When you're writing, you want to feel free and creative; let loose to discover without restriction.
And it's good to have some systems in place to make it easier. I'm not talking about writing rules--that's a whole different subject--but organizational systems.
As the saying goes, "what gets measured, gets done." And while you can't measure creative content, or quality, or originality, you can certainly measure words, and that's what I do.
Here's my organization and tracking system for the novel.
1) I create a folder for the novel, of course, and sub-folders within it labeled Research, Correspondence, and Chapters, and Misc.
2) For each chapter, I create a separate a separate file, named thus: novel name - chapter 1. I don't keep every draft of every chapter, by the way. I just find it too cumbersome. However, if I excise a part that I think will fit elsewhere, or develop into another story, or which I simply like for one reason or another, I copy/paste that to a new file. I name it something, and save it in the Misc folder.
3) If I get input from other readers on that chapter, or if I do rewrites, I make the modifications in the individual chapter file.
4) At the end of the day, I save a copy of the chapter or chapters I've been working on, IN SEQUENCE, in a separate file that contains the entire manuscript of the book. Its name is: novel name-complete.
5) Here's where the "what gets measured, gets done" notion comes into play. The last thing I do after a writing session is do a word count of the novel name-complete file.
6) I keep an Excel spreadsheet of my word count, which automatically calculates how many words I've written on a given day when I enter the starting point (where I ended the previous day, obviously) and the ending point.
When I started this with Secret Spy, I had written 34,000 words, and it was really great every day to watch my progress. I suppose if I were really clever I could turn the spread sheet into some groovy bar graphs or what have you, but of course that's not really the point. The point is to be able to watch your progress. My daily goal was 1,000 words, and except for one or two days I hit it, and perhaps 30 percent of the time I exceeded it. My top word count for a day was 3,677.
This system also plays into my rewriting strategy. Once your manuscript is complete, you have it in a single file. You know the beginning, the middle, and the end, and you also know your characters, themes, settings, and conflicts. I comb through the manuscript from the beginning to end, strengthening each component as I go along.
I am a novelist and humor writer. "The Pyongyang Paradox," the fourth book in my comedic trilogy, "The Chronicles of Huttle," is now available from Genius Books, and on Audible! See links on the right side of this page!
Showing posts with label rewriting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rewriting. Show all posts
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Brain sorting
Try this: remove the top of your skull. Using a scooping instrument--an ice cream scoop, large wooden spoon, or garden spade works well--remove a portion of your brain, and splat it on a piece of paper. It will be messy, but do your best to examine it objectively. If it isn't what you want, rearrange, remove, or otherwise modify the parts until it takes the shape you desire.
Yes, you got me: it's a metaphor for writing! Tricky, tricky me. I tell my students that writing the first draft is a process of seeing what you think; putting your brains on the page, and then looking at them to see what you think. This may not be true for everyone, but even if I have a pretty good idea what I'm going to write, it amounts to nothing until I've actually stared down the blank page and started.
As I am fond of saying, "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly," and it is never more true than with writing. If I have what I think is a good idea, I can think about it to an extent, but until I've written it, I don't really know the dimensions of it. I think it's generally a bad idea to talk about what you PLAN to write, because it removes the element of discovery. The story has been told, and nothing has been written.
People can attach all sorts of mystery and misery to writing, of course, and I have done my share of both. Back in the day, I had the now embarrassing and very romantic belief that I just had to write with a fountain pen. That lovely flow of ink onto paper felt like, well, it probably felt like blood; metaphorically, I was pouring my essence onto the page.
Being a newspaper reporter disabused me of this notion. The real trick was not connecting to the paper. It was connecting my butt to the chair, my fingers to the keyboard, and my thoughts to the page. Only then did I REALLY know what those thoughts were.
