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) :)

Must...not...squee...

A good ninja knows when to strike and when to walk away. Likewise, a good writer knows when to squee and when to be professional. Mary Robinette Kowal talked about this in her blog last week and gave some really great guidance.

http://www.maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/debut-author-lesson-how-to-be-a-professional-when-you-really-want-to-fangirl/

I've been to enough signings and seminars that I don't have much of a problem reigning in my inner fan girl. Plus, as an actor, I know how to hide my emotions so only the desired character shows. (I'm not saying that being professional is a character or facade, it's not, but the skill is pretty handy.) The last time I turned into a fan girl in front of an author was during Laurell K Hamilton's A Lick of Frost tour and that happened to be the first signing I'd ever attended so it was to be expected. Since then I've managed to be calm, clever, and professional.

As Mary pointed out in her blog, it's much better to be seen as a colleague instead of a fan. That's why I don't often take pictures at signings, dinners, and release parties (much to the chagrin of a certain friend). I feel that asking for a photo immediately puts me into the fan category. Granted, if I took Mary's advice and prefaced the request with "May I indulge..."I could get away with it. I'd still feel a little uncomfortable, but I could get away with it. There's nothing wrong with being a fan, but I find it limits your interaction with an author. They'll nod and smile, sign your book, maybe answer a question, and then you're on your way. However, I've noticed that if you establish yourself as a peer (through casual conversation and shop talk) the author you're speaking to will relax a bit and you'll get to see the real individual rather than public persona. It's allowed me to have a more memorable experience with the authors I admire and respect, and conversely, be more memorable to them. Instead of just meeting so-and-so, you're instigating a relationship with so-and-so.

However, on Monday night my spotless record came to an end. That was the night I went to David Brin's signing at Powell's books. I love David Brin. He's an incredibly intelligent, well spoken, funny and clever man that writes absolutely beautiful prose. It's almost lyrical. David is also not afraid to flatter a pretty and intelligent woman -- a category I found myself in when I was talking to him after the signing.

I lost control and squeed. I'm not talking about the "oh my gosh, ______ is standing right there!" kind of squee, but the shy and giggling twelve year old kind of squee. It was shameful and a certain friend will never let me forget that shame.To my credit, I didn't squee in front of David, but I did have to make a hasty and discreet retreat so I could hide my mouth behind my hands and blush (just like Sailor Moon). I have to clarify, I'm not a super girly girl. Marriage proposals don't elicit that kind of reaction from me. I'm a calm, clever professional. Speaking to my writing idol leaves me shaking afterwards (repressed nervousness), but not squeeing.

So what was different this time? David caught me off guard. He complimented me. Not once, but three times in rapid succession. I didn't know how to process that. It was too cool. As guilty as I feel for loosing my control, I've come to realize that I shouldn't beat myself up for needing to run away. (He is contrary Brin, after all. Defying expectation is what he does.) An inner fangirl can only be kept in a box for so long. Eventually she'll burst out and wreck havoc. Walking away and venting the squee was necessary. In his eyes (I'm assuming on this since I haven't been able to confirm it with him) I'm still the intelligent pretty woman he met in Portland. He has no knowledge of the squeeing fangirl or of the razzing I received from friends afterward and that's the real goal.

To see and be seen, but never let them hear you squee.

Mmmm.....brains.

Sorry for the long break. I was suffering from a compounded concert hangover last week. No, it wasn't that kind of hangover. No liquor was involved. The hangover was from wandering around the University Bookstore in Seattle for two hours (signed pretties were acquired), rocking out at the Queen Extravaganza (which was epically awesome), and driving 8 hours round trip in a single day. What compounded it was that I only got two hours of sleep (because of all of the caffeine ingested) before working an insane shift at the day job, followed by a less insane dog sitting job.

That's right. I worked two jobs on two hours of sleep. Yes, I'm insane, but that shouldn't be a surprise to any of you. Be assured that I'm not going to do that again. I don't like being a zombie.

What I will do again is work on my novel on long road trips. Don't panic. I was not typing as I drove. I could have dictated, but I didn't think my passenger would've liked that. What I did instead was bounce ideas off of him. I started working on a short story that I began last year but had to push aside so I could focus on finishing the novel. Ok, in all honesty, I was stuck as well, but it was mostly pushed aside for the novel. So I gave him the gist of the story and explained why I was stuck. We bounced a few ideas around, most of which didn't gain the favor of the other person. Once I convinced him that the story couldn't end up in a fiery inferno (his favorite solution) we finally got to the root of the story's problem and found the solution.

I've used this method many times. I did it with the novel, last month's short story, and some flash fiction pieces I wrote last year. Every time the solution surprised me as to its simplicity and it's always something that I've overlooked. I'm sure that eventually I would have discovered it on my own, but it would have taken days if not weeks. Borrowing a friend's brain (and not in a zombie kind of way) shortened that time frame to a few minutes.

It's amazing what a fresh brain can accomplish.

Being my own pimp.

