My Theories About Series and Self-Publishing

Having finished up the big April projects, one of the main things I want to get accomplished this month is getting the on-demand version of the Moving From Idea to Draft online writing class up along with the existing on-demand classes.

This has proven a somewhat monumental task, because the needs of the on-demand version are very different than those of the live class. In the live workshops, which are limited to eight students, everyone comes in with a two-three sentence description of their idea, and we work from there, adapting the material to what they’ve brought into class.

For the on-demand version, I started by trying to identify all the different ways there are into a story, a number that fluctuates in the realm of two dozen, depending on how finely I want to draw distinctions.

What I’ve done with each possible path is identify what it is, what it gives you as a starting point, things you will want to consider, possible pitfalls, next steps for fleshing it out, and a set of exercises (with basic and overachievers’ versions) to help explore the starting point. I finish, in what I am still worried may be an excessively egotistic move, by providing a story of mine that started in that way and some notes on its development from the starting point.

Here’s a recently finished example from the section on beginning with various fragments, specifically where to go when all you have is a scene and you’re not sure where it goes in the story (as opposed to knowing the beginning or ending of the story, which I cover separately).

What it is:

A scene is usually a moment in time that has come to you. It usually has strong visual elements, and something is usually happening, such as a battle, or has just happened in it (a battlefield after the fighting is done). It is probably something that would appear at a significant moment of a story and not be peripheral to it.

What it gives you:

• Everything but the plot. But actually, that’s not true. What is the main source of tension in the scene, what is the conflict that is driving things? That is probably a version of the overall plot.
• A scene gives you a strong slice of the world and all that is implicit in that, including history and culture.
• If characters are included in your scene, they are usually doing or have just done something more purposeful than just milling about. You have some sense of their occupation, their economic circumstances, and often some nuances of their relationship.

What you need to think about:

• Why would this scene matter? As noted earlier, it’s something that is significant to the story. Does it appear near the beginning and spark things into motion, or does it appear at the end and sum up the action of the story?
• What are the circumstances behind the scene? If it’s a visual splendor, there is usually some technology or magic underlying it and creating it.
• What is the context in which it’s being viewed? Who is seeing it and why are they there?
• What is striking about the image to you and how can you best convey that to a reader?

Possible pitfalls:

• Is your scene just some sort of natural vista? That’s going to be hard to develop something from. In that case, think about what might make that vista unusual or unexpected.
• Make it more than just a pretty picture. Something has to happen in a story and moments where there is just description slow narrative down drastically. If the camera is lingering on something, make it something riveting. Use interesting and lively verbs as well as paying attention to sentence length and paragraphing in order to counteract the slowing of the motion.

Possible next steps:

• Consider the viewpoint. Who is seeing the scene? What is their relationship to it? What do they know about it and what questions do they have about it?
• Write the accompanying dialogue. What’s being said in the scene, and why does it matter? Who is speaking and why?
• The moment may be brief or extended; generally the longer it lasts, the more it gives you. Think about what happens immediately before and after the scene that you have; should some of that be included in the story?

Exercises:

1. Sometimes it’s helpful to expand the idea of the visual. How might you convey this scene in a graphic novel? Write it out as though it were a script. Overachievers: Write the entire story this way.
2. Describe same scene with two different moods, preferably ones as different from each other as they can be, such as a joyous description of the scene versus a saddened or enraged one. Overachievers: Expand to 3-4 moods and/or combine several moods in a single description.
3. Construct a mirror scene, a second scene in which many elements of the first are repeated, but different actions take place. Overachievers: Figure out where in the story your scene takes place and put your scene in a spot that would balance it in the story. For example, if your story is at the beginning, create one at the end, or vice versa. (If it falls in the middle, create something at either the beginning or end, but contemplate making the task even more complicated by doing both.)

Case study: Magnificent Pigs

For me the story “Magnificent Pigs” began with an image of its final scene, with the pigs flying away bearing Jilly’s bed into the night. Once I had that, I knew she was important, but also that she was not the protagonist. That would be whoever was watching her fly away into the night, which turned out to be her brother.

“Magnificent Pigs” is a good example of how, once you have a scene, you can begin to accrete details that flesh the story out. I had read about a recent art project that involved tattooing pigs; this became the way that they acquire their wings. A trip to the tattoo parlor with my friend Kris, who was getting a tattoo, lent some details for verisimilitude, and on the way back as we were discussing the story, she told me the anecdote about her mother telling her Charlotte was always alive in the book in order to console her (and gave me permission to use it in the story). To me, that’s a lovely little note, because of course it has a parallel — Jilly will also always be alive in the story.

