Inspired

First off: We put the first chapter of A Tale of Two Castles up on my website. Click here to read it: http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/tcas_prev.html. And click here for the cool book trailer that HarperCollins created: http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/video/tcas_trailer.mov. If you have trouble opening it, you can also watch it on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK05DTpbOn8.

Also new on the website, we added first chapters to three other of my books, Dave at Night, Fairest, and Writing Magic. We hope to have the rest available soon.

And, if you click here, http://www.gailcarsonlevine.com/news.html you’ll see the latest photograph of puppy Reggie, who grows more adorable every day, in our opinion. And housebreaking is starting to take. Whoopee!

February 20, 2011 Piper wrote, ...where do you get your inspiration?

I don’t think of myself  as an inspired writer so much as one who plugs away, so when I use the word in the post, I’m not certain I’m using it in the way inspiration is commonly used or even that I’m answering the question, but here’s hoping.

That concern aside, my inspiration for being a writer is my childhood reading. Reading ranked just below breathing in importance when I was little. Privacy was in short supply in our cramped apartment. I shared a bedroom with my older sister, who believed I had been created to plague her. Books pulled down the walls that confined me. The ones I read as a child made me a writer for children. I still love to read, but reading isn’t as important to me now as it was then.

The books I attached to were mostly old: Louisa May Alcott’s novels, L. M. Montgomery’s, Heidi, Bambi, Black Beauty, Peter Pan. I relished books about Robin Hood and King Arthur, tall tales, and of course fairy tales. If I liked a book I read it over and over. Through my favorite books and rereading them I absorbed a sense of plot, character, language, even grammar and usage. The old books didn’t limit their vocabulary to what a child would know. What a gift!

When I write, I’m writing for my younger self, which is probably my most fundamental and continuing inspiration.

There are certainly writers for children, however, who weren’t big readers when they were small, some who may be inspired to write because they disliked reading. They want to write books for their younger selves, too, in their case books for today’s children who pick up a book only when they have to for school. These writers may eschew difficult vocabulary words for the reasonable reason that they hated them. I once got a letter from a child who didn’t like Ella Enchanted because of the made-up languages, which he or she (I don’t remember which) didn’t understand. Hard words can frustrate a child and make her feel stupid. I don’t avoid them, but I understand why some writers do.

In 1987 when I started to write for children, I read the books in the Newbery bookcase at the library. I found in many of them the same old-fashioned approach to storytelling that I knew from my childhood, which made me feel right at home and as if I could join in. Another inspiration.

I took writing courses, too, and met fellow writers. My favorite class was a workshop. Every week our teacher would read three or four selections of student work that had been submitted to her the week before. After she read, the class would comment and then she would. Many published writers took this course. The same writing issues (like the ones that come up on the blog) would appear in different guises week after week, so advice would be repeated. The effect was much like rereading books; I absorbed the comments of the more experienced writers, and now their voices are in my mind when I write. I hear them ask me what my characters are thinking and feeling or if I’ve written information that the reader doesn’t need to know and that only I do. My teachers and my classmates are another inspiration.

Today, my writing friends inspire me. Every month two friends come over for lunch. There’s no purpose. We don’t critique each other’s work. Sometimes we shop talk about publishing. Often our own writing comes up. It’s rarely smooth sailing for any of us, which is a comfort and, in an odd way, an inspiration. My critique buddy and I meet monthly too. My book deadline isn’t looming, so having pages for her is a goal.

I still go to fairy tales for ideas and inspiration. The book I’m struggling with now was inspired by a nineteenth century fairy tale called “The King of the Golden River” by John Ruskin, a morality tale about greed. Two rapacious brothers are turned into black stones and their younger, generous brother is rewarded. What I love about the story is the gothic atmosphere. The wind roars into the brothers’ house; the king of the river is a golden mug that melts; the brothers have to climb a forbidding mountain. I wondered what the story’s sequel might be if the stone brothers came back to life. Then my tale changed, and it isn’t about that any more, but the seed probably remains.