Working at an independant bookstore continually gives me new insight into the workings of this industry. On a daily basis I'm interacting with and building relationships with my future readers, pimping the works of my friends and colleagues, discussing the brilliance of the masters, and otherwise being a bookaholic with our bookaholic customers.

I've been in this business for fourteen years and while much has changed, one thing has remained constant. Selling books is hard work. Let me say it again because this is the one of the universal truths of the publishing industry.

Selling books is hard work.

It's not laborious, per se. You're more likely to work up a lather than a sweat, but it's still hard nonetheless. You have to know what the customer likes, what they're in the mood for, what they have and haven't read, and know your stock well enough to find something that fits all of that criteria. If you fail to produce the perfect book, then you have to find something close and convince them that they want to read that instead. It doesn't matter if they want a fluffy romance and you read nothing but gun porn sci-fi. You still have to have a working knowledge of who writes what so you can at least fake your way through it.

I'm at the point where I don't have to fake it. I've gathered (from trusted friends and associates) enough opinions on works that will never see the dark side of my "to read" shelf that I can say with certainty "read this, you'll like it." However, what I'm still learning is how to sell works from the other side of the looking glass. More specifically, how to convince an editor and/or agent that they want to read my manuscript.

I like to think of myself as a humble person...(No, really... I do.) (Stop laughing.)...and as such, I feel guilty telling someone my own work is the greatest thing since the invention of the Tim Tam. (Mmmmm...Tim Tams) Granted, I don't have nearly as much practice selling my own work as I do with other author's works, but it shouldn't be that much different. Right?

Well...I'm not so sure. While I have fourteen years in the business, it's only on the retail side. On the creative side, I only have about three or four years (and most of that was spent writing). I know what you're going to say. The sales skills from one should apply to the other, and you're right. They do. The problem is that in my (paid) profession, I've come to rely on my tenure more than my expertise and knowledge. Most of our regular customers know I'm a tenured employee and trust my recommendations without question. I don't have to sell them on the story, I just have to hand them the book. Now, for newer customers, I do have to sell them on the story. I still have the skill, it's just that the muscle has....atrophied a bit. My inner pimp has become a little lazy, so to speak.

So, how will my inner pimp get their smack back? By going back to the universal truth stated above. Selling is hard work. You see, I've discovered that it doesn't matter what side of the industry you're on. Until you have an established name, selling is hard work. Once I've proven that I can sell though, or have hit the NYT bestseller list, I can relax a smidge. Until then I have to work on becoming the Harold Hill of writing. (If you don't get that reference, go watch The Music Man, starring Robert Preston.) I have to learn how to pimp my work, and myself, so that an editor that loves gun porn sci-fi will give my YA fantasy a try.

Virgin bride syndrome

When I finished my first book, back in January, it was in a panicked frenzy. Last year I gave myself a deadline -- the end of January -- to finish the first draft and over the course of the year I had fallen slightly behind. Not one to be defeated, I knuckled down, forsook sleep and socialization, and listened to far too much Rob Zombie as I completed the final chapters. As a result, when the moment of victory arrived (the morning of the deadline) didn't feel....well, victorious. I was excited, but more than that I was relieved. I had put so much pressure on myself to meet my self-imposed deadline that I couldn't enjoy clearing the first and perhaps largest hurdle of my career.

With that in mind, when I started my current project, it was with a more nebulous finish date in mind. I would do my best to have it finished by the second week in June, but if that didn't happen, that was ok because I'd still finish it. As you may remember from Damn the plot! Full speed ahead!
(http://ninjakeyboard.blogspot.com/2012/05/damn-plot-full-speed-ahead.html) I had a bit of a setback when I got distracted by all the cool things I could do in this story. As a result, I had to delete half of what I'd written. Yeah, big ouch.

The second week of June has come and gone. I'm still haven't finished, but I'm close. So close, I can taste it. Now instead of telling everyone to go away because I have X days to finish, I'm telling them to go away because I want to finish. No, I need to finish. Not because I can't bear to leave this story incomplete (although that is a factor), but because I feel the excitement that was absent the first time. I feel like a virgin bride. The wedding night is over, the jitters are gone, and idiotic fears have been laid to rest. I can sit back, relax, enjoy the journey, and have fun with it. And I am having fun with it. I've reached the fevered pique where I don't want to eat, sleep, go to work, or soak up the first rays of summer. I want to finish and unavoidable commitments (like my day job) just prolong the anticipation. This frenzy is different and so much better than the last. At times I wonder if I should leave the story alone for a little while so I can continue to relish it a little longer, but no. That would delay the finish and the finish is what I need. I need to bask in the afterglow.

Do I regret that I wasn't able to the first time? No, because the whole point of there being a first time is so you can get those embarrassing fumbles out of the way. As Mother would say, the worst is over. Now I can explore, delve, and find out just how goooood I can be. ;-)

Just the facts, Ma'am.