This is an early story, which appeared in Strange Horizons, and was one of my SFWA qualifying sales. It appeared in audio form on Podcastle and inspired one of my favorite reviews, in which the reviewer talks about driving along with tears streaming down their face because they were listening to this story. That’s a heady thing for a writer and remains something I cherish.

Later edit: the class is now done and available online! Find it here.

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A scene from early on, illustrating one of the dangers of the wilds near Tabat: parasitic fairy bites.

The next morning, Teo did not like the priest’s look. His hands were clammy but his face was red as though with blushes. His forehead under Teo’s hand was scorching hot. After a few minutes of hesitation, Teo examined the spot he thought might be a Fairy bite.

His suspicions were confirmed by the lump that lay under the surface. He’d seen the alta treat such injuries. That would be best if she did it, but he didn’t think there was time enough for that. The parasite would grow and begin to control its host’s nervous system, making it little more than an empty shell, moving about to suit the creature’s needs, until the fairy was finally born. It would not emerge from the wound that shifted under Teo’s fingers. No, it would burrow deep, then upward, till it found itself in its host’s brain, which it would devour until sated. Once it was ready, it would eat its way out through his eyes or the soft tissues of his mouth. No, it would have to be removed now, before it burrowed any deeper.

He built the fire as high as it would go, and put the wineskin from the priest’s pack to the side near it, where it could warm without burning. He took the tiny kettle and filled it with water before sifting in the mixture of dried fish and tea that was the last of the priest’s chal; this far on the journey, he’d nearly run out, and he’d confided in Teo that he was saving it for some special occasion, but it was the most sustaining and easily fed to a patient thing that Teo could find in the pack. For what he had in mind would definitely require sustaining.

He had not seen it done, but he had listened to stories. Everyone was taught the signs of a fairy bite early on, and what to do if caught away from the village with one.

He prayed the priest would stay asleep during the operation. That would make things easier. But as his knife poised above the mark, Grave’s eyes opened.

“I have to do this,” Teo said to him, afraid that the priest would take this as some attempt to escape. “You have a Fairy egg in you, and I need to take it out before it hatches and starts eating inward.”

Grave’s lids fluttered, but he said nothing. His forehead was red with fever, and Teo wondered if the man even saw him. How would he react when he felt the cut of the knife? Would he thrash around, or think himself attacked and attack Teo in turn? He hesitated, not sure what he should do.

The words were barely audible, like a breath of breeze escaping the priest’s dry lips. “Give me something to bite on, first,” he whispered. “I do not wish to crack a tooth as well.”

Teo took a piece of leather and rolled it into a tight cigar, putting it sideways between the priest’s lips. “This will hurt,” he warned, and felt the words’ foolishness as soon as they left his mouth. Of course the priest knew that this would hurt, otherwise he would not have asked for something to bite down on during the operation. Teo took his own deep breath, steeling himself, and cut.

It was not a simple job. Blood welled up in the cut, obscuring the flesh, and Teo had to keep pouring water over it to clear it, eliciting a hiss of pain from the priest each time. But otherwise he remained silent, jaws clenched around the piece of leather.

Gently Teo sluiced the wound again as he peered into it. There. As gently as he could, he eased the knife’s tip into the dark spot he could see. The flesh resisted for a moment “” he should have sharpened the knife even more beforehand “” before giving way with a tiny, delicate pop. The priest inhaled raggedly.

That would kill the egg, perhaps, but it was not enough. Left inside, the creature would rot and the flesh around it would follow its example until the priest would have to face the same choice Futu once had: to have the limb cut away or die.

Carefully, carefully, he used the thin tip to open the egg. Clear fluid drained out, and then there was something struggling at the end of the knife blade, bumble-bee big, fighting to preserve itself and burrow further.

He jammed the tip into it. Muscles spasmed in the priest’s face but he remained rigidly still. Teo hooked the loathsome thing out and took no time to contemplate it as it hung mewling and wailing on the end. He flung it into the fire as quick as thought and with a last whimper it curled into ash.

He washed the wound once more with water, checking to make sure there were no more traces of the creature. Then, taking the wineskin from where it lay near the fire, he directed the hot wine across the flesh to keep it from putrefaction. Tendons of agony twisted in Grave’s face; when Teo took the leather from between his lips, he saw that it had been bitten almost entirely through.

He took needle and thread from the priest’s kit and took four careful stitches in the skin, tying it back together to close that painful looking mouth of flesh. All the time the priest was silent and still.