As winter turns the corner into spring, I’m well into my Skype visits for the year. Connecting with classrooms is one of my very favorite things, and I’m grateful to everyone who reaches out. You can check out my recently updated Skype map here. Hopefully I can fill in more of these states and countries in 2019!
It’s been a busy year for me (revising the new book, EVERY MISSING PIECE coming May 2020) and for THYME, which has had the good fortune of visiting Illinois, Iowa, Arkansas, and Missouri state lists. It’s been so much fun connecting with classrooms as they explore Thyme’s story. Thank you to all the educators who work so hard to share books with children.
If you’re looking for more great reads, THYME popped up on this Wiki page recently, which appears to be a pretty great resource for finding reads in different categories of interest. Click here to check it out! 
This weekend, we cut down a tree in our yard to make space for a new fence.
I knew this work was happening, yet when I pulled into the driveway and saw the tree trunk lying there on the lawn, limbs chopped away and leaves stripped, my heart dropped a little bit. This wasn’t an old tree, or even one we had planted. It was just a young tree that had taken root on its own, and sadly in the wrong spot.
Still, it hurt to cut the tree down, as it hurts to end any life, even that of an ant or a fly. I wasn’t the kind of child who killed insects arbitrarily. Usually, I sought to re-home them, returning them to where they belonged and myself to where I belonged so that we could each live on in harmony, our worlds separate and yet part of a greater whole.
What’s interesting about the idea of re-homing or relocating is that it can be applied to writing. When we write, we don’t usually put the words in the right order the first time. And yet, it can feel as bad as cutting down a tree to erase some of our hard-fought words. It’s very hard to throw your work away.
Childhood me would say it doesn’t have to be that way.
What if instead of erasing, instead of deleting or removing or throwing away, we just re-homed our words? Relocation is so much more palatable than extermination.
Removing a part of your work is still difficult no matter what you do with the words, but in the instance of relocation the pain seems to diminish. It’s not quite so gutting to take your words and place them aside, in a file or a pile or a folder where you know they will live on safely while you move forward in your own space, the space you have made within your work for improvement by setting the old words aside.
This spring, as we bring in the new, consider (rather than throwing away), setting aside the old for a later date or another time, even if that time may never come. Sometimes freedom is not in the outcome of our actions, but in the act of breaking away.
Sometimes, all we need is a bit of space in order to gain a fresh perspective.
Happy Spring, and happy writing to you all!
I’ve been deep, deep, deeeeep in the revision cave for the last several weeks (and I’m headed back in again NOW), but I wanted to take a quick minute to share something I learned about revision. I’ve revised plenty in the past–altered settings, changed characters, improved world-building, etc—but I had not really undertaken a major revision, ie: making big time plot changes.
If you’re at all like me, the idea of making a huge change to a well-woven story induces no small measure of panic, but I decided to try something new this time around to help me get through the work. Because of my days in the product design world, I’m super process-oriented. I have complete faith that if I just follow a process step-by-step, I will eventually make it through to a conclusion.
The conclusion, in this case, was switching out one major plot line for another. Now, I’d done the creative work–I had a seed of an idea about the new direction I wanted in my story, but the substitution was not a clean apples for apples swap. I needed to remove one complex storyline and inject a completely new one.
The big question: where to start?
I looked to process for an answer, and realized that before I could even theorize on changes, I needed to have a solid understanding of the story as it was. Enter the outline.
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| My outline is the paper divided into 3 columns right below the keyboard. |
Now, I’d made plenty of outlines in the past, but this time I needed something different: I wanted space to record what was currently in the MS, and also space to add ideas about changes. So my paper-based method was to divide pages into three columns, and title each column with the chapter number and name, leaving a long, empty column of space below.
Then I went through the manuscript. As I went, I noted the scene setting at the top of the page, and jotted a very short list of the key plot points in each chapter. If there was a scene break, I drew a line, noted the new scene setting, and again recorded plot points. I made sure to limit myself to JUST the key emotion, action, and mystery plot points.
