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More From Moving from Idea to Draft

Photograph of a discarded dolphin toy.
Discovered in San Francisco on morning.
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?

photo of a beachPossible 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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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."

~K. Richardson

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On Clarion and Privilege and the Internets

Neil Gaiman has been catching a lot of flack for this tweet.

a tweet by Nail Gaiman

People are, understandably, saying that the equation clarion + student = pro writer is not the only way you can reach that particular sum, and they are absolutely correct, although the drama is — as is often the case on the Internet — a bit hyperbolic.

This is the fact of F&SF (and any other genre) writing — there are writers disadvantaged by gender, or race, or sexuality or other physical circumstances. But there’s also a big group — which contains a disproportionate number of those differing physically — affected by economic issues.

Here are two simple facts:

  • If you have the economic means to attend a workshop like Clarion West, Clarion, Kevin J. Anderson’s Superstars, the workshops given by Kris Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith, etc, it can give you a career advantage, primarily in terms of forming a support network of peers, although there are a number of other plusses. The degree of advantage depends on both luck and how willing you are to make the most of the time at the workshop.
  • If you have the economics means to attend a convention, it can give you a career advantage, primarily in terms of industry contacts. The degree of advantage depends on both luck and how willing you are to make the most of the time at the convention.

But there is nothing being taught at a workshop that you cannot pick up by yourself, given time, though it is true that workshop teaching can often be inspirational, effective, and sometimes entirely life-changing.

Being able to attend a convention or workshop is not just a matter of being able to pay the substantial fee. It’s being able to travel and most importantly — it’s being able to take time away from both work and family. That’s an incredible privilege.

I came through Clarion West in 2005. My instructors were (in chronological order) Octavia Butler, Andy Duncan, L. Timmel DuChamp, Connie Willis, Gordon Van Gelder, and Michael Swanwick. I am a pretty convivial person, and remain close friends with the majority of my instructors. I also was part of a talented class that included E.C. Myers (winner of the Andre Norton Award for his book Fair Coin), Rachel Swirsky (frequent nominee and winner of things) and goddamn Ann Leckie, whose Ancillary series has set the bar for success so high the rest of us are just going, “Yeah right.”

I was able to do this because I had a partner willing to let me quit my job and try writing for a while. A decade later, I have yet to make half of what my Microsoft salary was through writing; I continue to persevere. If I had a family to support, it would have been incredibly difficult to do it — perhaps simply impossible. It gave me an advantage, and it also kicked me in the ass to be productive, because I was intensely aware of just how lucky I was.

Neil is — obviously — not saying you can’t be a writer without such a workshop. Note that Gaiman himself did not go to such a workshop, as far as I know. He is, though, enthused about the workshop (as befits a former instructor) and aware of what a big advantage it can prove.

But it also depends on what you make of it. In any class there will be those who persevere and those who fall by the wayside. Of the people in my writing workshop from decades ago at Hopkins, only a handful are still writing. Ten years later, a few members of my Clarion West class seem to have dropped off the face of the planet.

You have to want it hard enough to work for it, no matter what. You have to be willing to make time for writing words down and thinking about the order and what happens when you rearrange them. You have to have a hide hard enough to survive the day when there’s three rejections plus a nice fan letter whose writer is confused and thinks you’re someone else with a similar name. You have to be willing to trim away some bullshit activities and substitute stuff that lets you work at your craft, like reading or taking online classes or whatever. That’s the part you need.

A while back, I read someone saying that we all have someone who gives us permission to call ourselves a writer. For me, it was John Barth: sitting in his sunlit Hopkins office, a bookcase framing his smiling, balding head talking about my stories and a fellowship he wanted me to apply for is something I will always remember. But that is less important than giving yourself permission to call yourself a writer. It’s harder — it requires a certain amount of adamant ego and determination — but that permission can — and must — come from inside as well as externally. That’s the most important component, and you can do it with or without the aid of a workshop.

TL;DR version? Ain’t nothing going to substitute for hard work. Why aren’t you writing?

Later addendum: Most of the workshops do offer some scholarships; if there’s one you’re interested in, I do suggest asking about what financial aid is available.

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WIP Teaser: Her Windowed Eyes, Her Chambered Heart

Image of story notes
Example from a different story showing the first notes made when plotting out "Rappacini's Crow." Not every detail here got used, but the notes helped me keep fleshing out the idea until I was ready to write it.
Here’s a snippet from what I’ve been working on today. Peeps who attended the Plotting class yesterday (which was AWESOME) – this is the steampunk horror story that I showed you the initial notes for.

A frenzy of fretwork adorned the house’s facade, but it was splintery, paint peeling in long shaggy spirals that fuzzed the puzzled outlines. The left side drooped like the face of a stroke victim, windows staring blindly out, cataracted with the dusty remnants of curtains.

Marshall Artemus Smith thought that it would have given a human man the chills. He glanced back at Elspeth to see how she was taking, but her face was chiseled and resolute as a fireman’s axe.

“You all right?”

She swabbed at her forehead with a bare forearm, leaving streaks of dark wet dirt. “Thank your lucky stars you don’t feel the heat,” she rasped.

Hot indeed if enough to irritate her into mentioning that. He chose to ignore it.

The house sagged amid slumping cottonwoods, clusters of low-lying groves, their leaves indifferent ovals of green and pale brown. Three stories, and above that, two cupolas thrust upward into the sky, imploring, the left one tilted at an angle.

His spurs jingled as he clanked up the front steps. His eyes ratcheted over the scene for clues, but it was clear that their fugitive had entered by the front door, which hung a few inches ajar.

Wood creaked under Elspeth’s slower treads. “This was his mother’s house,” she said.

She’d gone over the files meticulously as always, then summed up the details for him as they’d ridden along. He ticked through them in his head.
“The scientist?”

“Angeline Pinkney, yes. She helped discover how to harness phlogiston. They had her working on the war effort till she was dying of rotlung. Then she retired out here and lasted another two years.”

Phlogiston, the most precious material in the world, capable of fueling marvelous machines like himself. He carried a scraping of it, small as a fingernail clipping, deep in his midsection. Once a year, it was replaced, but it was valuable enough that he’d had people try to kill him for it before.

So far none had succeeded.

Enjoy this sample of Cat’s writing and want more of it on a weekly basis, along with insights into process, recipes, photos of Taco Cat, chances to ask Cat (or Taco) questions, discounts on and news of new classes, and more? Support her on Patreon..

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