What keeps me writing may be the internal-ness of the process, the communion with myself. Like reading, writing is intensely private. We’re fishing in our own minds, and sometimes we pull out magic fish.

There’s also the fact that I earn my living as a writer, which, if not an inspiration, is a goad. What else? Meditating, which I used to do more regularly before Reggie arrived, sometimes causes ideas to bubble up. Exercise also. Plus the drive that artists have to create. I’m at a loss if I’m not working on something.

So here’s something for you to work on, some classic themes that you may have enjoyed as children. Write a story about one or more of these:

•    a dog, horse, or any pet who thinks in language and is separated from her owners.

•    an orphan traveling to an unknown place.

•    a child separated from her family by war.

•    a stowaway on a ship of the royal fleet.

•    a family struggling with poverty.

•    an outlaw set against an unjust society.

Have fun and save what you write!

Enhancing experience

February 19, 2011, Alice wrote, ...do you have any ideas for writing realistically about a cross-country road trip when you've never actually taken one yourself, and you can't go on one because your whole summer is completely booked?

Alice's question applies to any writing outside one's first-hand experience. When you read this, I hope you'll apply my ideas to your own stories.

First off, Alice, you know a lot about road trips even if you’ve never crossed the nation on one. And even if you had, you’d have only one experience, which might not be enough. You need those shorter trips to draw on, all your experience of car trips.

You can start with your knowledge of humans in cars then move onto your characters. Any story needs conflict, and the cramped space in an automobile, where personalities can’t help but rub up against one another, is perfect.

We all have different driving styles and different styles of being a passenger. If the driving is shared, that can be a source of trouble. And the radio! Or CD player or iPod. What kind of music to listen to? Who prefers news or a recorded book? Open window? Closed window? How high to crank the heat or the air-conditioner? Who pays for gas? Who sits in front? Anybody gets carsick? Conflict galore. As well as opportunities to make peace. The emotional ride can be bumpy!

And what about the car itself, inside and out? Are soda cans rattling around on the floor? Does the car smell like the family dog? Or does it still have a new-car smell after seven years? Is it in good repair? Is it a junker? Does it have a spare tire? Jumper cables? Whose car is it?

My parents loved and respected each other - ordinarily - but they were at their worst in the car. We lived in New York City, where a car and a driver’s license aren’t necessary. My father didn’t get either one until he was in his early forties, and my mother didn’t get hers until the last year of her life, after my dad had died.

My father’s late start and his diffidence combined with my mother’s nervousness and her inability to tell her left from her right (this was long before GPS) made every excursion an expedition into the unknown. If we (my parents, my sister, and I) had set off across country from northern Manhattan where we lived, we might well have driven three thousand miles and wound up in the Bronx, five miles from home.

We played word games in the car and sang car songs. What stands out in memory, however, is the mounting tension. We inevitably got lost, and my parents each blamed the other. Then, at the end of the trip, we had to go home, and it happened all over again.

What I’ve described applies to ordinary trips, and this is a magic ice cream truck (a lovely idea). Still. How does the truck look? Smell? Does Sam the ice-cream man keep the driver’s cab clean? Has the engine had its latest inspection? How high are the driver and passenger from the road? Is the truck noisy? How does it feel different from being in a car? And of course there’s the magic part.

What sort of driver is Sam? Does he love to tell stories and forget to watch the road? Or does he demand silence so he can concentrate? Does he tailgate? Drive too fast? Too slow?

What kind of passenger is the girl, whom I’m calling Honey? Relaxed? Or nervous? Chatty? Silent?

What time of year is the trip? What sort of weather might they encounter?

All this - the characters, the car or truck - are available to the writer before the engine has even turned over. And you don’t have to know the slightest thing about cross-country trips to write this part.

For the cross-country aspect, there’s lots you can do. You should certainly consult a map to plot the truck’s course. Get online directions for the recommended route and alternate routes. Find tourist attractions along the way. Explore the topography. Pretend you were planning the trip for yourself. Decide if Sam and Honey want to go through cities or skirt them. Are they going to stay in motels or camp out? Can they live in the truck? If so, where are the recreational vehicle camps? Research traveling in an RV if that’s going to be their choice.