As I completed this first pass, I also took the opportunity to make wild guesses about the changes I would make–but not on the paper. On POST-ITS, my most favorite revision tool ever. Post-it’s give me the freedom to guess at anything, or even just leave myself a series of questions (often, those questions are super key to finding the answers on a later pass). You can see the post-it’s in the picture above; I stuck them right below my plot point notes.
I try not to dwell on this first outline pass–the goal is to accurately note the current MS structure and capture all of my random ideas and thoughts. After this pass is done, I start over from the beginning, and this time, I really read the MS and attempt to make decisions. I take the chapters one at a time, referring to the outline as I go to keep up with what’s happening overall. Slowly, my post-its that are covered in questions end up covered in solutions. Once I have a decision, I write changes directly on the paper copy of the MS–but if I’m not sure yet, I just stick with the post-its. They can always change later.
This pass takes a tremendous amount of will power and time to get through. John Cleese says that we have to build up a tolerance for solving problems, and I agree with him. Revision is never easy, but the outline really helped me keep track of the things I needed to change while keeping up with the many things I wanted to keep. The final step for me is typing my edits into the computer–which gives me another opportunity to fine tune the writing–and then my round of revision is complete.
What’s fascinating about revision is that it’s a different process every time. Sometimes your changes need to be executed front to back, because they encompass the whole story arc, and other times they need to be addressed in layers. However I revise in the future, I know that the outline will continue to play a role in my process. If anything, an outline gives you a free place to start, a place where you do not have to make decisions quite yet–and sometimes that’s exactly what you need to get a challenging revision underway.
One of the things that always fascinates me about a great book is the simplicity of the underlying story. I mean, the characters and plot components may be super complicated, but the story itself usually boils down to a simple one-liner that’s easy to take in and enjoy.
For example, my favorite book of last year, Shadow & Bone. This book is a layered, nuanced tale set in a fantastically rich folkloric setting–but the story really boils down to a girl who must choose to accept herself in order to master her powers and determine which of two men she really loves. It’s a story of the heart, no matter its setting and secondary details–those bits make the story come alive, mind you, but the story at heart is simple and RELATABLE.
Here’s where I come in. I have too many ideas. Upon reading that last sentence, some of you may say, GIVE ME A BREAK, but just wait–stay with me! Having too many ideas can be a problem. Secondary plot lines can add richness, or they can cloud the waters. There is a very fine line between the two states.
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| A typical project room wall in Product Design |
I struggled with the same challenge as a designer. I recall one particularly long day in the project room rather early in my career, when I’d been sketching cell phones for hours without striking on one my project manager really liked. My sketches were hot, the lines crisp–but something about the designs just WASN’T WORKING. Finally, my project manager (a very sweet car designer with a great flair for cutting to the quick of things) took me over to the project wall for a talk. Melanie, you have too many ideas, he said. You only need one idea in each design. One design, one idea.
One design, one idea.
This notion was genius to me–and still is. Here I was, killing myself weaving three different concepts into one sketch when I could just make three quick sketches instead (which would come more easily from the lack of complication). I’ve been thinking about this concept in regards to writing these days, and I think the same mantra can be easily applied to storytelling:
One book, one idea.
I’m trying to let myself embrace the idea. It’s much harder to risk 50 or 80 thousand words on the effort (as opposed to a ten second sketch), but every time I read an excellent book I find the same theory put to work–great books tell a great story–ONE great story. So tell your story. Tell just that story. Tell it from your unique point of view, in your unique voice, and let that ONE story shine.
If there’s one thing a career in product design prepared me for, it’s generating boat loads of ideas. So much so that I love brainstorming, and will often do so even when I’m not asked to–resulting in my friends saying, Jeez, Mel, will you just let me tell you about getting my finger stuck in the so-and-so without telling me how to fix it? (My husband would warn you never, ever to go shopping with me either, unless you want to learn more about the plastic junk on Target’s shelves than you ever wished to know.)