The mechanism translates the amorphous, non-linear thoughts in one's mind and the inchoate emotions in his heart to the linear and two-dimensional medium of the page or the computer screen remains a mystery to me, and a wonderful one at that. Maybe the physical process of typing, or of writing with a fountain pen, slows thought and feeling enough to grasp hold of them just a little. Once they're on the page, they're different, and I suppose that the process of rewriting is a matter of bringing those two-dimensional representations of thought and feeling into closer harmony, but I don't think it's entirely that.
The funny thing is, when I conceive of a project, and then go through the many revisions until it (hopefully) reaches a point that is satisfying to me and communicates what I want to communicate, it is often quite different from the way I imagined it at first. So, rewriting is in its own way thinking in its own right: an interplay between imagination and reality, in which both are stimulated, and both grow.
And the above is an example of exactly what I'm saying. I really had no idea I thought this until I wrote it down. Hmmmm. Well, for those of you who didn't read the whole thing and understand the metaphor, I suppose it's time to call 911 or fetch the sewing kit.
Yes, you got me: it's a metaphor for writing! Tricky, tricky me. I tell my students that writing the first draft is a process of seeing what you think; putting your brains on the page, and then looking at them to see what you think. This may not be true for everyone, but even if I have a pretty good idea what I'm going to write, it amounts to nothing until I've actually stared down the blank page and started.
As I am fond of saying, "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly," and it is never more true than with writing. If I have what I think is a good idea, I can think about it to an extent, but until I've written it, I don't really know the dimensions of it. I think it's generally a bad idea to talk about what you PLAN to write, because it removes the element of discovery. The story has been told, and nothing has been written.
People can attach all sorts of mystery and misery to writing, of course, and I have done my share of both. Back in the day, I had the now embarrassing and very romantic belief that I just had to write with a fountain pen. That lovely flow of ink onto paper felt like, well, it probably felt like blood; metaphorically, I was pouring my essence onto the page.
Being a newspaper reporter disabused me of this notion. The real trick was not connecting to the paper. It was connecting my butt to the chair, my fingers to the keyboard, and my thoughts to the page. Only then did I REALLY know what those thoughts were.
The mechanism translates the amorphous, non-linear thoughts in one's mind and the inchoate emotions in his heart to the linear and two-dimensional medium of the page or the computer screen remains a mystery to me, and a wonderful one at that. Maybe the physical process of typing, or of writing with a fountain pen, slows thought and feeling enough to grasp hold of them just a little. Once they're on the page, they're different, and I suppose that the process of rewriting is a matter of bringing those two-dimensional representations of thought and feeling into closer harmony, but I don't think it's entirely that.
The funny thing is, when I conceive of a project, and then go through the many revisions until it (hopefully) reaches a point that is satisfying to me and communicates what I want to communicate, it is often quite different from the way I imagined it at first. So, rewriting is in its own way thinking in its own right: an interplay between imagination and reality, in which both are stimulated, and both grow.
And the above is an example of exactly what I'm saying. I really had no idea I thought this until I wrote it down. Hmmmm. Well, for those of you who didn't read the whole thing and understand the metaphor, I suppose it's time to call 911 or fetch the sewing kit.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Getting back to rewriting
I left on some tangents back there, as is my wont, but don't despair, dear readers. I said I would write about rewriting, and intend to do just that.
First off, I am constantly rewriting. If I write a quick draft of a chapter or of a story, I comb through it many times before deeming it "finished." Of course, it's never finished, because, other than "The Great Gatsby," any piece of writing can be improved. But again, I digress. Before you can genuinely embark on a rewrite, you have to finish, because only then do you know the shape of your story, or your chapter, or your novel. When I'm nearing the end of a story, I invariably look to the beginning to figure out how to complete the story. Why? Because when you began the story, you implanted in the reader some questions. You made him or her curious. Throughout the story, you kept them curious. Otherwise, they wouldn't have bothered to read the book.
