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Nov. 17th, 2018 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_rckWhen I write fiction, I tend to wander into the story with a single question or sentence or situation and then see where the words go. Sometimes, I know the ending I'm aiming for; sometimes, I don't. Many times, I discover that something I was sure would be in the story just doesn't fit with the rest of what I've discovered and/or put together.
My metaphors for writing tend to run from some sort of archaeological (or paleontological) dig to cooking to the creation of a mosaic.
The first is how I feel that I find the story. Some of the excavation is delicate and slow, brush and sieve work, and some of it involves pickaxes, and I always have to decide where to dig and which bits I think are important and belong together. Some fragments I find early only make sense with other bits that I find much later on. Some don't end up on display in the final work but are real parts of the greater story nevertheless.
The intermediate stage, I tend to think of as stewing. It's not fermenting or baking (I've heard other people use those metaphors, and I get why, but the ideas don't fit for my process). This is simply dumping a bunch of things in a pot together, letting them simmer, and then seeing if the flavors blended properly and if all of the potatoes cooked.
I just have an easier time adjusting the ingredients of a story than I do the ingredients in anything I cook. Would it be better with ginger or without dill? Are the carrots something that won't be appreciated by the person the stew is for? I can make those changes without needing to throw out everything else and start over. Nobody has to eat whatever came from mixing spicy mustard with cardamom in order not to waste the ingredients.
That stewing step might be why I write series with several branches-- I find different versions that work and want to serve them all up for others to taste.
The last metaphor, the mosaic building, is more how I construct the story with the words as tesserae. Each one isn't much, but they combine for particular effect/impact. Color, shape, texture, and proximity all matter in that direction. Sentence structure matters, too, and paragraphing. Ideally, it all carries the reader toward particular focal points, usually emotional, in the story.
I'm not a writer who goes for surprises/twists in the story as a goal. I want the story to work on a character logic and emotional logic level more than I do on a plot logic level. I want things that happen to feel organic, as if they're inevitable outgrowths of things in canon or earlier in my story. I'm not trying to out-clever my readers, and if I do twist the story, it will be more of an altered angle that recontextualizes than a 'Ha! Bet you didn't see that coming!' because, if readers don't feel like they actually could have seen it coming, I'm Doing It Wrong.
When I branch, it's usually not a change in who the characters are. It may be a difference in their choices or in the outside forces that come to bear, but it's not the characters because I want to see how those particular people respond in the altered circumstances. If I change who the characters are between one story and the next, I won't consider them as the same continuity.
Sometimes, I end up doing massive world building simply in order to make some character choice or external event plausible enough that I can work with it. Z requires the whole alphabet leading up to it, and whether or not it goes into the story, I need to know that stuff. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons my stories are seldom short-- I have to find the firm footing I need.
The fact that that world building could crumble under me is probably a reason why I tend to write things with-- How to put it? --small sets. If I keep the focus tight, there's less chance that I'm going to include something that will either break the story or send me off on a tangent of explanation.
I also tend to limit things because I'm kind of terrible at visual description and at figuring out where to wedge it in. I really don't care if my characters are hanging out in a featureless void because I'm mostly interested in the insides of their heads.
If you're reading something I've written and hit a descriptive passage, the chances are that a beta reader poked me with a sharp stick and then pointed to a paragraph and said, "There. Describe that there." When I read, I tend to skip over description unless it's extremely well integrated with the rest of the text. My mind treats most description as static, null signal. I'm working on that, but I suspect that I'm not going to manage much change.
My metaphors for writing tend to run from some sort of archaeological (or paleontological) dig to cooking to the creation of a mosaic.
The first is how I feel that I find the story. Some of the excavation is delicate and slow, brush and sieve work, and some of it involves pickaxes, and I always have to decide where to dig and which bits I think are important and belong together. Some fragments I find early only make sense with other bits that I find much later on. Some don't end up on display in the final work but are real parts of the greater story nevertheless.
The intermediate stage, I tend to think of as stewing. It's not fermenting or baking (I've heard other people use those metaphors, and I get why, but the ideas don't fit for my process). This is simply dumping a bunch of things in a pot together, letting them simmer, and then seeing if the flavors blended properly and if all of the potatoes cooked.
I just have an easier time adjusting the ingredients of a story than I do the ingredients in anything I cook. Would it be better with ginger or without dill? Are the carrots something that won't be appreciated by the person the stew is for? I can make those changes without needing to throw out everything else and start over. Nobody has to eat whatever came from mixing spicy mustard with cardamom in order not to waste the ingredients.
That stewing step might be why I write series with several branches-- I find different versions that work and want to serve them all up for others to taste.
The last metaphor, the mosaic building, is more how I construct the story with the words as tesserae. Each one isn't much, but they combine for particular effect/impact. Color, shape, texture, and proximity all matter in that direction. Sentence structure matters, too, and paragraphing. Ideally, it all carries the reader toward particular focal points, usually emotional, in the story.
I'm not a writer who goes for surprises/twists in the story as a goal. I want the story to work on a character logic and emotional logic level more than I do on a plot logic level. I want things that happen to feel organic, as if they're inevitable outgrowths of things in canon or earlier in my story. I'm not trying to out-clever my readers, and if I do twist the story, it will be more of an altered angle that recontextualizes than a 'Ha! Bet you didn't see that coming!' because, if readers don't feel like they actually could have seen it coming, I'm Doing It Wrong.
When I branch, it's usually not a change in who the characters are. It may be a difference in their choices or in the outside forces that come to bear, but it's not the characters because I want to see how those particular people respond in the altered circumstances. If I change who the characters are between one story and the next, I won't consider them as the same continuity.
Sometimes, I end up doing massive world building simply in order to make some character choice or external event plausible enough that I can work with it. Z requires the whole alphabet leading up to it, and whether or not it goes into the story, I need to know that stuff. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons my stories are seldom short-- I have to find the firm footing I need.
The fact that that world building could crumble under me is probably a reason why I tend to write things with-- How to put it? --small sets. If I keep the focus tight, there's less chance that I'm going to include something that will either break the story or send me off on a tangent of explanation.
I also tend to limit things because I'm kind of terrible at visual description and at figuring out where to wedge it in. I really don't care if my characters are hanging out in a featureless void because I'm mostly interested in the insides of their heads.
If you're reading something I've written and hit a descriptive passage, the chances are that a beta reader poked me with a sharp stick and then pointed to a paragraph and said, "There. Describe that there." When I read, I tend to skip over description unless it's extremely well integrated with the rest of the text. My mind treats most description as static, null signal. I'm working on that, but I suspect that I'm not going to manage much change.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-18 06:33 pm (UTC)I don't know what metaphor I'd use for my process. It just seems like the same process I use when I'm working LOL.
Prepare (outline, research, watch canon, etc)
Start drafting
Take breaks
Revise
I am so freaking boring. I can't even come up with a cool metaphor for my writing.