I’ve found myself – through a transfer from one division at my job to another – in kind of a quandary. I’ve become accustomed to standing in one spot with almost nothing to do for long periods of time, and the freedom to allow my mind to wander.
With my transfer, I find myself in a different, noisier environment. I think “night watchman” at a movie studio is probably the perfect job for a writer – you end up with long periods of time with nothing to do, so you write. (pokes at Ken Miyamoto)
I may have to find a retirement job where I do something similar.
Now, in this environment, I can’t spend my work time thinking through stories. I used to stand in one spot with pen in hand, my padfolio open and notebook ready. Now in my new work environment, I have finally the freedom to go back to the 5 subject composition notebooks I prefer – but a more demanding work environment and less time to think.
Lessons learned from my recent job transfer 18 months ago
Have a writing system
You have to have a writing system. Even pants’ers have a writing system, they’re just woefully unaware of that. I need to either A). Find a new system or b). Resume the discipline of my earlier writing system.
Pants’ing does not work for planners
The saddest reality for writers is finding out that a). True pants’ers are the extreme minority of writers and b). You’re probably not one of them. I grew up all those years seeing writers sitting in front of typewriters and an empty desk. The implied lesson is – all writers just sit at a typewriter and stories magically pour out of them, usually interrupted by a knock at the door promising an adventure of our own. The reality is nobody can jump through a room sideways shooting two pistols simultaneously without aiming at a room full of villains who just stand there and allow themselves to be shot. The other reality is that a real writer’s desk is usually messy while they are in the process of writing. My desk at this moment has my phone plugged in on the left side of the desk, a large monitor with Logos Bible Software prominently displayed. There’s a USB cable sitting in front of the monitor. Headphones are next, plugged into my laptop by a messy cable with teethmarks on it from when I chew on it while thinking through stories – usually why I go through about three sets of headphones per novel, to the annoyance of my wife.
Behind the monitor is my GoPro Hero 9, purchased to film those adventures where someone knocks at my door and interrupts my novel, ultimately leading me into the said jumping through a room sideways, or wrestling with the bizarre freaky appearance of a monster to be dispatched by hitting over the head with the coffee cup currently sitting next to my headphones.
And if I were working on a novel, I’d have my preferred Genesis 5X9 notebook sitting on the second desk, at some grotesque angle and any number of Tul pens sitting next to the notebook.
So the reality of writing obviously does not fit the expectation or the portrayal depicted in any number of movies. Certainly James Caan sitting at at a typewriter amidst an empty desk happily typing away (unaware that Kathy Bates is lurking nearby) does not portray the messy reality of most authors. Remember – it’s just a movie (”no, it’s not…” dubbed sound effect to follow)
“Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance.”
If you properly plan, you will perform well. If you do not, you will perform poorly. Ever failed NaNoWriMo? This was the reason. You did not plan your work.
“Plan your work, work your plan.”
I came up with this one years ago while playing guitar in a basement band. I endeavored mightily to convince my band we needed to raise a thousand dollars to pay a friend of mine to record and produce an album. The drummer objected, swayed the rest of the band to his argument, and ultimately, nothing happened. Except to equip me with what is probably my best novel ever, based upon what would have happened if they HAD listened to me. I’ll be seeking traditional publication on this one – but first I’m going to have to either come up with pseudonyms for a lot of people or try to get waivers galore for the novel.
“Fail to plan, plan to fail.”
I’m surprised that this one has actually spread. I invented this phrase many years ago and I’m starting to hear people recite it to me. It blows their mind to tell them this phrase originated in Newport Rhode Island around February of 1980. I know, because I invented it then.
Design your workflow
Okay, you’re convinced that writing is messy, you have to plan and plan sufficiently. Now what?
You have to design your own workflow.
Here’s the basic breakdown:
- Act 1 – setup, start of trouble
- Act 2a – rising trouble, things get worse
- Act 2b – things have tipped into bad. Inevitably you’re pushed to the confrontation in Act 3
- Act 3 – Things get faster and more inevitable. There’s no way out. You cannot win.
Now you need two more things.
First 10% point of novel – inciting incident. The one event that drives the entire novel.
Last 10% of the novel – the climax.
Denouement? Sure. Write one. Throw it away.
Kind of like the classic advice:
- Write chapter one
- Write chapter two
- Throw chapter one away, start with chapter two.
Sounds funny, but it works.
If you just follow that outline, you can’t fail.
I DO recommend you plan it more sufficiently than that.
I like to use a 21 point flowchart. It’s seven points per act. I write it out, think it over, mull on it, then quickly write out another flowchart. A 60 point flowchart.
I then take my 21 point sheet and transpose all of my work onto that 60 point sheet, and fill in blanks.
If I cannot at least get 45-50 plot points on paper, I don’t have a novel.
Another point – I absolutely cannot plot out either the 21 point sheet or the 60 point sheet on a computer. Nope. Not happening. Can you? Probably. My little quirks are not yours.
I don’t need to describe the 60 point sheet any more than to say, 20 points per act. Now, I will say most of my novels end up with 57-58 plot points. I just can’t seem to fit all 60 points on every novel.
By the time I write all that, I now know the required outcome of every scene in the novel.
NOW you can pants your way through the thing.
“That’s not pants’ing!”
I know that. You know that. But for some reason, I keep seeing these articles that describe my system of writing (with its extensive planning) as pants’ing.
Yet I keep coming back to the scene of James Caan sitting at the typewriter with a bottle, one cigarette and one match on a nearby table. I’d love to write like that. You would too.
But we don’t. Only about 10% of the writers I’ve polled actually write like that and complete novels.
Lesson learned.
