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  Oh, man, sometimes I am just amazed by my own cleverness, and by my modesty, too, of course. You see that headline up above? It would take a regular Leonardo DaVinci to... oh, wait, you figured it out? Yeah, it's kind of a dumb gimmick, and I guess that proves that I'm not above dumb gimmicks.

  But I do write backwards. For the very literal-minded, I don't mean that I... no... no one thinks that I mean it yllaretil. Here's what I mean: let's say I have a scene, or a character trait I particularly want to have in my book. In Secret Spy (still the working title), for example, I wanted the main character, Terrence Tillberry, to be munching a Hostess fruit pie.

I will digress and explain why I wanted this: First, the character on whom Tillberry is based was a real FBI agent. However, all I really know about him is that he had a girlfriend who was a KGB operative, and that he--and this is true--ate donuts and other junk food every day. His boss described him as "lunchie." I don't know if he ate Hostess products or not. I, however, DID eat Hostess fruit pies every day for lunch when I was a freshman in high school. They're repulsive to me now, but I thought I could bring credible sensory detail to the myriad pleasures of consuming them.

Okay, so I have Tillberry eating a cherry-flavored Hostess fruit pie. Great! But then I started to ask, "Why?" This ultimately developed into an entire back story about Terrence as a young boy: When he was about to start seventh grade, he felt very insecure. He confided in his beloved Uncle Martin, who counseled him to start lifting weights. Martin was also a Special Agent for the FBI, and because of Uncle Martin's example, Terrence is inspired to become and FBI agent himself.

But why, I asked, did he start eating Hostess products? Well, how about if he had an aversion to going to lunch? Why would that happen? Well, what if there was a particularly traumatic event that happened in the FBI dining room? What would have happened? Well, how about if he is embarrassed for some reason? Who would embarrass him? His boss might embarrass him. What would his boss do or say to embarrass him? His boss might ridicule him. What would his boss ridicule him for? How about if his boss accuses him of being the beneficiary of favoritism? Remember, Terrence's Uncle Martin was in the FBI.

As you can see--and if you can't, I'll just tell you--the entire process of developing Terrence's story was one of asking questions, and then answering them, and it all started with "Why would an FBI agent eat a Hostess fruit pie?" Each question prompted multiple answers, and more questions, and as each question was asked and answered, Terrence got more real, and more interesting.

The novelist John Rechy, under whom I studied at USC's Master of Professional Writing program, said that "writers ask questions, and get answers." It's really as simple as that, and (drumroll for the approaching irony) as complex. That is, the bigger the question, the deeper the answer in terms of how it will influence your characters, their motivations, and the plot of the book itself. My first novel, Echo Valley, really started because I wanted to have a scene in which Tom Huttle, the protagonist, emerges, dressed in tin foil, from the back of a burning garbage truck that has just flown through the air. Now, this was a somewhat more difficult question to answer than, "Why would an FBI agent eat a Hostess fruit pie?" However, it led to the same type of question-and-answer sequence, and in ways far too complex to explain right now, became the spine of the entire plot of Echo Valley, which is about Tom Huttle's misadventures as he writes a book called Garbage.

So, as for the advice portion of our program: if you have a scene that springs to mind, by all means, write it! You may not know precisely where it might ultimately fit in your book, and perhaps you don't know what it means. That's okay. Ask yourself, and then answer the question.

Oh, by the way, in a craven effort to draw readers to this blog, I'll always put nude in the labels field. I have nothing against nudity, by the way, though typically don't practice it in a public setting. Now I can put public nudity in the labels field, too. I am that diabolical.

Coincidence, and planning

In the final chapters of Secret Spy, many loose ends must be tied up. The best way to take care of one of them was for one of the character's cars to catch fire.

Others who read the chapter said that this felt like a handy coincidence. Cars do catch fire, it's true. But when that fire drives some of the narrative in a particular direction that is desirable for the writer, and doesn't seem rooted in the story, then the reader feels manipulated.

But this problem was easy to solve: all I needed to do was weave into earlier portions of the story some hint that the car has a problem: a funny smell, a small mechanical flaw. Then, when the fire occurs, the reader will look back on the previous "hints" that something was amiss, and think, "Oh, that makes perfect sense! I should have seen that coming."

That sense that they "should have seen it coming" is a very good one to instill in the reader because it makes them feel as though they are in able hands: you as the writer have been able to insert just enough information to assure that everything feels logical, but you haven't put in so much that the plot is predictable. "Oh! I knew that car was going to blow up 60 pages ago. Finally!"

I wonder if aversion to coincidence  has a certain resonance to real life, as indicated by sayings such as  "everything works out for the best," and "there is no such thing as a coincidence." Perhaps this sense that stories all cohere is an iteration of the human drive to look at the events in one's life--or, indeed, of history or civilization itself--and be able to say, "Yes, I can see the pattern now, and it all makes sense. It couldn't have happened any other way." Of course, "it" definitely could have happened in a multitude of "other ways." There are no guarantees in life at all. Maybe the ending of a book is like the ending of a life, except you get a do-over. How nice.

I suppose this might branch into discussion of multiple dimensions, or multiple universes, or an analysis of reality, but I'll leave that to much smarter people. My goal is to avoid writing plot points that just serve my purposes, and are not sufficiently rooted in the reality of the story.

Method & Madness

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.