Finally, at the end, you have to answer the big question: what was this book about? What over-arching lesson did the character--and presumably the reader--learn? That, as I said in an earlier post, constitutes in my never-to-be-humble opinion, the theme. If you didn't implant a question pertaining to the theme in the beginning--because, for example, you devoted all your time to writing a clever opening sentence that got the plot going--then it's time to examine the beginning and see how you can implant that thematic question, too. Odds are, it's already there, and it's more a matter of refining it than inventing it. But you never know.
Once I have identified my over-arching question, and my theme, I go through the manuscript and strengthen it, perhaps moving components around, so that the revelation of the theme is as fresh to the reader as it is to the characters.
But rewriting, of course, is also about sharpening the characters.
In Secret Spy, Terrence Tillberry is an FBI agent who falls in love with a KGB agent in 1982 Los Angeles. He's based on a real guy, as I may have said, who was described by one detractor as "lunchy," because he--and this is true--always ate a lunch of pastries, etc., acquired from the local 7-11.
I expanded dramatically on this trait. Terrence Tillberry eats nothing but Hostess products: Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Ho-Hos and the like.
In that the FBI is a pretty selective organization, I had to justify why a guy with such little will power ever got hired. Nepotism seemed like a good idea, so I invented Terrence's Uncle Martin, who was an FBI agent, and put in a good word for Terrence.
In the rewrite, I took it deeper. Uncle Martin took Terrence under his wing when Terrence was a child. He was overweight, and afraid of being teased. Terrence confided in his uncle, who bought him a set of weights, and generously guided him in losing weight, and gaining confidence. The nepotism also brought a flavor to the book: Terrence was resented by his boss as a result of it.
I won't go into all the specifics of the story--I want you to buy the book when it's published--but the way this "character arc" (to employ a hackneyed term) evolved was fascinating to me. When I began the book, all I knew was that Terrence was fat, and slovenly. I used that as his identifier, and ultimately it expanded to really define and humanize him. He became a real and sympathetic character, who was neglected by his harsh father, and was teased. His kind Uncle Martin consoled and encouraged him, and inspired him to join the FBI. When he is "bullied" by his boss, due to the perceived nepotism, he reverts to his former self, seeking comfort in food.
First off, I never would have arrived at any of the revelations about Terrence's motivations and history had I not completed the story. Secondly, now that I know them, the understanding make every element of the story richer.
And it's still a comedy, folks, so don't think I've gone all mushy. Trust me, there are laughs aplenty. But I have to finish the rewrite before the public can really enjoy them.
First off, I am constantly rewriting. If I write a quick draft of a chapter or of a story, I comb through it many times before deeming it "finished." Of course, it's never finished, because, other than "The Great Gatsby," any piece of writing can be improved. But again, I digress. Before you can genuinely embark on a rewrite, you have to finish, because only then do you know the shape of your story, or your chapter, or your novel. When I'm nearing the end of a story, I invariably look to the beginning to figure out how to complete the story. Why? Because when you began the story, you implanted in the reader some questions. You made him or her curious. Throughout the story, you kept them curious. Otherwise, they wouldn't have bothered to read the book.
Finally, at the end, you have to answer the big question: what was this book about? What over-arching lesson did the character--and presumably the reader--learn? That, as I said in an earlier post, constitutes in my never-to-be-humble opinion, the theme. If you didn't implant a question pertaining to the theme in the beginning--because, for example, you devoted all your time to writing a clever opening sentence that got the plot going--then it's time to examine the beginning and see how you can implant that thematic question, too. Odds are, it's already there, and it's more a matter of refining it than inventing it. But you never know.
Once I have identified my over-arching question, and my theme, I go through the manuscript and strengthen it, perhaps moving components around, so that the revelation of the theme is as fresh to the reader as it is to the characters.
But rewriting, of course, is also about sharpening the characters.
