I stop too. A lot. I stopped for nearly five months after the Dwarfling was born. I’ve stopped for a little while now, bc things are… a bit difficult rn, and my brain is somewhat disorganised and I’m currently running low on spoons.
My advice tends to be crud, but here you are, Nonnie:
1. Have a firm idea of what you want to achieve in the story, and write towards it. It is the ultimate goal, but there must be twists and turns and delays upon that road. Don’t rush. Change takes time. It’s tempting to resolve everything as quickly as you can – but it’s more engaging to see the journey.
2. Throw setbacks at your characters. LOTS of them. Make them struggle, make them doubt and strive and grow and fail – that’s how we can see what they are made of.
3. Ask a million questions. A MILLION. That setback – how did your character react to that? How did everyone else react to it? What does this setback mean for the plot now? What will it mean for your character long-term?
4. Give your characters opinions. Make those opinions clash with the opinions of others. Oh look, now you have a subplot! Which must also come to a resolution, and must also test your characters. Huzzah!
5. Oh yeah – subplots proliferate when you’re not looking. They breed like bunnies. Prune them back to three or four strong ones at a time, or you’re going to confuse your reader a bit, jumping tracks like that.
6. If your main difficulty is the actual LONG part of longfic, then believe me, I know. It’s hard. The trick I have is to simply pick it back up again. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been sitting there untouched. Just pick it back up again, at some point, when you are able to work on it. It’s not abandoned – it’s INDEFINITELY ON HOLD.
7. Build the tension over time to a climax, then release it with whatever – failure, success, happiness… but whatever has been achieved in that climax must now inform the NEXT order of events… and so the tension gets to build again. Never let it slacken entirely, or you risk One Million Endings Syndrome.
8. Pace pace pace pace pace. Keep it moving forward all the time, as inexorably and steadily as you can. Any departures from the pace will be very noticeable to your readers (you can use this for effect at some places, but use it sparingly or it becomes jerky and uneven). Don’t dwell forever in a moment or it becomes stale, but! don’t jackrabbit through it either. You’re the tortoise, not the hare. You can win the race in the end.
As always, my advice should be taken with a huge dollop of salt on top, because I suck at advice, Nonnie. I will try my best. Here we go.
Read your own earlier work. Don’t edit. Just read it.
That’s what I do, every so often, and it DOES help me to keep on chugging.
I go right, RIGHT back – sometimes from the beginning, sometimes from one of the earlier chapters in which no ‘big important’ event happens (like ch9, or 13 or something). On occasion it sparks more ideas for where I’m going next. It definitely helps me find more consistent character journeys by tracing them all the way from the beginning.
And it never fails to bring back the feeling of what it was like, back at the start, when I was full of tumbling ideas and words, all fighting for a chance to get out and onto the page. That’s a good feeling, and not a bad one to recapture.
Hey Nonnie, I’m glad you like my writing, that’s very kind of you to say.
It sounds like you know exactly the fic you want, and you have some ideas and your premise already. So why not try writing it yourself? I’m pretty burned out on Canon Au, after this monstrous behemoth of a story.
I am honestly very happy that you enjoy my writing, and thank you for saying so.
There’s a lot of writing blogs out there with good ideas for starting! All I have is this: if there’s one particular scene you really want to write, but you have to slog through a whole bunch of connecting scenes/chapters to get to it? WRITE THE ONE YOU WANT TO WRITE FIRST. The TARGET scene.
It usually gives me ideas on how to approach it, ways in which to complicate that approach, etc. By the time I’ve filled in the intermediate steps, I have an even better idea of how that original target scene could go, and even more meaty stuff to pack into it.
That’s all I got, Nonnie. Sorry I am a bit useless at this!
Awwww, thanks! Orla has her own Opinions, and isn’t up for being a sacrificial lamb (as the common trope goes)! She’d totally go for a high-five 🙂
Arrrgh, Rippy – this is exactly my problem. I am not sure if I have ANY advice worth following, as balancing my very busy, exhausting job with my family obligations AND the onus to write is something I struggle with, all the time.
I come home from work knackered, and still have to be a mum. Even when the Dwarfling is in bed I am often just too tired (or I have too much lesson planning and prep) to even consider knuckling down and writing at all.
So idk. If I have anything relevant to add to this, it is maybe to keep thinking about your writing, even when you don’t have the spoons or energy to actually do it. I’d appreciate any thoughts from others in a similar boat, frankly. I’d really like to find a better way myself.