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| Brainstorming sheets outside a project room, circa 2005. |
But anyway, back to what you do want to learn from me: how to come up with better ideas. As a designer, and now as a writer, I use concrete methods to generate alternatives. Because, honestly, alternatives are what you’re really after. Anyone can dump their hero into the ocean and then come up with a solution as to how he’s rescued. But is your solution original? Intriguing? Funny? Astounding?
In order to come up with alternative ideas, and find solutions that have the zing of originality, here are ten things you can do to get your brain thinking along a new track:
1. Dictionary Hop: Flip to a random page in the dictionary (or any book), and stab at a word. Use that word to inform your scene. How does the word flutter change your plan for rescuing the hero? What about the word brocolli? This might seem silly, but encouraging your brain to take a lateral leap can get you off the boring linear track of thinking, and lead you to a fresh new idea.
2. Change your Goal: You’re focused on rescuing the hero. How about you shift your focus to a different plot point–like introducing a new love interest. How does that change how he gets rescued?
3. Combine Goals: Similarly, you can take your current goal and pair it with an opposing goal: saving the hero + having him get caught by the bad guy = a rescue that turns out to be a worse fate than drowning.
4. Manipulate Your Setting: How does your setting feed into potential rescue scenarios? How is your setting unique–what surprises lie within?
5. Reveal a Secret: What do we NOT know about your character that might change the way he handles his predicament? Is there a secret you’ve been building towards that can reveal itself, flipping the scenario on it’s head so that the situation we thought was a disadvantage is now an advantage?
6. Introduce a Mystery: Can something bizarre happen within your scene? Is there an element that goes against nature or the expected, that introduces a new layer of mystery (or ties into an existing mystery), giving our hero new options?
7. Read Nonfiction: Seriously, the weirdest stuff happens in the real world. Sometimes it’s super helpful to step away from your fictional world and flip through a non-fiction book (or watch an hour of NatGeo. Did you know that a blue whale’s heart weighs a thousand pounds?).
8. Check your Themes: What are the themes running through your story? Is there a way that your themes inform the solution? Even an abstract theme can feed into the way you address your setting and characters to reach the outcome.
9. Expect the Impossible: Ask yourself what the most impossible solution might be for your problem. Then explore what your world requires to make this a possibility–you might be closer to a solution than you think.
10. Take the Simplest Path: Sometimes, a simple solution is the answer. Note: not a boring solution, but not a ten-stage rescue that takes three chapters to unfold. Is the rescue even the point of your scene? Or is there something else you want the reader to focus on? If so, the rescue itself should be simple and intuitive. Don’t resist the practical just because it makes sense. Sometimes, even writers have to make sense.
Since I posted a bunch of pictures of my revision process, I’ve had quite a few questions as to what the heck I am doing with all of my brightly-colored post-it tabs. As in, the tabs you see here, along the edge of my manuscript:
So here’s a bit more information on my revision system, and why I do the things I do:
- Print the MS for a fresh look: I can and do make edits on the screen as I’m working on a draft. But for a full-scale revision, where I’m assessing all of the different aspects of the novel at once, I print a hard copy. I then DO NOT alter the digital MS until ALL REVISIONS are complete on paper. This takes self control, people. But it is *so* worth it. By the time you finish editing on paper, you’re ready to hit the keyboard again.
- Color-code for frequency and balance: I use different colored tabs to track different characters, or thematic elements, or plot lines, so that I can physically see how they are distributed throughout the MS. If I have forty pages with no orange tab, I know I’m missing an opportunity for greater continuity in the story. I usually only track elements that are targeted for revision (there are a dozen different post-it colors available).
- Group for organization: I put different types of notes on different edges of the MS. You can see the colored flags on the right margin. The left margin has flags of another color–these are things I need to come back to, stuff I still need to address or can’t figure out. Once I deal with those to-do flags, I remove them. My actual edits to the MS are on the page or on post-its along the bottom edge, that way they stay out of the way of reading the MS.
- Edit on Post-its for freedom of thought: Writing on the MS bugs me. If I get an edit wrong, and cross it out, and re-edit, only to cross it out again, I have a mess. So I edit on post-its. I can use a million post-its if I want to. They’re cheap!