Before starting this post I googled “worst car trip.” I was thinking conflict again. Lots of items popped up. I read only one, so I don’t know what’s out there. You can google “cross-country road trip” and see what you find.

Also, I’d suggest you ask people you know about their cross-country and long-distance car trips. Here’s a wacky idea: Listen to “Car Talk,” a weekly car-repair program on National Public Radio. You can stream it online. The program is more than car-repair; it’s funny, and you may hear a wealth of material that you can fictionalize.

Readers of the blog, you can help Alice by posting reminiscences of long road trips that you’re willing to share.

Of course, the danger of research is not knowing when to stop. We fall in love with all the discoveries we’re making. You may want to stay in road-trip-research land forever and never progress to the rougher terrain of writing land. So I’d suggest that you research enough to get you started. Then, if Sam and Honey are riding through the Sonoran desert, for example, and you need to know what the landscape looks like, return to the research phase until you’re ready to continue. When you began you might not have known that they would detour into the desert. You certainly wouldn’t have known they’d decide to go to a fancy restaurant for dinner and you have to learn about Southwest cuisine.

When I wrote my historical novel, Dave at Night, I started with general research about New York City in the 1920s, especially about Harlem and the Lower East Side. Then I started writing. Dave’s father dies at the beginning of the book, the first page. A little further on I needed to know what route the hearse would take to the cemetery in 1926. Back to research. Later on, Dave is on the street outside a Harlem rent party in 1926. (A rent party was held when a tenant couldn’t pay the rent. She’d hold a party, serve food, bring in jazz musicians, and collect a small admission fee, which would bring in enough to cover the rent.) These parties were egalitarian affairs. Poor folk and rich attended. I wondered what kind of cars might have been parked at the curb near where Dave stood. This led me to reading about classic cars and interviewing a classic car expert.

Even when I’m writing fantasy, I research. For example, in For Biddle’s Sake, one of my Princess Tales, the fairy Bombina loves to turn people and things into toads, so I researched toads. I used little of what I learned, but knowledge made me more confident. In A Tale of Two Castles (out soon!) one of the major characters is a dragon. To describe him I googled images of dragons, but I wasn’t satisfied, so I looked at Komodo dragons (online, not in person), and that’s what I described, except for the wings, which I made up. Research helps with detail, and, as we all know, detail brings stories to life.

Naturally these prompts revolve around car trips. Perry is invited to vacation with his best friend Letty Pewer and her parents. They are traveling from Minnesota to Florida for a winter week in the sun. Below are some possibilities to fool around with. Pick as many as you like or make up your own or do a combo of mine and yours.

•    Letty’s father is peculiar. You decide how.

•    Letty’s mom is a dangerous driver. You decide how.

•    Letty’s younger brother and older sister are coming along. They don’t get along with Letty and dislike Perry.

•    The car is older than Perry. The radio doesn’t work. There is no iPod, no CD player.

•    The Pewers are economizing and haven’t bought a GPS. Good old maps are good enough for them. They plan to camp out and save on motel costs as soon as they reach warm enough weather.

•    The car is bewitched - not in a good way.

•    This is the snowiest winter in the history of  Minnesota and surrounding states.

•    The scenic route will take the family and Perry through an old mining town. Unbeknownst to the authorities, one of the abandoned mines is now occupied by squatters who may be dangerous.

Have fun, and save what you write!

Seeking conflict

I’m hoping to see a few of you tonight at the library in Chelsea, Michigan! Details on my website. Many more Reggie photos on David’s for you puppy-ophiles.

On February 17, 2011, bluekiwii asked, How do you find out what the major conflict of your story is and why do you stick to it?

I just looked up The Lord of the Rings trilogy on Wikipedia. According to that source, and I haven’t done further research, Tolkien didn’t realize right away that it was all about an evil ring held by the forces of good and desired by arch-villain Sauron. Originally, Tolkien thought Bilbo would run out of the treasure he’d found during The Hobbit and would go adventuring for more. Then Tolkien remembered the ring and developed that idea.