In Secret Spy, Terrence Tillberry is an FBI agent who falls in love with a KGB agent in 1982 Los Angeles. He's based on a real guy, as I may have said, who was described by one detractor as "lunchy," because he--and this is true--always ate a lunch of pastries, etc., acquired from the local 7-11.
I expanded dramatically on this trait. Terrence Tillberry eats nothing but Hostess products: Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Ho-Hos and the like.
In that the FBI is a pretty selective organization, I had to justify why a guy with such little will power ever got hired. Nepotism seemed like a good idea, so I invented Terrence's Uncle Martin, who was an FBI agent, and put in a good word for Terrence.
In the rewrite, I took it deeper. Uncle Martin took Terrence under his wing when Terrence was a child. He was overweight, and afraid of being teased. Terrence confided in his uncle, who bought him a set of weights, and generously guided him in losing weight, and gaining confidence. The nepotism also brought a flavor to the book: Terrence was resented by his boss as a result of it.
I won't go into all the specifics of the story--I want you to buy the book when it's published--but the way this "character arc" (to employ a hackneyed term) evolved was fascinating to me. When I began the book, all I knew was that Terrence was fat, and slovenly. I used that as his identifier, and ultimately it expanded to really define and humanize him. He became a real and sympathetic character, who was neglected by his harsh father, and was teased. His kind Uncle Martin consoled and encouraged him, and inspired him to join the FBI. When he is "bullied" by his boss, due to the perceived nepotism, he reverts to his former self, seeking comfort in food.
First off, I never would have arrived at any of the revelations about Terrence's motivations and history had I not completed the story. Secondly, now that I know them, the understanding make every element of the story richer.
And it's still a comedy, folks, so don't think I've gone all mushy. Trust me, there are laughs aplenty. But I have to finish the rewrite before the public can really enjoy them.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Theme
When you're writing, the theme of your piece can seem very elusive, and perhaps inconsequential. But, as poet William Carlos Williams said of the Red Wagon, so much depends upon it.
But that doesn't mean that you need to know the theme up front. In fact, in writing Secret Spy, I truly had no idea what the theme might be when I began. I imagined that after forty or fifty pages it would start to emerge, but that didn't happen. A hundred pages? Nope. Two hundred? Still not there. As I wrote the last paragraph of the epilogue, which centers on the experience of Tom Huttle, I still didn't have a theme. I wondered what Tom Huttle might think as he looked back on all of the twists and turns of the story. "You never know what's going to happen," Tom thought. "So you just keep going."
I had my theme. It hadn't become clear to me literally until the last sentence of the book, but I knew it was right. How did I know? Because it had been played out within all of Tom Huttle's actions in the book. The theme is nothing more, and nothing less, than the controlling idea of the book. Now, beginning the rewrite, I KNOW what that controlling idea is. For a character, a theme is something like their life philosophy. They may not, in fact, be able to articulate it, but it operates in the background. For example, in life, if someone believes they always get a raw deal... they always get a raw deal. Objectively, they may get some very good deals in their life, but they aren't capable of seeing that. The "raw deal" becomes their theme. In fiction, themes operate much the same way.
The theme of my book Huttle the Hero was "If you suppress your imagination, it will control you," also featuring Tom Huttle. Tom was quite unaware of this for most of the book, but the idea plays out in myriad ways throughout the story. By the end, he understands it quite viscerally.
I think that, in a story, if your characters are authentic, and if they operate according to coherent motivations, striving toward goals in a way that is true to them, and encountering and dealing with obstacles in a likewise coherent manner, the theme will emerge. Why? Because, unconsciously, you are imposing on the narrative your own life's philosophy, and your own values and view of the world. Call me kookie, but in this way all books are autobiographical. I, for example, have been thinking a lot lately that in life one never knows what is going to happen, and that even so, you just keep going. In some sense, it was not a big surprise that this should reveal itself as the theme to Secret Spy... but then again, it was a shock. I truly had not grasped how I was on imprinting my philosophy on every page.