- Transcribe notes for further polish: When I’m finally done with my ten million post-it notes, I’m ready to transfer all of these hard-won revision jewels into the computer. And as I transcribe my notes, I of course react to them, and tweak them, and by the time I’m done I’ve not only revised, but polished those changes.
This system works for me because it evolved from my work in product design. Back in those days, I planned huge research reports and strategic line assessments, and I used a similar revision process. I’d print out mini-slides of my presentation, make notes on them, and then edit the document. My interns really loved me for this (ie: they wanted to kill me for having to print out slide miniatures for 500pg presentations). But I find the process invaluable now.
So, as you revise, take note of the systems that appeal to you. Do post-its make you happy, too? Or do you love the layered files in Scrivener? We each have our own crazy habits–the key is in figuring out what works for you.
First of all, I have no idea why this photo of my journal (AKA my secret weapon) turned out so *green.* I promise I wasn’t in an alien space bar or anything, I was just at Starbucks (which, forgive me, was the only coffee shop close to Penn as I waited for my train yesterday. Not that I drink coffee. Or beer at 2pm. That’s tea, people, for some girl named Melony).
So, back to the secret weapon!
I tend to write quickly. As in, when I’ve opened my laptop and launched Word, my fingers take off, and heaven help me if I don’t have a distinct plan for where they’re going, because my fingers don’t stop for anyone. They write. Fast.
Because of my tendency to vomit words (and my OCDish desire for order), I don’t start writing unless I have a plan. Please note, there is one exception to this rule: the beginning of a project. At the beginning, I let my fingers fly. I let them show ME what we’re going to be writing about. But as soon as I get an inkling of the story unfolding before me, I step back and plan.
Which means writing in my journal.
And honestly, I shouldn’t say journal as though there’s only one singular receptacle for my thoughts–there are several. I keep a separate journal for each novel-length project, as well as a spare “ideas” journal to keep all of the pesky, shiny new ideas away from my WIPs.
What do I write in the journal?
Well, this is where we get to the secret weapon bit. When I’m writing in Word, or on a printed draft, or even on a post-it note, I feel a little precious about the words I use. I second-guess them. I try to write only the very best ones. And that keeps me from thinking. But in my journals, I write everything. I mean EVERYTHING. I spell everything wrong, I cross stuff out, I blast through paper like it’s my mission in life to use every page up.
How does this help my writing?
Say, for example, I’m trying to build a backstory for a secondary character. I’ll doodle that person’s name (or a question mark if I don’t know it yet) at the top of a page and write: who is Mr. BananaPants? Where does he live? What does he look like? And so on and so on, until I strike upon a question that has an obvious answer, like: what does Mr. BananaPants eat? Well, anything but fruit salad, obviously. His mom caught him gobbling fruit salad once when he was five years old, and she scared him to death when she said he might be eating his own cousin.
And there you have it: the journal fills up, and the answers fill in, partly because I’m making myself focus, but mainly because I’m giving myself the opportunity to think without consequence–to throw words at the page haphazardly and in great abundance, with no worries about where they will end up. I think it’s that very sense of freedom that leads the words to the right place as I journal.
Once the journal is full, the writing begins in earnest, and a draft emerges, only to be journaled and revised again and again until, finally, it’s done. Without my journals, I’m absolutely certain my path to a solid draft would be a much longer and winding road, and though the end result might be similar, the journey would be a lot less fun.
What about you? Do you keep a writing journal, too? I’d love to hear your ideas about journals in the comments.
If you write, you hear the term “revision cave” all the time (or at least you should). And from time to time, authors share their process, describing the structure and form and material of their own personal cave–and I LOVE that. So, I’m sharing a picture from my neatly-swept, ridiculously color-coded cave, because I’m in the same boat that you are (even if you can’t see me there with you).
This is me working in the evening, on my coffee table (which must be cleared for day-time use. Thus, the lack of year-old piles of stuff and dust and grime. Although I am compulsively tidy). Once I have beta feedback, I like to revise on a printed copy of the MS. Those color tabs are for tracking different elements (action, mystery, emotion, key themes) so that I can balance the flow of the story. I scribble endless changes on post-it notes and stick them to the bottom edge of the page, that way the pages stay clear and easy to read.
