Spent a long time today detangling a sticky plot problem with the help of the ever-amazing Julie Leto. (Ever envious of her plotmonkey pals!) I had been wringing my hands over this issue for a few weeks now, which arose due to some majors changes that I’d made to Rampant in between me selling the manuscript and the final version. (Again, this goes back to the proposal being from three different POVs and then revising it to be merely from Astrid’s and to focus more firmly on Astrid’s story.) As characters developed and storylines changed and focus shifted, I lost track of a particular element that I had planned for this book, which I’m calling KU2 since we haven’t decided on a title yet. When I started writing it, I realized that this element now seemed a bit out of place, but I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
This is a common problem for writers of series. Rachel Vincent recently blogged about the rare luxury of being able to go back into earlier, as-of-yet unpublished books in a series and jimmy the worldbuilding so that later elements work. Most writers, whose books come out as they are writing future stories, are stuck either ignoring the worldbuilding (cf. every TV show ever made) or attempting to retrofit it to match the storytelling elements you are going with now. I’m usually of the retrofit mindset, but there hasn’t been a book I’ve written yet where I didn’t wish I could go into B&N and scribble margin notes so that I can call them back later.
On the flip side, sometimes my subconscious will leave me presents that only reveal themselves as I’m writing later books. There is a scene in Rites of Spring (Break) where a character is doing something mysterious, and his or her actions are not even remotely explained — until I decided on a reason for them while writing Tap & Gown. And it was awesome, and fitting, and I’d never even thought of it.
But back to my KU2 plot problem. As I’ve written about before, I am not the world’s best reviser. I’m very “measure twice, cut once” in my writing mindset, and I’ve also got an echo issue. Even when I change things, in my head, it’s still the original, like looking at erased pencil marks on a page. (It is important to note, however, that this can be overcome. After all, I completely rerote the entire first half of Rampant several times. Hardly a syllable remains of the original.) So I started writing KU2, and it occurred to me that I had a problem,and I had a really rough time seeing my way past it, because I was entirely stuck in “this is the way it is.” I spoke to Justine Larbalestier, who had an awesome solution, and I balked like my puppy being led into a bathtub (in passing, why will this dog sleep with her head in her water dish and jump into any puddle, creek, river, or slimy wet smear on the sidewalk, but hates bathtubs?). I liked it a lot, and it provided some very interesting avenues to explore, thematically and in terms of plot, and yet…that wasn’t what I’d been planning.
Fast forward another week, and I’m still shilly-shallying around, unwilling to give up my former mindset. But then some time passed, I got a little older (hee hee!), a little wiser (one hopes) and I talked to Julie, who not only loved Justine’s idea, but added some truly fascinating facets to the concept. I considered it some more. I realized that exploring these facets were so much more interesting and resonant than the one I’d planned on, and that it set up a pretty major conflict going forward. One that affected the main character, not just the secondary characters. In other words, I could take a minor story element that didn’t quite fit and turn it into a major one that fit very well.
Sold. Of course, it’s going to require a bit of rewriting, but it’s all in the name of the story!
This is one of the reasons I think critique groups and writing friends are so vital. In our jobs, we don’t have office mates we can turn to for advice on a difficult project. But we can cultivate virtual office mates.
Speaking of which, I have a work meeting at a local coffeeshop. Later!
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