So, now that I know what the theme of my book is, what am I going to do? I'm going to go through the book and make sure that Tom and the other characters are living consistently within that theme. Some characters may take a different aspect of the theme, of course.
Finding that consistency in theme requires you to start at the beginning. As the story of Secret Spy opens, for example, Tom is at a crisis point in his life. He's unhappy with the status quo and decides to take a leap of faith and do something different. He takes a leap of faith. He does not know what will happen. By the end of the book, owing to the experiences he has had, he, along with the reader, looks back at what has happened and realizes that "You never know what's going to happen in life, and you just keep going." By then, Tom has reached many points where he didn't know what was going to happen. He just kept going, and when he looks back at it, he realizes he did the right thing. In other words, he learned this lesson as we learn all lessons: through experience. The reader has been with him during these experiences, too, and consequently has learned the same lessons.
Maybe you don't know the theme of your book. It is there, however. Try doing what I did: take the point of view of one of the characters and ask him or her: what have you learned? Their answer may very well surprise you, and lead you to the theme.
But that doesn't mean that you need to know the theme up front. In fact, in writing Secret Spy, I truly had no idea what the theme might be when I began. I imagined that after forty or fifty pages it would start to emerge, but that didn't happen. A hundred pages? Nope. Two hundred? Still not there. As I wrote the last paragraph of the epilogue, which centers on the experience of Tom Huttle, I still didn't have a theme. I wondered what Tom Huttle might think as he looked back on all of the twists and turns of the story. "You never know what's going to happen," Tom thought. "So you just keep going."
I had my theme. It hadn't become clear to me literally until the last sentence of the book, but I knew it was right. How did I know? Because it had been played out within all of Tom Huttle's actions in the book. The theme is nothing more, and nothing less, than the controlling idea of the book. Now, beginning the rewrite, I KNOW what that controlling idea is. For a character, a theme is something like their life philosophy. They may not, in fact, be able to articulate it, but it operates in the background. For example, in life, if someone believes they always get a raw deal... they always get a raw deal. Objectively, they may get some very good deals in their life, but they aren't capable of seeing that. The "raw deal" becomes their theme. In fiction, themes operate much the same way.
The theme of my book Huttle the Hero was "If you suppress your imagination, it will control you," also featuring Tom Huttle. Tom was quite unaware of this for most of the book, but the idea plays out in myriad ways throughout the story. By the end, he understands it quite viscerally.
I think that, in a story, if your characters are authentic, and if they operate according to coherent motivations, striving toward goals in a way that is true to them, and encountering and dealing with obstacles in a likewise coherent manner, the theme will emerge. Why? Because, unconsciously, you are imposing on the narrative your own life's philosophy, and your own values and view of the world. Call me kookie, but in this way all books are autobiographical. I, for example, have been thinking a lot lately that in life one never knows what is going to happen, and that even so, you just keep going. In some sense, it was not a big surprise that this should reveal itself as the theme to Secret Spy... but then again, it was a shock. I truly had not grasped how I was on imprinting my philosophy on every page.
So, now that I know what the theme of my book is, what am I going to do? I'm going to go through the book and make sure that Tom and the other characters are living consistently within that theme. Some characters may take a different aspect of the theme, of course.
Finding that consistency in theme requires you to start at the beginning. As the story of Secret Spy opens, for example, Tom is at a crisis point in his life. He's unhappy with the status quo and decides to take a leap of faith and do something different. He takes a leap of faith. He does not know what will happen. By the end of the book, owing to the experiences he has had, he, along with the reader, looks back at what has happened and realizes that "You never know what's going to happen in life, and you just keep going." By then, Tom has reached many points where he didn't know what was going to happen. He just kept going, and when he looks back at it, he realizes he did the right thing. In other words, he learned this lesson as we learn all lessons: through experience. The reader has been with him during these experiences, too, and consequently has learned the same lessons.