I drink a lot of tea.
I resist the remote control but keep it just barely on the edge of the table where it beckons to me like a hard-earned treat.
Generally, I start out with the headphones in my ears and then rip them out at some point, when a moment grabs me so acutely that I must eradicate all other sound to focus on the essence of it.
Oh, yeah. That notebook with the ridiculously positive “Do What U Love To Do” printed across it? well, that’s a notebook for new ideas. If they interrupt my work flow, I dump them in there super-fast to get them out of my brain, and out of the way.
The notebook on top of my laptop has ten bajillion pages of journalling in response to my beta readers’ endless questions (thanks, guys!). I keep it out for reference. It gives birth to hundreds of post-it notes.
And at some point, I reach the end of the pages and go back through a second time to copy it all into the computer, using this pass as an opportunity to edit even further.
And that’s it. That’s how I work. How do you work? Do you have a sacred space? Are you anal retentive about color-coded post-its, too? Feel free to leave links in the comments, if you have pictures to share. I LOVE spying into other people’s worlds. That’s why I do this crazy fiction writing thing in the first place.
On Saturday, I abandoned my family to go spend the night with strangers–well, not total strangers. My crit partners! I may be in the revision cave, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to leave it. Especially if it’s for work purposes (please ignore the wine).
Across digital lines of communications I’m quite tight with my CPs, but in real life, I’d never met one until this weekend. Fortunately, none of us turned out to be large, hairy bald men impersonating women on twitter. We were all, in fact, totally awesome, insightful, supportive, and incredibly creative.
Can I just say, if you have not taken the time to hang out with other writers, make it a priority. I know it’s hard to find people. But offer to host, to organize, to drive–whatever it takes–and make it happen! Why? Because writers are the best people for other writers. My CPs did not in fact think I was crazy when I showed up with this:
Really! Instead, we all talked about revisions, and how we handle them. And what we’re working on. And everything we’d ever worked on. And what we might work on in future. And basically everything else in our lives, all in a couple of days that felt more like a week away from the kiddos (one of whom projectile vomited into the sink less than an hour after my arrival home).
So, after blabbing endlessly for hours, skpying with three other writerly friends, and spending a long, quiet stretch of Sunday in our PJs simultaneously clicking away at our laptops, I left with a renewed sense of purpose in my work, hope for my friends, and a big stack of additions to my TBR pile! Thanks, girls. It was lovely.
It’s the first day of 2013, and I’ve already written the wrong date on four different things. I wonder how long it’ll take me to adjust this year. Usually, I’m good by May. Although every once in a while I’ll spit out a random date from the ’90’s, and wonder how exactly my brain manages to function at all. Usually, these random retro dates make their appearance on something completely unimportant, like a water bill (note: water companies do not like ten-year-old checks).
2012 was a quick year for me–my first full year of writing stuff. To celebrate the completion of my latest MS, I spent much of December reading great YA and writing very little. In fact, the only thing I wrote the entire month were notes, in my journals, on the beach, in Jamaica (go ahead and hate me, I can take it).
I just dug the sandy, wrinkled notebooks out of my beach bag, which I sadly have little use for now in the frozen, snowy tundra of New Jersey. I’m looking at these notes and feeling that feeling–you know, the one where you feel pukey and impatient and shy all at once? Yeah. That’s right. Pre-REVISION nerves.
This week, I’m diving back in to the middle grade project that my wonderful betas read during December. I filled up my notebooks armed with their notes. Now I just have to translate all of this mess into a revised novel. No biggie.
And in two weeks, I’m meeting some of these uh-maaaaazing CPs for the very first time in the flesh. I’m super excited. I hope we click as well in person as we do over the wires. I hope my freakishly loud laugh doesn’t scare them away. And I hope we all keep moving forward, creating new things, putting them into the world, and making the most of our time in it. Happy New Year, everyone!
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