You know you're...
Nov. 29th, 2005 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hawkwing_lb...going to have to be a writer if you sit down to have a little linear plot-storming (as opposed to brainstorming) session, and you end up writing dialogue. Between yourself and - yes, you guessed it - yourself. Complete with stage directions.
Conversations with Myself, A Drama in No Acts:
Me: Am I too fond of intrigue?
Myself: Yes
Me: Am I good at writing intrigue?
Myself: Not particularly
Me: What do I do, then?
Myself: Keep it simple, stupid: approach the layers from what each person - not just your POV characters - desires
Me: How many people are involved in my intrigue-plots?
Myself: Too many. Kill them.
Me: What would be the result of that?
Myself: Tension. Uncertainty. Movement.
Me: What motive for killing, then?
Myself: They're in the way of one or other of the Big Bad Plotters. F'godssake figure out what the BBPs want and use the conflict to kill people.
Me: so what does he/they want, then?
Myself: how do I know? You're the writer here, mate.
Me:...
Myself: All right, then. Plot coupon.
Me: ?
Myself: he/she/it/they all want the same thing, don't they? Figure out why each of 'em wants it, and you have motivation. And figure out the difference in how they go about trying to get it, and you have plot.
Me (groans): plot. Plot and character, character and plot. How the frick do I figure out my characters, then?
Myself: Kill them.
Me: No, seriously.
Myself: Kill them. Well, all right, not all of them. But, y'know, add a few deaths, pour on the pressure, stir in emotional as well as political high stakes, and flavour with a soupcon of mortal danger. Or a bucketful, if you prefer. Sooner or later they'll crack. They'll have to.
Me: Pressure. Right. Pressure.
Myself (helpfully): Remember Boyle's Law?
Me: As if I could forget. What's that got to do with anything here, smartarse?
Myself (as if explaining everything): Proportionality. Ratios.
Me: ...Yeah?
Myself: Hey, I'm groping towards concepts here. You're the crazy idiot who thinks she can write a novel: why don't you tell me?
Interjection from Superego: Hey, less of the namecalling, you two! Keep it down, some of us are trying to work!
Myself (irritatedly): Gah, just write the bugger, why don't you? I'll sit back here in a corner and, y'know, make snarky comments.
Me (sarcastic): Great. More snarky comments. That's just what I need.
--------
You can tell I haven't had nearly enough sleep lately. But, joy oh joy, the Archaeology essay is donedonedone!!! [1]
That fizzing noise you just heard? It was my brain, going bye-bye from caffeine overdose and sleeplack.
[1]: Terry Pratchett states, in Maskerade (Victor Gollancz, London, 1995), that the use of multiple exclamation marks is a sure sign of a diseased, deranged mind. Well, mine must be fairly well unhinged. I have committed footnote! and academe!
Sorry. Goodnight, sweet world.
Conversations with Myself, A Drama in No Acts:
Me: Am I too fond of intrigue?
Myself: Yes
Me: Am I good at writing intrigue?
Myself: Not particularly
Me: What do I do, then?
Myself: Keep it simple, stupid: approach the layers from what each person - not just your POV characters - desires
Me: How many people are involved in my intrigue-plots?
Myself: Too many. Kill them.
Me: What would be the result of that?
Myself: Tension. Uncertainty. Movement.
Me: What motive for killing, then?
Myself: They're in the way of one or other of the Big Bad Plotters. F'godssake figure out what the BBPs want and use the conflict to kill people.
Me: so what does he/they want, then?
Myself: how do I know? You're the writer here, mate.
Me:...
Myself: All right, then. Plot coupon.
Me: ?
Myself: he/she/it/they all want the same thing, don't they? Figure out why each of 'em wants it, and you have motivation. And figure out the difference in how they go about trying to get it, and you have plot.
Me (groans): plot. Plot and character, character and plot. How the frick do I figure out my characters, then?
Myself: Kill them.
Me: No, seriously.
Myself: Kill them. Well, all right, not all of them. But, y'know, add a few deaths, pour on the pressure, stir in emotional as well as political high stakes, and flavour with a soupcon of mortal danger. Or a bucketful, if you prefer. Sooner or later they'll crack. They'll have to.
Me: Pressure. Right. Pressure.
Myself (helpfully): Remember Boyle's Law?
Me: As if I could forget. What's that got to do with anything here, smartarse?
Myself (as if explaining everything): Proportionality. Ratios.
Me: ...Yeah?
Myself: Hey, I'm groping towards concepts here. You're the crazy idiot who thinks she can write a novel: why don't you tell me?
Interjection from Superego: Hey, less of the namecalling, you two! Keep it down, some of us are trying to work!
Myself (irritatedly): Gah, just write the bugger, why don't you? I'll sit back here in a corner and, y'know, make snarky comments.
Me (sarcastic): Great. More snarky comments. That's just what I need.
--------
You can tell I haven't had nearly enough sleep lately. But, joy oh joy, the Archaeology essay is donedonedone!!! [1]
That fizzing noise you just heard? It was my brain, going bye-bye from caffeine overdose and sleeplack.
[1]: Terry Pratchett states, in Maskerade (Victor Gollancz, London, 1995), that the use of multiple exclamation marks is a sure sign of a diseased, deranged mind. Well, mine must be fairly well unhinged. I have committed footnote! and academe!
Sorry. Goodnight, sweet world.