Maybe you don't know the theme of your book. It is there, however. Try doing what I did: take the point of view of one of the characters and ask him or her: what have you learned? Their answer may very well surprise you, and lead you to the theme.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Writing is rewriting
Since last I posted here, Inhuman has continued to sell sporadically. It is an unusual book, I know. Maybe people can't handle the gore or the weirdness of getting into a killer's head. At this point, I'll consider publishing it as a public service, await its viral sweep through the publishing universe and try not to take it personally if said infection doesn't occur. Haven't heard word one from Joel Bernstein, and I'm tempted to stick my thumbs in my ears and wiggle my fingers at him, saying "neener neener neener." But that would be immature.
Instead of obsessing about Bernstein & Co., I have done the mature thing: written a new novel! After all, I am heart a humor writer, so this new book is for me a return to familiar territory. My first published novel was Echo Valley, a comedy. After that, there was the sequel, Huttle the Hero. The novel Deadlines, though a detective story set in the Pacific Northwest, is also, well, not a comedy, but breezy and funny. All are available for Kindle and Nook.
In any event, my new book, Secret Spy (working title) is a prequel (hate that word) to Echo Valley. Set in 1982 Los Angeles, Secret Spy is based very loosely on the case of an FBI agent who fell in love with a KGB agent, and to win her affection passed along to her some classified information.
Tom Huttle, the hero of Echo Valley is swept into the plot when he gets a job writing feature stories for the corporate magazine of a big insurance company. But, though TransCom Insurance is a legitimate insurance company, it is also a front company for the CIA, which uses it to re-introduce its compromised field agents to the real world of commerce and business. Tom has no idea that the people he's writing about are former spooks.
I won't spoil the plot, but before long the subjects of Tom's articles start being murdered, and Tom is believed to be the culprit. Meanwhile, the FBI agent becomes more and more deeply ensnared with the seductive KGB agent, both of whom suspect that Tom Huttle--completely oblivious to what is going around him--is a Master Spy.
So far, I've completed a first draft, 64,000 words and change.
I won't delve too deeply into the process of writing quite yet, but I started the book June 16, and I wrote almost every day. Weekly, with a break at Thanksgiving and Christmas, I presented a new chapter to a small group of writer friends, including the incomparable Deb Norton (www.debnortonwriting.com) who provided invaluable feedback. I incorporated all of their notes before proceeding to the next chapter.
Now is the fun part: rewriting. Secret Spy is my seventh novel. Though all of them are not published, I did learn a lot in writing them. Through the process of writing the novels, as well as many screenplays, teleplays, and short stories, I've developed a scheme for rewriting that I thought I'd share, in hopes others can benefit from what I've learned.
I didn't outline Secret Spy at all. Periodically, I'd write down some possible plot developments and such, but generally speaking I winged it and trusted--to employ a cliche--"the process." Not everyone is comfortable doing this, but I thought I had a strong enough premise, and strong enough characters, to let them take over the story. In fact, I love working this way because as the narrative develops, things start to occur that I never would have anticipated, and that keeps me interested.
The farther I got in the book, the clearer the characters and conflicts became. It was a wonderful experience.
And that leads to my first "Writing is Rewriting" Tip: Rewriting begins with the first draft.
How? Because, as you move along in the narrative, ideas will occur to you. Maybe you'll want to set your story in Dallas rather than Phoenix. But, if you go back and start changing the thousand and one references you made to Phoenix and environs, you might lose steam. It's best to simply make a note to yourself, and write it in ALL CAPS in the manuscript: "From now on, the story is set in Dallas." That helps you keep your momentum going.
Moving ahead helps you refine and develop your characters and your plot. Going back and fixing everything in the earlier portions of the work can get discouraging.
The best argument I can present for continuing to move forward is this: even if you have outlined your story to within an inch of its life, as you write, you learn more. Characters and conflicts become clearer. New ones arise. The plot unfolds. The theme emerges. Going back and revising too early is like living a life of regret. I've known too many people who wrote the first thirty pages of their book over. And over. And over. And over. They never finished because they were determined to get it right.