My step dad isn't much of a reader. That being said, he has this unfathomable notion that fiction has no intellectual value. (*Sigh* If only he had been exposed to Isaac Asimov before he became set in his ways, then we wouldn't have had an argument on this particular topic.)

What really irks me is that he couldn't be more wrong. It doesn't matter if the story is set in modern day Chicago or on a planet a trillion light years away, the facts behind the fiction matter. You can't have a star-faring hero that pokes holes in the hull of his ship when he gets bored. (If you did, you would have a really messy ending.) Similarly, you can't slice open a human body in a single stroke with a boot dagger. In both cases, you don't have to be a physicist or a physician to know that these scenarios are impossible.

Sure, you can write those scenes anyway, but if you do it, a reader will take one look at these scenes, call you a hack, and toss your book in the donate bin.

So, how does one avoid death by donate bin? Simple. Do your research.

Diana Gabaldon does her research. In fact she does A LOT of research and she's well respected for it. I've read a fair amount of historical romances and I've been consistently disappointed. You see, I'm a bit of a history buff, and while these romances were good stories, their history was abominable. Diana however, got everything right. (And I do mean EVERYTHING.) When I pick up one of her books, my inner nitpicker can relax and the rest of my brain can simply enjoy the story.

Laurell K. Hamilton is another writer that does a wonderful job checking her facts. She won't put a gun in Anita Blake's hands that she hasn't fired on the range. Laurell also talks to local law enforcement to make sure she has the police procedure right. Thanks to Laurell's work, I know more about how to conceal weapons than any good Mormon girl has a right to. In fact, a few years ago I spotted the Govenor with two gentlemen at the mall. The two gentlemen were wearing oversized sport coats, and because of Laurell's work, I could instantly identify these men as armed bodyguards.

It would probably take me a year to list all of the things I've learned from reading genre fiction, both intellectually and as a writer, which is perhaps the biggest argument I can make.

Perhaps my step dad underestimates the varied interests of the average reader or how much work a writer has to do to in order to avoid a heap of "you were wrong" e-mails. Perhaps he doesn't know that some truths are so universal that they can't be ignored. Maybe he doesn't know that in order for the fantastic to be accepted, the reader needs a safety blanket woven out of facts. In any case, it pains me that he's blind to the gospel truth of good writing:

Without fact, there is no fiction.

Damn the plot! Full speed ahead!

Last Saturday, with Memorial Day looming, I was feeling a bit patriotic. So when a good friend asked if I wanted to see Battleship, I said yes.

I know, I know. Watching a movie based on a board game isn't exactly the most appropriate gesture considering the many sacrifices of our service men and women. Believe me, if I had enough gas money, I would have gone to Willamette National Cemetery (it's a two hour drive, round trip) and placed flowers on my Grandparents' grave.

Anyway, I was curious about the film. How do you take a classic board game and turn it into a movie? It could be fantastic. Hollywood did that to Clue and (in my slightly biased opinion) it's one of the best movies of all time! But on the other hand, it could suck like a Hoover. So to play it safe I kept my expectations low. If all else failed, the explosions would keep it from being a total waste of time.

It turned out I was right on both counts.

The explosions were everything I wanted them to be. They were big, loud, and plentiful. It was glorious!

The plot....well, lets just say that I'm still trying to find it. I'm convinced that the writers are either schizophrenic, really really indecisive, or under a lot of pressure from the studio to write a blockbuster. I highly suspect it was the latter.

This movie suffered from an identity crisis. It was a mish mash of scenes borrowed from other popular movies. It was as if they were trying to make a screwball comedy, then a Top Gun-esque military flick, and after that it was Predator, Independence Day, Contact, Saving Private Ryan, and oh yeah, we have to put the board game in there somewhere, and while we're at it we should put a real vet in the movie since Act of Valor made that a thing...

The writers were so busy trying to create a blockbuster that would impress everybody, that they forgot what their real job was: To write a good story.

Notice I said a good story, as in a single good story. You can't create a good story out of seven good stories.

Think of it as a jigsaw puzzle.  If you took the pieces of seven different puzzles, mixed them all together, and picked out a random 100 pieces, there is absolutely no way you could put them together into a cohesive whole. It's impossible. You can't focus on one idea long enough to fully develop it. Plus, while you're jumping around from idea to idea, some vital details are left behind. Did you notice that they never explained why the aliens were here and what they were after? They explained how they found Earth and why they needed the satellites to phone home, but their true reason for coming was never adequately dealt with. I'm not even going to start talking about the many inaccuracies (both military and scientific) that a little research would have taken care of. That's a blog for another week.

So, you remember the plot problem I mentioned in my last blog? The one I was having with my short story? I was having the same problem as the writers of Battleship. My story had too many cool ideas. So many, that the real story was getting lost. I was also letting the pressure of impressing the editor(s) get to me. Thankfully, I discovered the fault in time to correct it. I had to scrap half of what I wrote, but it'll be worth it in the end because now I have the proper focus.

I can do my job. I can write a good story.

It's too bad it's too late for the writers of Battleship to do the same.