I POST THIS IN THE FULL KNOWLEDGE THAT IT HAS BEEN A HELLA LONG TIME SINCE I UPDATED. So, here is a bit of the draft for Ch46, with my sincerest apologies. *smooches*
…
“So you are telling me,” said the Stonehelm, very slowly,
“that the Dwarrowdam who served my father as his guard was in fact Queen of the Blacklocks.”
Ashkar shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Rightfully, this is
so.”
“She was deposed,” added Kara.
Orla herself was sitting stiffly to attention. Her face was
set and her eyes glittered with a dozen emotions, but she made no sound at all.
Dwalin was holding her hand.
“Strictly speaking, her mother was assassinated, and Orla
was framed for the deed,” Ashkar said, frowning at Kara. “But the exact
technical details mean little.”
Watching, Balin huffed into his beard and nudged Thorin with
his elbow. “Did you know about this?”
“Some,” Thorin admitted. “But not much.”
“So the current Queen is a pretender?” The Stonehelm turned
to Orla and raised his eyebrows. “Orla?”
If anything, Orla’s back stiffened even further, and Dwalin
shifted closer to her. “Look, it’s been difficult for her,” he said, in what
was probably the understatement of the Age. “She hasn’t spoken about all this
in decades.”
“I do not want the throne of the Ghomali court,” she said. “My
home is here, in Erebor. I will not return.”
“There’s many who would rejoice to hear that you live,” said
Ashkar gently. “We did.”
Orla’s eyes slid shut, and her jaw worked as she swallowed.
Then she nodded. “I know. But there are also those who would work great evil
against me and mine, and I will not have that.”
“Why depose you in the first place, though?” Gimli said,
tipping his head. “Why put your sister on your throne?”
“Good question,” murmured Balin.
“Because The Cult couldn’t use Queen Ara nor her first
daughter, Orla, but they found the second more malleable. My mother Arna wanted
to please, above all things,” said Kara, bitterness twisting her voice. “The
Cult of Sauron used that. Now she is completely under their thumb, lost in the
haze of their words and drugs. I honestly don’t think she knows my name, most
days.”
Orla’s shoulders hunched, and her eyelids squeezed tight.
Her breath escaped her in a soundless shudder.
“But Sauron is dead now,” Gimli said, and indicated Legolas
and himself. “We can attest to that. So what do they have to gain from
promoting his worship?”
“Power, what else?” said Thranduil, shaking his head. “I
fear that undoing his works will be the labour of many Ages yet.”
“Dwarves are not afraid of hard work,” said the Stonehelm
firmly, a hint of his Iron Hills burr in his voice. “And this will be long, and
hard. They have held the realm for more than fifty years in the name of their
puppet, and their dominance will be well-established. Still, they must know by
now that the Dark Power is overthrown. That will drive them into
disorganisation and despair.”
Orla’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. “I will not be an
instrument in any plans you devise. I will not be a figurehead for you.”
The Stonehelm sighed. “That is not what I am suggesting.
Orla, I would never do such a thing to you! I have received my own throne in a
war, unwilling and too soon: would I wish the same on a friend?”
Dwalin glowered under his brows, and his muscles bunched in
warning. “Just so’s that’s understood, then. Yer Majesty.”
“I do not want them to know I live,” said Orla, and she
turned to face Ashkar and Kara. Her words were halting as she spoke, as though
she were assembling thoughts that had lain asunder for years upon years. “My
life is my own to risk. But I have sons. I have a home, and a people I have
chosen, and I have fought and bled with them, and for them. I will not
relinquish them, nor put them in danger.”
“Like to see ‘em try it,” growled Dwalin.
“I wouldn’t,” said Ashkar bluntly. “You may be formidable in
war, I do not doubt, but the Cult uses weapons other than steel. They will
uphold one belief and perform another openly and before all, profess their
decency and respect whilst tearing you apart with their slippery words – and
when words have served their purpose and all opposition is disgraced and
terrified, ah! Then! Then the steel emerges.”
“The question of whether we confront them is not under
discussion,” said the Stonehelm wearily. “We cannot fight another war, on such
a distant front, so soon.”
“Then what can we do?” Kara said, and she wrung her hands.
Her face was tired beyond her young years. “Aunt Orla-”
“It is not my home any longer,” said Orla, kindly but with
absolute finality.
“But it is my
home!” Kara burst out. “And you could save it!”
“No, child,” she said, and reached out to lay a hand upon
Kara’s shoulder, catching and holding her gaze. “No, I do not think I am the
one destined to do that.”
Kara’s lip quivered as she stared at her aunt, and then she
lowered her head. “I had hoped…” she said brokenly.
Thorin gnawed on his lip and tugged at the plait in his
beard, his feelings torn. “Does she not feel a responsibility to her people?”
he muttered. “Does she not wish to seek her birthright?”