As the saying goes, "Don't get it right. Get it written."
Unlike in real life, fiction permits a "do-over." That's called rewriting. My step-by-step strategy in posts to follow.
Instead of obsessing about Bernstein & Co., I have done the mature thing: written a new novel! After all, I am heart a humor writer, so this new book is for me a return to familiar territory. My first published novel was Echo Valley, a comedy. After that, there was the sequel, Huttle the Hero. The novel Deadlines, though a detective story set in the Pacific Northwest, is also, well, not a comedy, but breezy and funny. All are available for Kindle and Nook.
In any event, my new book, Secret Spy (working title) is a prequel (hate that word) to Echo Valley. Set in 1982 Los Angeles, Secret Spy is based very loosely on the case of an FBI agent who fell in love with a KGB agent, and to win her affection passed along to her some classified information.
Tom Huttle, the hero of Echo Valley is swept into the plot when he gets a job writing feature stories for the corporate magazine of a big insurance company. But, though TransCom Insurance is a legitimate insurance company, it is also a front company for the CIA, which uses it to re-introduce its compromised field agents to the real world of commerce and business. Tom has no idea that the people he's writing about are former spooks.
I won't spoil the plot, but before long the subjects of Tom's articles start being murdered, and Tom is believed to be the culprit. Meanwhile, the FBI agent becomes more and more deeply ensnared with the seductive KGB agent, both of whom suspect that Tom Huttle--completely oblivious to what is going around him--is a Master Spy.
So far, I've completed a first draft, 64,000 words and change.
I won't delve too deeply into the process of writing quite yet, but I started the book June 16, and I wrote almost every day. Weekly, with a break at Thanksgiving and Christmas, I presented a new chapter to a small group of writer friends, including the incomparable Deb Norton (www.debnortonwriting.com) who provided invaluable feedback. I incorporated all of their notes before proceeding to the next chapter.
Now is the fun part: rewriting. Secret Spy is my seventh novel. Though all of them are not published, I did learn a lot in writing them. Through the process of writing the novels, as well as many screenplays, teleplays, and short stories, I've developed a scheme for rewriting that I thought I'd share, in hopes others can benefit from what I've learned.
I didn't outline Secret Spy at all. Periodically, I'd write down some possible plot developments and such, but generally speaking I winged it and trusted--to employ a cliche--"the process." Not everyone is comfortable doing this, but I thought I had a strong enough premise, and strong enough characters, to let them take over the story. In fact, I love working this way because as the narrative develops, things start to occur that I never would have anticipated, and that keeps me interested.
The farther I got in the book, the clearer the characters and conflicts became. It was a wonderful experience.
And that leads to my first "Writing is Rewriting" Tip: Rewriting begins with the first draft.
How? Because, as you move along in the narrative, ideas will occur to you. Maybe you'll want to set your story in Dallas rather than Phoenix. But, if you go back and start changing the thousand and one references you made to Phoenix and environs, you might lose steam. It's best to simply make a note to yourself, and write it in ALL CAPS in the manuscript: "From now on, the story is set in Dallas." That helps you keep your momentum going.
Moving ahead helps you refine and develop your characters and your plot. Going back and fixing everything in the earlier portions of the work can get discouraging.
The best argument I can present for continuing to move forward is this: even if you have outlined your story to within an inch of its life, as you write, you learn more. Characters and conflicts become clearer. New ones arise. The plot unfolds. The theme emerges. Going back and revising too early is like living a life of regret. I've known too many people who wrote the first thirty pages of their book over. And over. And over. And over. They never finished because they were determined to get it right.
As the saying goes, "Don't get it right. Get it written."
Unlike in real life, fiction permits a "do-over." That's called rewriting. My step-by-step strategy in posts to follow.
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