story gave me so much trouble. The idea behind the story was good – none of my alphas disputed that – the execution was where it failed and to be frank, I’m better than that.

He told me that the problem wasn’t that I couldn’t write the damn story; my daily writing regimen and the manuscript in his hands were proof enough of that. Instead, my problem was that I needed to write the right story, damn it.

Once again, he was right.

This particular short story was a tricky one to tackle but I didn’t want to let that stop me from writing it. I like a challenge and while it wasn’t beyond my abilities, it was at the edge of them. Because this type of story was in territory I hadn’t ventured in before my bag of tricks didn’t work. I was also trying to finish it on a severely truncated timetable so I wouldn’t fall behind on the Cyberfunk. As a result the short story started at the wrong point, I took too long getting to the action, and worst of all I didn’t work from an outline (gasp!). All of this added up to one deeply flawed draft and one frustrated writer.

Do I regret plowing through? Sort of.

If I took more time with it I would have a better first draft, but I wouldn’t have learned as much either. Perhaps I’m thick headed but for me writing seems to be one of those things where I have to make the mistake first in order to 1) understand why it’s a mistake, and 2) learn how to avoid and/or remedy it. The frustration of the moment drives home the lesson and makes it much easier to remember. Hmm…maybe it’s not so much thick headedness but the power of the “Aargh!” that makes the difference. If that is the case, I hope I never stop having “Aargh!” moments because I never want to become complacent in my abilities. There is always room for improvement, always another genre to try. It’s one of the reasons why I love this business. It’s never boring.

Plot Nazis at Midnight

Staying up inordinately late seems to be a new habit. (Be assured that it’s being formed out of necessity and not will.) Wednesday night, after having dinner with some Canadian friends, I had a long conference with Tracy Erickson concerning my final edit of a recently finished short story. If you’ve ever been to a book signing at Powell’s or scanned the comments on an author’s Facebook page (including mine), chances are you’ve run into him. Tracy has a keen eye for what a story is lacking and isn’t afraid to tell you. He’s the kind of alpha reader that I searched high and low for. (Tracy, don’t let that go to your head. :P)

When I finished my YA fantasy I found myself in a scary place. I had a manuscript in need of critique and no Alpha readers. I’d never edited a manuscript. How was I to know the difference between what I thought was terrible and what actually was terrible? Left to my own devices, I probably would’ve tossed 75% of the manuscript.

I sent it my writing group, and their critiques were wonderful (as always), but I needed more than three opinions on it. To be more specific, I needed opinions from people who hadn’t read any of the previous drafts. I couldn’t expect my writing group to be objective about my worldbuilding when they know all the bits I cut out. Yes, I could’ve hired an editor. However, there’s no way I was going to be able to afford it. (I work two jobs so I can afford to live with my mother.) Besides, my legion of friends were more than willing. Perfect! So, I sent my manuscript to a couple dozen friends and eagerly awaited their constructive criticism.

I know some of you are groaning right now, and you’re right. It’s far from a perfect plan. But in their defense, most of them followed through.

In my experience, new Alpha readers fall into three categories:

1. Plot Nazi

2. Church Lady

3. “I’m an illusionist!”

Lets start at the bottom. The third category is the vanishing category. They are the friends that are really excited to read the story, but as soon as they receive the manuscript, the excitement disappears like an airplane on a David Copperfield special. There were a few people that misjudged the time commitment this was, or life happened and they just never got around to it...

Regardless of the reason, I never heard back from them and I’m ok with that. I understand why they didn’t do it and I still love them. I’m just not going to send them further manuscripts.

The second category is where a lot of my friends fall. They have good things to say, however it’s usually a variation of “I really liked it” or “you’re so talented. I wish I could write a book like that.”  That’s great, but it doesn’t help improve the manuscript. Call me crazy, but I can’t honestly believe that my manuscript is perfect after one cursory edit. A few of them did point out a few misplaced words and the occasional confusing passage. However, in all, it’s not enough to make me eager to seek out their help in the future. (Sorry guys)

The first category is the most precious and rare. This is where Tracy and my writing group fall. They scrutinize every paragraph for any imperfection. They catch mistakes and oversights that, for one reason or another, I missed in my first pass and they’re not afraid to tell me when a sentence, a paragraph, or a whole chapter needs to be tossed. When something works, they give me a high five and I do a happy dance.

Now, I don’t want you to think that I cater my writing to please my Plot Nazis. I don’t. Rather, I meditate on their comments. What can I say? I’m Japanese. It’s in my nature to do so. We’re genetically and culturally predisposed to seek out perfection in everything we do. If we do something wrong, we want to know why so we can fix it and prevent it from happening again. If we do something right, we want to know why so we can do it every time.

To phrase it in a more Zen-like manner, we yearn for wisdom with every breath.

The wisdom I extracted from these breaths was not only a greater understanding of my friends and who I can count on for what, but a greater understanding of my writing. I’m starting to see the difference between what I think is wrong and what actually is. I’m getting better at identifying a darling that needs to be killed and one that needs to be preserved at all costs. And when I have a specific problem, I know who to turn to in order to find the solution.

Thank you, Tracy, for being the Plot Nazi I needed in the middle of the night. 

(That, you can let go to your head) :)