Rearranging the furniture

I was saying to someone the other day that redrafting a book is a lot like rearranging your bedroom.

This came about because I walked into my room the other day and thought 'Wow, this just doesn't work'. Obviously there are things I need in my room, like the bed, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers. But there are maybe some things I could do without, and there are other things I could put in the room that would make it more interesting.

Sound familiar?

When I was looking at my first draft and trying to figure out what worked and what didn't, I knew there were things I needed to keep in. The bare bones that make my story, my story (the furniture that makes my bedroom, my bedroom). But there were also things in the story that were the literary equivalent of clothes strewn across my bedroom floor. And there was kind of a lack of personal style in places that made parts of the book a little bland. And then there were things that worked, but would have worked better in a different place.

Hopefully by the third draft I managed to rearrange all this and I've ended up with a room I'm pretty happy with. Now it's time to show it off.

 

Eek - nerves

Well I just finished going over the changes to my third draft, and rather than do the sensible thing - take a night to think about it, read it through again, let it settle - I just sent it out to four people who haven't read it up until now. That could work out to be a huge mistake. If they hate it...I don't know what happens. My confidence takes a knock? Honestly I have to be at the point now where I have faith in Chase and in my writing so that I can recognise the distinction between personal opinion and constructive criticism. Is there a little part of me that only sends my work out to people so that I can get some positive feedback...? Yes. It's probably bigger than a little part. I could do with having that part knocked out of me, but the idea of it is painful.

Note to self: must learn to embrace rejection.

(Embrace is maybe too strong a word.)

Sigh. I have given over my entire weekend to this novel, and now I feel completely burnt out. My brain is fried. My eyes are glazed. I've started laughing in a maniacal way that my husband seems to find frightening. I told the dog that Jesus was on the phone for her. Basically, the situation here is not good. Think of this blog as a cry for help. *Send chocolate*

*Alternatively, send Gosling*

On the up side, that's the third draft, done. The feedback I get from my new round of readers will determine whether or not there needs to be a fourth. I suspect there probably does. I hope there doesn't. I have limited time, remember? The countdown to 30 continues.

Meanwhile, what I really need to work on is my pitch. Anybody got any ideas? Helpful comments? Resources? Please, please help me. I can barely synopsise the story in basic conversation, let alone in, what, 250 words? I also need to get to work on making that list of potential agents.

Let's call that next weekend's job so I can give myself a week off to read books. By which, I mean, of course, research my genre.


 

Third draft's the charm?

I just finished reading through my third draft. Or actually, I suppose it's my second. It feels like third. Anyway, whatever. The good news is, I didn't hate it. There were times I was reading it and I was genuinely enjoying it. Other times it was only ok. On occasion it was horrible... But mostly, I'd like to say I think it's not bad.

The first time I did this - and by this I mean print, bind, read through and make notes on a draft - I changed an entire section of the novel and I definitely felt, this time around, that that was for the best. It improved the flow of the story and it intensified the drama. Reading this draft I found another scene I'm not entirely happy with. It puts two people together who need to be together and it allows for the discovery of something that needs to be discovered, but everything else about it is distinctly average. My notes for this chapter look something like this:

In case you can't read that, it says 'What's the point of this house? Why is it empty? What's the point of this chapter?'

If you were to ask me for one piece of editing advice, this would be mine: examine your work honestly. Don't get too attached to places or words. Be attached to your story. Get to the heart of it. Look at your motives.

I was talking to someone about Chase the other day. We were discussing why a particular character acts in the way he does, and she said 'But then your story doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't they just do x - that would be so much simpler.' Thankfully her husband chimed in to remind us that Tolkien could have had the Army of the Dead escort Sam and Frodo all the way to Mount Doom - or the eagles for that matter - but where's the fun in that? I don't believe that stories have to be logical or rational or reasoned, but when a reader calls for that you have to be able to insert logic, rationality or reason. No doubt the Army of the Dead would not have been able to be around the One Ring without being corrupted (further corrupted, I should say) by its powers. I don't know if Eagles are corruptible, but I imagine the nazgul could probably take them out. In my story, I have to know why the characters act the way they do. I need to be ready for that future Q&A session when someone cares enough about my characters to question them. I need to know the characters motives, and my motives, for every scene.

Under the eyes of no one

I think the idea of 'what do we do when we think no one is watching' is an interesting one. In Gone, the series I was talking about the other day, the absence of adults and any kind of authority means the kids must create their own judgement system. Some of them find power in the new situation, while our main character, Sam, spends a lot of his time worrying about the consequences of his actions - what will happen when the dome comes down? How will the outside world judge him for what he's done? But when a time comes when the outside world can see inside, he continues to act in the same way because all along he has only been trying to do what is right.

When I read Nothing to Envy, the book about life in North Korea, it became apparent that the government there is getting away with a lot because, for the most part - threats of nuclear war aside, no one is watching North Korea. Our eyes are elsewhere, the media is kept out. They have privacy and isolation. We do not intervene.

When I started writing Chase, I thought the idea of having Britain cut off from the rest of the world - I call it the Disassociation - would be interesting. Part of what keeps us in line is knowing that other people are watching and judging. If, right now, Britain introduced, say, the death penalty - let's say, death by stoning - the rest of Europe would be up in arms. There would be protests. There would be economic and social consequences. Support (financial and political) would be withdrawn, and we're very reliant on the support of other nations. But in the world of Chase, Britain has opted out of all of that international network of social, political and financial support. It no longer concerns itself with other countries' problems, and likewise the rest of the world has left it to its own devices. That leaves the government more or less free to do what it likes. So if it wants to put orphans in a work camp, it can. And if it wants to Black List an entire population of rebels and leave them starving at the edges of the country, it can. And if a democracy turns into a dictatorship, well who's going to know, or care? So that's the world in which Chase finds herself. Captured by Listers, a child of the Honours, with no idea how the rest of the world lives.