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.

 

How do you write? Fast or slow?

I finished another 2200 words over the past two days, bringing me very close (I keep saying that!) to my cut-off point for the World War II memoir-within-the-novel, prior to concentrating only on present day events.

Bonnie commented that she can't write so quickly, but needs to analyze each and every word. We all have our own methods. I can't work slowly, or interrupt my flow, as I mentioned in another blog. If my writing isn't moving like a torrent, I become irritable. For me, revision can only come after those exuberant words have been poured out onto the pages en masse.

There is an excitement during this period and I barely take a break, needing to get back to it. I revise after about an hour's work, it seems, although I certainly don't time myself. This is a quick revision for obvious errors and to get a clear feel for the structure, but I don't spend too much time at it, because I don't want to spoil that zone I'm in. I then get back to the actual writing, and then revise, and so on, again and again, including the earlier sections I've already dealt with during this session.

After about four hours of this, usually by the end of a chapter, I'll do a more thorough, more or less final revision. Then I start pecking around like a chicken, finding a better word, refining a phrase or a sentence, and correcting typoes. This is slow work, as all of you know, but it's the only time I am slow.

After that, I send the whole thing to my Yola site, suitably re-fonted for readability online. At this point, it gets edited again, because errors pop out with the larger font I use there. It's then ready for those of you who are reading it online to catch up with Strachan's adventures.

Once this manuscript is complete, I'll then revise, revise, revise, for the almost final version, print it off, and edit the hard copy completely. That stage could take weeks, or months. I've been doing so well with this particular book (it wasn't so easy with Hafan Deg, for some reason) that I'm making an assumption that the revision work will not take too long at the end, because I'm very satisfied with what's complete now. I may well add more segments on the War, because I keep coming up with new anecdotes that would just add that extra something, but, at the same time, I need to keep an eye on my word count. The last thing I need at the conclusion of the work, is to have to go back and chop major sections out because I've written too much.

Were I well-published, selling, receiving some critical interest, I could easily produce 150,000 words, but lacking that stature means I must stick close to 95,000 if I want an agent to consider me. They don't like flogging new work to publishers if the work is too long. (Something to do with their costing/revenue projections, I think.)

On days when I have few other household, art blog, or online reading demands, I write at my computer from early morning and, if the buzz is in me, will work right through until dinner time, when my cats start bugging me for food. I more or less work office hours, and this suits me. I am still writing in my head long after I've switched off the computer, of course, which makes for little piles of notes on the coffee table, scribbled out when I'm meant to be following the news, or a movie. It's really hard not to go back to the computer sometimes, and I have to be very firm with myself. I guess some of you might think this is a bit obsessive, this work routine, but it's a huge joy for me, having the time to devote to it.

I've freelanced for years, working from home for other people, and I made the decision when I came to Brighton, this quiet, not too exciting (but cheap!) town, that I'd do MY stuff, be it painting or writing. Of course, the writing is the clear winner at this point.

We want to be published, need it for some vain proof that our work has substance, that it could somehow move people who read it. But that's not the reason we write. Ultimately, this need that we have, this drive, goes beyond public recognition. It's simply necessary for ourselves. We are, in fact, in love with it.