When I was in 5th grade, Mr. Dilworth used to dump my desk on the floor at least once a week – paper, notes, pencils and books heaped at my feet. I didn’t organize my desk the way he thought I should, and this was his way of making me toe his line. Well, it didn’t work. Aside from scaring the bejeezus out of me, his methods confused me and I lost things. The moral of this story is that everyone needs to organize the way it works for her. Anne and I are polar opposites when it comes to working styles, but we both have structures that allow us to manage our writing.
Anne is a master of structure and organization. She writes outlines to die for, researches thoroughly, and organizes her notes before she writes. Her house always looks good too.
I am more of a nester, happily building my piles of notes and drafts until they surround me with a comfortable quilt of ideas and paper. Aaahhh. Everything right there where I can see it and put my fingers on it. A few coffee stains are simply the seasoning for fine ideas. And my house…well, it’s better since the kids grew up.
But style should not be confused with sloppy organization. Anne and I both spend serious time ensuring our prep work and the structure of the story keep things moving. There are two parts to that – the internal plan of the work which is mostly evident when it falters (Anne discussed this quite elegantly) and the external handling of large files that contain a myriad of ideas and scenes. When that falls apart, scenes are lost and rewrites vanish. It’s an ugly place to be – I know because it has happened to me, once when notes were lost and again when a computer crashed. It felt like Mr. Dilworth had gotten into my cyberspace!
As a result, I have built a straight-forward system for managing my files which protects me from the vagaries of space, time and déja vu.
First, I like color coding and compartmentalizing. I buy colored file folders and I sort my hand-written and printed notes according to subject with specific colors for each topic. For example, landscape plays a large part in my writing, so research on flora and fauna goes into (surprise!) a green folder. My new computer allows me to color code files on my desktop, so those are also coordinated. Books are tagged with color-coded post-it notes. I will have literally hundreds of articles and snippets of research before I am finished a manuscript, so this at-a-glance system is critical.
And where to put the files when they are not actually in use? The all-over-the-floor storage worked for me until I produced children and acquired affectionate dogs with muddy feet. I bought a clear plastic file box that sits beside my desk and holds the files for the project-in-progress. A second tub lives under the printer table with the projects that are in waiting. Completed work goes into a traditional filing cabinet. The kids are grown up, but the dogs still have muddy feet, so the system stays.
My outlines are mostly a few pages of scribbles and then I write. This means I also rewrite a lot. Sometimes the next great idea isn’t so great after all, so I want the old version. To keep my drafts accessible, I copy files and rename them numerically or by date, saving every version and working ahead on the latest document until I want to try yet another direction or idea. Usually I end up with between 15 and 25 saved drafts for any one book. I print about every fifty pages or so, only reprinting anything that is radically new. Documents are saved every few days on a flash drive or disk, and emailed to a separate account where they reside in cyberspace.
As I write, my characters and story lines become more complex. No matter how absorbed I am in this alternate reality, I can’t remember all the bits and pieces. So, I create tables and charts either on my computer or across large sheets of paper that are pinned to my bulletin boards. Everything at a glance.
And organizing this stuff doesn’t even have anything to do with the story! But it builds the bridge between the wandering dream and physical world. Only the one who creates the bridge knows what went into the supports that hold it up.
f & f
Susan
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Long Division
For some reason, which I'm sure was brilliant at the time; I decided not to divide the first draft of my historical novel into chapters. I would simply write, I thought, and worry about it later.
Well, it's later now. And I have one honking big file; 30,000 words and counting, chockfull of white spaces, post-it notes, and hand-written reminders; all clamouring for attention and a place of their own.
What's that expression "all great plans..."?
When I wrote juvenile mysteries, published length roughly 132 pages, I would hang my story on a twelve-chapter grid. Each chapter was within a page length of the other and ended with a setup for the next. Maybe two or three scenes per chapter, limited point-of-view – I was writing for eight to 12-year-olds -- and it felt very comfortable. Four months' planning, five months writing, nine months later, you've got a book.
Not so easy writing for the grownups. The plot is far more complex than anything I've ever written before, there are multiple subplots, secondary characters who insist on hogging centre stage, and my timeline is, shall we say, somewhat complicated.
But before I go into panic mode and start divvying everything up into chapters, I'm going to apply a few lessons learned from my grade-thirteen math teacher. Mr. Schofield was calm, he was logical, and he taught us how to analyze a problem and break it down into manageable parts.
That honking big file of mine is about to become five.
Part I will include the prologue and everything leading up to the end of Act I which is where my first turning-point occurs. (A turning point is usually described as that point in the story where the character makes a decision from which there is no "turning" back.)
Act II will begin with Part II and carry on through Parts III and IV and end with the final turning point in our story. By now I should have wrapped up my subplots, and be heading for the resolution of my main storyline. Part V will incorporate all of Act III which, in my case, includes an epilogue.
Nothing fancy but, if all goes according to plan, my five-part structure should see me through this draft and into the next which will, of course, include chapters.
My creative writing teacher might not approve, but Mr. Schofield would be proud. And that's good enough for me.
f & f Anne
For some reason, which I'm sure was brilliant at the time; I decided not to divide the first draft of my historical novel into chapters. I would simply write, I thought, and worry about it later.
Well, it's later now. And I have one honking big file; 30,000 words and counting, chockfull of white spaces, post-it notes, and hand-written reminders; all clamouring for attention and a place of their own.
What's that expression "all great plans..."?
When I wrote juvenile mysteries, published length roughly 132 pages, I would hang my story on a twelve-chapter grid. Each chapter was within a page length of the other and ended with a setup for the next. Maybe two or three scenes per chapter, limited point-of-view – I was writing for eight to 12-year-olds -- and it felt very comfortable. Four months' planning, five months writing, nine months later, you've got a book.
Not so easy writing for the grownups. The plot is far more complex than anything I've ever written before, there are multiple subplots, secondary characters who insist on hogging centre stage, and my timeline is, shall we say, somewhat complicated.
But before I go into panic mode and start divvying everything up into chapters, I'm going to apply a few lessons learned from my grade-thirteen math teacher. Mr. Schofield was calm, he was logical, and he taught us how to analyze a problem and break it down into manageable parts.
That honking big file of mine is about to become five.
Part I will include the prologue and everything leading up to the end of Act I which is where my first turning-point occurs. (A turning point is usually described as that point in the story where the character makes a decision from which there is no "turning" back.)
Act II will begin with Part II and carry on through Parts III and IV and end with the final turning point in our story. By now I should have wrapped up my subplots, and be heading for the resolution of my main storyline. Part V will incorporate all of Act III which, in my case, includes an epilogue.
Nothing fancy but, if all goes according to plan, my five-part structure should see me through this draft and into the next which will, of course, include chapters.
My creative writing teacher might not approve, but Mr. Schofield would be proud. And that's good enough for me.
f & f Anne
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