In the case of The Lord of the Rings, conflict is evident. Good and evil fight it out in situation after situation, battle after battle. But conflict can be much softer. Take Pride and Prejudice, for example, my all-time favorite, or any of Jane Austen’s novels. Maybe the conflict is always “the battle of the sexes,” but that trivializes what Austen does. Maybe the conflict is women against society, although against is too strong. In each book, the problem may be a particular woman, beautifully drawn in the Jane Austen way, finding happiness (and often economic security) in marriage against many odds. Or maybe the conflict is the individual in opposition to the family.

Often conflict arises out of a character’s desire and the obstacles to obtaining it. Ella Enchanted runs on Ella’s need to get rid of her curse. Black Beauty is an interesting example of this. Throughout, the horse wants to live and be treated well, but he’s a horse and can do little to influence his fate. It’s quite an achievement to write an exciting book about a passive main character. In most stories about animals, the animal manages to take matters into his own hooves or paws or mandibles or whatever.

I’d be hard pressed to say what the major conflict in my book, Fairest, is. Aza would like to be beautiful, but she doesn’t do much to get what she wants, because success seems unattainable. The conflict could be a girl against her own body. Possibly, but it doesn’t play out exactly that way. Mostly she’s struggling against the selfish and screwy Queen Ivi, and there’s also her budding romance with Prince Ijori, and also the politics of a kingdom under despotic rule.

The point is, you may not know what your major conflict is. You may write the whole story and not know. Your readers may debate the issue. As I said in my last post, holding reader interest is what counts, not what the major conflict is or anything else, and there are many ways to accomplish that.

I don’t know if you have to stick with one conflict. In my book, The Wish, Wilma gets her wish to be the most popular student in her middle school. The first part of the book is about her adjustment to popularity; the last part deals with what happens when she discovers the catch to the wish. There’s also the love interest with an unpopular boy. The theme throughout is popularity, but the story looks at the topic through a variety of moments. (If you read it, notice that the dog, an important character, is an Airedale coincidentally named Reggie.)

Another example, in my opinion, is Gone With the Wind. Initially, Scarlett O’Hara wants forbidden love; later she wants to survive. Then, later still, it’s back to love, or I’m not sure what she wants at the end.

The conflicts that I stick with, at least temporarily, are the ones that lead me to further incidents and more action - the ones that stimulate ideas. For instance, suppose we’re writing a science fiction story about space exploration. Inga is our heroine. Do we want her to have her own spaceship? Could be. Technology in the world of our story has advanced to the point that a single person can do everything to run a spaceship. If she lands on an unexplored planet alone, she’s in the middle of it with no one to turn to for help. Assuming the planet is populated with an alien life form, she has only her own resources to lean on to figure the aliens out. The advantage of this is that there’s no one to save her if she gets into trouble. The disadvantage is the absence of the complexity of personalities acting on one another. Such complexity may arise once Inga gets to know the aliens, or maybe not. If I were going to write this story, I’d think about what kind of aliens they might be and what crew mates she might have, and as I wrote notes, one of the two options would excite me, would start me thinking, more than the other, this could happen and this and this. That’s the one I’d go with, and eventually I’d start writing.

Please notice: I’m not saying that I stick to a certain major conflict because it’s good. I try not to make such judgments while I’m writing, because if I start making them, I’m more likely to think it’s bad. I keep going with something when I can. I’ve been bewailing the number of times I’ve restarted Beloved Elodie, and that’s because I reach a point where I recognize the thing isn’t working, not because I think it's bad. In my longest attempt so far (about 250 pages) I came to a dead end when I realized that the mystery I’d set up couldn’t be solved. The next-to-longest attempt, about 140 pages, I abandoned because I’d forgotten to include any suspects. Basically when I’m onto something that I can stick with and get to the end, I do.

I’m not a very analytic writer. I don’t think about what my major conflict is, at least not in those terms. I’m more engaged in events as they happen and as far ahead as I can see. Sometimes I know what the ending is going to be. There are writers who work out what they’re doing ahead of time, who think of rising action and falling action, who number their crises and know exactly when the last lap should begin and the resolution should be formed. My method is more muddle and a dim belief that if I crawl along I’ll get to the end eventually.

