In keeping with my Monday posts being what I’m working on, we’re taking a break from The Labyrinth. I enjoyed the story to a point and saw more and more flaws in my craft specific to the story over the past month.
Okay, put it down. Give my brain a chance to clear itself so the story can come through.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one of those authors who believes I’m suppose to have god-like authority and control over my creations. I prefer to see where things go and give nudges when I notice things going radically out of control (usually because I’m not paying attention).
In The Labyrinth‘s case, I wanted the story to go one way and that got in the way of the story going where it had to go. Recognizing this, time to stop so the story can find its way out.
Since then I’ve done (yet another) radical rewrite of The Absolute Limit of Sound which, evidently, I’ve never shared here. I’ll be asking for first readers in this month’s newsletter.
I ended up going through my “slush pile.”
“Slush pile” is a term borrowed from the days of USPS submissions. Stories would come in “over the transom” from unknown writers and end up in a pile handed to the newbiest of newbie first readers. Any story which made it past that first reader then went to a second reader and sometimes a third reader.
Stories which made it through that gauntlet went to the editor for a final decision – publication or rejection – if not already rejected by readers 1, 2, or 3.
Speaking of slush piles, over-the-transom submissions, and readers 1, 2, and 3, there’s an interested Harlan Ellison anecdote about same.
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In the case on my Monday postings, you’ll be getting Letters to Donna for a while. No idea how long.
My big question is, am I on to something here? I know what I’m going for. Among other things, I know it’s time for my craft to grow (considerably). I’m a bit stuck in a self-created mold and I know (believe) I need to break it.
Letters to Donna seems like a place to start.
Do let me know what yout think.
I miss you.
Can you believe that I almost put an address on this?
Can you believe that I really had a lot I wanted to say(write) to you? I guess things have gotten dim with time. I had to drive to Burlington today. Business trip.
Damn. I really don’t know what to say right now. Too late, I guess. I could rationalize and say that I am writing you a letter to make use of this new word processor. I would rather be honest and say that I am writing because you are so much like me, and I need to communicate to one of my own right now.
I really do miss you.
Pax.
My challenge with the above is the conflict and tension – something I strongly believe needs to be right up front in an opening paragraph/sentence, is subtle.
Is it too subtle? We open with “I miss you,” which is a reasonable start unless the reader has never had the experience of wanting someone. We then go into the narrator demonstrating confusion regarding their own purpose in writing to “Donna.”
Confusion is a good thing in a story, provided the confusion is in the story and not in the reader. Confused readers, bad writing. Readers reading about a confused character, good writing because most people have had periods of confusion in their lives and are always seeking help ending their confusion, hence they’ll read on to learn how a given character ends their confusion in case they can apply the same methods in their own lives.
A note on confused readers. Readers so confused by a plot or writing they scratch their heads and grow upset with the work, bad. Readers who know they’ve been given all the clues to figure something out and need to read more to find out if they’ve got it or not, good.
Going back to the work at hand, the clincher is “…I am writing because you are so much like me, and I need to communicate to one of my own right now.”
Okay, now we have it. The narrator feels isolated (for whatever reason, another emotion or state of being most people have experienced, hence a good thing in a story) and is reaching out to Donna because she is so much like him.
How? In what way?
“…and I need to communicate to one of my own right now.”
Wham, bam, shaboomy.
The narrator is isolated because of some unique difference not intuitively obvious to the casual observer – he’s travelling on business – yet unique enough others like him know of each other and seek each other out.
Not monumental, earth-shattering conflict and tension, just a hint. A subtlety.
Hence my question; Is it enough to make you want to read Part 2?
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