Writing chronologically your thing, or being bold with back-insertions?

I understand that movies are shot out of sequence, perhaps not all, but definitely some. I have no idea why this happens, other than obvious things. Outside shooting would require the right weather; the actor needs to lose weight within the film (Cast Away's ending was shot at the beginning - it was easier for Tom Hanks to get really thin before the start of production, then take time off to bulk up for the early scenes); the director's preference; and other reasons beyond my knowledge.

It must be one of the greatest challenges of movie acting (other than the boring time sitting around between takes) with things so disjointed and each day's shooting unrelated to that of the day before. I really admire film editors, too, who give us the final product.

In Belle's blog recently, she expressed her dislike of writing out of sequence, the disjointedness of it. I'd never considered my feelings on it, but I've always done it. Long after I've completed chapters, an idea will pop up that simply has to be expressed in Chapter 2, or an event in Chapter 20 needs a reference to it in Chapter 10. In fact, I write about a quarter of the book, I'm guessing, out of sequence. I've inserted great chunks of dialogue into beginning sections, because I suddenly want to introduce some new event now, in this later piece of writing, and it needs an earlier clue. I imagine that all mystery writers must do this.

In a way, it's the opposite of revision, where we must remove irrelevant passages (despite how damned good they are). Just as I take out brilliantly conceived paragraphs, or even whole pages, I also need to insert things.

I'm surprised that writers would have a different take on this; I assumed everyone worked the way I do. I guess it could be perceived as scattered thinking, but life is scattered, when you think about it. We go along day-to-day, and things from our past unexpectedly come rushing in at us; events long-gone now intrude; memories temporarily blot out our present; a casual conversation reveals an unknown snippet of history that totally changes our view of someone or something. So it is with my writing.

In fact, during the writing process - not the "ass applied to the seat" work, but the internal writing, while I'm doing housework, walking, whatever - I am rarely thinking about the future content, other than the basic plot outline. I'm analyzing what's happened previously. Did he really say that in the right tone? Would she have done this willingly? Should she have spoken to him first, before acting on it?

Whatever method we use, it makes no difference to the final outcome, as long as we're enjoying the writing process - all of it. I don't like to hear that people are agonizing over their work. Of course it's brain-taxing, and often emotionally-draining, but it should always be a joy. It's temporarily painful to remove some of your brilliant words during revision, but I believe there should be nothing but love involved in adding to the original work. No tortured writer here.


A rather chicken-pecking word count yesterday - just 1600 words. They resented being put on the page, but are thankfully satisfying to read. It happens sometimes, doesn't it? The little writing muse tells us to back off a bit, take it easy. But I prefer Tally-ho! writing, the Boadicea approach. I have a feeling it will be back this weekend.

No changes to my stats this week. Still 9 Pending, 1 Partial, 1 Full, 10 No Response, 12 Rejections, for a total of 33 queries for Hafan Deg, my orphan in agent-land.

Have a good weekend, and - if you're lucky enough to have him in your life - show Dad you love him.

 

Literary Agents - Boadicea is Back

I feel so much better today, all ready for battle and holding back an ocean or two with my spear. Or was that Canute?



I spent over an hour this morning tweaking even more query letters. The list of literary agents is long, but I'm gradually working through it, making my notes, giving each a kind of one to ten grading. There's such a mystique about agents. They are so remote from you as you sit at your computer, despite their internet proximity.

When you find a nice one, from reading their blog or a comment by a writer, you want so much to just pick up the phone and chat, because they seem so approachable. I'd start off with, "You must get so many emails, so I thought I'd just call you to make things easier. Perhaps we could grab a coffee and I could show you my..."

- Of course, no chance of that, but it would be nice.

Anyway, from my rating system so far, here's a bit of a summary, in no particular order of relevance:

They are all a bit bossy - the writer must do this, and mustn't do that, redolent of school. I hated school - except for Art, English, and History.

They can be so dogmatic about their realms of interest or preferred genres, usually with some form of qualifier, so that you come away from that bit of research wondering where on earth your work fits in.

They all seem to have different submission requirements. Couldn't this be standardized throughout the industry, in some way? Why are they not expected to conform to norms?

Some are sweet, others are surly, judging by their blog tone; some seem to enjoy their reputation for prickliness.

Some are famous for responding speedily, and there are more with the 'I'll-probably-never-get-back-to-you-because-my-daily-inbox-is-SO-HUGE' attitude. How would that play for us mere mortals at our jobs?

They have funny blogs, terribly serious blogs, and downright impatient, unkind blogs.

They are revered everywhere and probably get good restaurant tables.

They have posh offices and crappy ones.

They can be gushingly-friendly, or overly-formal.

They all appear to enjoy a wonderful kind of love/hate relationship with one another.

There are rather a lot of women agents; I wondered at the significance of that.

Finally, writers hang onto their every word, and lose sight of the fact that the agent is there to provide them with a service.

It's unscientific, this little research of mine. But I have come away from it with names of people (all women) to whom I think I can trust my work. Dare I say, my heart?