I can imagine starting a story and finding that I object to where I seem to be going on, I guess, ethical grounds. Something like that happened to me when I tried to write a novel based on “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.” I discussed this in my post on fairy tales, my favorite post for the comments it sparked. In the original fairy tale, the princesses are complicit in the deaths of an untold number of young men, and yet they’re the heroines of the story. I couldn’t write it, and I had to move the story in a new direction, to what eventually became The Two Princesses of Bamarre.

At least as important as the major conflict is what you do with it. For instance, a brother and a sister are feuding. That’s the problem. But how are they feuding? Sending each other angry emails? Subtly ruining one another’s lives? Gathering armies to conquer the other one’s half of the kingdom? Having a pillow fight?

Here are a few prompts on the theme of major conflict:

∙    Write about the feuding brother and sister. Write the seeds of the feud and how it’s expressed.

∙    Write a story in the Black Beauty mold. Write about a helpless main character and make it exciting. This is hard. See what happens.

∙    Decide for yourself whether Inga is alone in her spaceship. If you’re so inclined, try it both ways and see what happens to the story.

∙    Rethink The Lord of the Rings. Write what happens if Frodo claims the ring for his own.

∙    Lord of the Rings again. Write a story that follows the action of the final book. Come up with a new major conflict.

Have fun, and save what you write!

When to press the trigger

Before I start, there are pictures of Reggie the puppy on my website. Click on News to see them. And if you haven’t had enough, there are more on my husband’s website, www.dmlevine.com.

Also on the website are details about my appearance next week at the public library in Chelsea, Michigan. For this, click on News, and then on Appearances. Hope to see some of you in Michigan!

On February 17, 2011, Grace wrote, How long can one write without introducing the main problem of a story? In my newest project I have my main character in a new place with a lot of wacky characters I love to write about. They've had some small problems that keep the plot going thus far but I'm getting on 20k words now and I still haven't introduced the main conflict that will guide the story and hopefully the rest of the planned series. Is this too long? Do you think the reader will get bored? I hesitate to rush the plot too much because then the characters would have to leave their current location and I really love where they are right now and all the characters there.

Many of you commented most helpfully on Grace’s question, and you can go back and read what everyone said. Some mentioned foreshadowing, and I have a future post coming up on that subject, so you can keep an eye out for it. I’m including Erin Edwards’s comment in the post, because it’s so helpful. Here it is:

    @ Grace - Lots of really good published books seem to put off the main problem and they do a really good job of immersing the reader in the story world - but they aren't necessarily ones who would easily get an agent or publisher in the current climate. Getting to the main problem quickly is kind of a trend right now, especially when agents and editors only read the first 10 pages! But really you shouldn't worry too much about getting published as you write; a lot can happen in revising.

    Things you can keep in mind:
    - Keep writing. It may be that after you finish you can reorder your scenes and alter this scene you love into a middle scene.
    - Go back over what you've written and see if you can drop hints about the main problem that's to come. Build the anticipation.
    - Or maybe, your main problem that you have in mind isn't going to work and that's why you're avoiding it. As you keep exploring you may come up with a better main problem.
Writing is rule-free territory, so there’s no rule about how quickly the main story problem needs to start. Some books have no main story problem, or the main problem is soft-edged. Going back to Little Women, which we discussed two weeks ago, what’s the thrust of the story? Beth’s death? No. Jo’s love life? No. A family enduring poverty? I don’t think so. The girls don’t engage in a get-rich scheme to reclaim the family fortune or pack a bag and set off into the Civil War to find their father . We’re propelled through the story by our interest in the characters and the series of incidents Louisa May Alcott presents. The theme, I suppose, is growing up.

Time and Again by Jack Finney (middle school and up, I’d guess), a time-travel novel I love, doesn’t get moving for fifty pages, and the first fifty, in my opinion, are dull. I used to be a more forgiving reader than I am now, so I hung in. Then the story, once it got going, was impossible to put down. I read the book many years ago, so I don’t remember if those first fifty pages were essential, and I still recommend the book heartily. It’s charming and light-hearted and full of details about old New York City.

In a writing class I took over and over when I was getting started, our teacher would read a few students’ chapters out loud every week and then ask for comments. Often, when she read a first chapter, people said that we’d heard just “back story,” information that the writer needs to know but the reader doesn’t. The advice would be to keep writing and find the story’s real beginning later.

Grace, it sounds like you do have a strong story line in mind. What you’ve been writing may be back story, which you may need to cut later. Or maybe you’re writing a different book in the first 20,000 words. Maybe you want to split the two apart.

If you need to cut, remember the writing advice from William Faulkner to “kill all your darlings.” I think what he meant is that we protect our most gorgeous phrases, our most fascinating scenes. We write around them; we twist our plots so our beautiful lines can stay. After a while, they just get in the way and they have to go.

But they don’t have to vanish. I save my “darlings” for each of my books in a document I call “Extra.” I’ve eliminated more than a thousand pages in the course of writing my books, possibly over two thousand. Of course, most of those weren’t darlings, but some were. In my case, the darlings are usually scenes of exquisite character development, and it hurts to give them up, but I do, because writers have to be ruthless.

This is a prompt in the middle of the post: Become aware of your darlings. Go through a story you’re working on and underline the parts you would rather chop off your arm than cut. Save your old version, then delete those bits and see what happens to your story. Does it become cleaner? Is it better? Is it worse? If worse, put the parts back.

I’m a plot-driven writer. My stories don’t depend on the charm of the characters, although I hope some are charming. My books focus most of all on action. Alas, you might not be able to tell that from Beloved Elodie, which I’ve started yet again. The book begins on a boat. In the next-to-next-to-last version the action then moved to an inn, where I introduced the suspects but I held off on the mystery. Ho hum! said the reader. Why do I care about these people? Nothing is at stake.

To make matters worse, I had my characters journey together for pages and pages before they reached the place where the mystery was going to begin. Meanwhile, they revealed motives for committing the crime whenever we got to it. My critique buddy asked me, in the kindest possible way, what the heck I thought I was doing.

So I realized I could move all my suspects to the place where the mystery would start. Elodie could meet them when she arrived. Still, I kept the scene in the boat and then took her to the inn, where the problem was introduced in a theoretical way, and I didn’t get to the scene of the action until page 59. Double-ho-double-hum!

In this latest revision I’ve kept the scene on the boat, which is essential, and I begin the crisis there, on page 10. In revision I may trim even more, but the first nine pages are pretty exciting.

On the other hand, in A Tale of Two Castles, which you will soon be able to read (Yay!), the mystery takes even longer to get going, but it’s okay, because Elodie has a pressing problem at the beginning, and the reader cares about that. So it’s fine.

As usual, the key is reader interest. If the reader falls in love with your wacky characters, Grace, and is as happy to read about them spreading jam on toast as escaping from a burning building, all is well, and you can delay conflict as long as you like. However, it's very hard to keep a reader engaged when there’s nothing to worry about. Also, conflict will bring out sides of these marvelous people that the reader wouldn’t see in a pleasant scene around the breakfast table. For example, Melba is having lunch with her friends in the school cafeteria. She’s the one who goes back for more ice or helps mop up spilled apple juice. But when a fire starts, she may behave unexpectedly, and the reader will see her in a new light.

Grace and anyone else with this question, you may want to show your story to a fellow writer or a good reader. Ask him if he longed for something to worry about. Have him tell you the spot where he began to feel frustrated and also to point out the places where the story picked up again, if it did.

Here’s another prompt: After school, Melba is going to discover that her house has vanished. She has no idea, however, that this is going to happen, and neither does the reader. Write a scene with Melba and her two best friends before she goes home. Let the reader get to know Melba a little. Try to keep up his interest without foreshadowing. Introduce minor problems, but hold off on the house disappearance. Feel when you think the reader is detaching, and stop before boredom sets in. Feel free to write more of the rest of the story after the disappearance.

Have fun, and save what you write!