Balin gave him a sympathetic glance. “Not everyone is you, my friend.”
“I know, I know,”
Thorin said. “And she has forged her own path after losing so much, enduring so
much, and I do understand why she would not risk the happiness she has found
nor the others in her life…”
“But it would not be your way.” Balin’s smile was wry. “Never
a choice in your mind, remember? Not so for her.”
“One person cannot defeat the Cult of Sauron,” Orla was
saying. “I tried before, and I lost everything.”
“If any could do it, I’d lay my coin on you,” said Dwalin
staunchly. She let out a quiet huff of amusement.
“Not helping, dear.”
“I think that the defeat of the Cult of Sauron must belong
not to one, but to many,” said Ashkar. Then they laughed sourly. “That is, if
it can be done at all, homeless and hopeless as we are.”
“You are welcome here,” said the Stonehelm. “For as long as
you need sanctuary. You are not friendless.”
“And the rest of our people? For there are many living in
fear,” said Ashkar. Their eyes were shrewd as they rested upon the King. The
Stonehelm grimaced, but nodded.
“Aye, them too. It’ll be a tight squeeze, no doubt…”
“No, we cannot make ourselves such a target,” said Orla,
standing up swiftly. “The Cult will insinuate that Erebor is seeking an Empire
– that the Longbeards intend to assimilate and colonise the Orocarni by holding
Blacklock Dwarves as hostages, rather
than taking in refugees! They will find their excuse for a war, no matter what
you do. And they will paint us as the aggressors. You thought those Dalemen
were vicious liars? They were children compared to the Cult of Sauron.”
The Stonehelm ran a hand through his hair. “We can see them
off, as we did before…”
“So soon after the last lot?” Dwalin looked torn. “I hate t’
say it, lad…”
“We beat their armies, didn’t we?”
“Not really,” Dwalin said, very reluctantly. “They left when
Mordor fell. If the Ring hadn’t been destroyed, we’d have starved to death by
now.”
“And look at the cost of victory,” snapped Orla. “Dale is a
ruin, two peoples lost their kings – our dead fill our tombs – there was fire
and treachery in the very heart of the Mountain!”
“They can’t do it,” Balin whispered. “Erebor is too weak,
too exposed…”
“I won’t leave these Dwarves living in tyranny and fear,
with nowhere to go!” said the Stonehelm, slamming his hand against his thigh. “My
father said it once, and I will say it again: we are a people who lose their
homes, century after century, and I will not see it repeat itself henceforth! These
are meant to be days of peace, of rebuilding, free of the Shadow at last! When
do we say ‘enough’? Where can they seek refuge, if not here? Our homes are
their homes: I will hear no argument, and I will not support any inaction that
will see Dwarrows fleeing into the wilderness once more, alone and rejected. We
must give them our aid. We must find another way.”
“But where?” said Dwalin in frustration. “We’re exhausted!
Not the Iron Hills either, they’re too barren to support more mouths, and they
too are exposed to the Northern trade routes…”
“Blue Mountains? You can’t get further from the East than
that,” suggested the Stonehelm, but his voice was dubious.
“Oh, even better, ask ‘em to settle an abandoned and
crumbling ruin, half a world away,” sneered Dwalin.
“The Cult would accuse us of slavery and exploitation, it
would be used to fuel their propaganda,” said Orla, with a jerk of her head. “It’d be
added to the list of justifications for attacking us: the outrage over the conditions
there would unite many people against us. Ered Luin is out of the question.”
“Aglarond,” said Legolas, suddenly.
The word fell across the argument like a granite slab,
rendering all silent with confusion. Gimli gasped, and Thranduil tipped his
head, his expression thoughtful. His eyes rested on Gimli with piercing
curiosity.
“The… place, with the caves. In Rohan,” he said.
“Aye, though calling them ‘the place with the caves in
Rohan’ is doing them a vast disservice,” Gimli said, eagerly leaning forward.
“My king, it’s perfect – the White Mountains are ringed all about by the Lands
of Men, and we can call upon the Horse-Lords and upon Gondor to aid us if
needed!”
“It is closer to Umbar than we are,” said Orla, but her face
was clearing as she mulled it over. It seemed that the idea was to her liking.
“True enough, but there’s no clear route from the East.”
Gimli stood and began to pace, gesticulating with his broad hands as he thought
aloud. “We’re in direct line to the East here in Erebor, and only the Iron
Hills stand between us and them, and they could go around those, quite easily.
Whereas the Glittering Caves!”
“That’s right,” Legolas agreed. “There’s the whole of Mordor
in the way, to begin with – the Towers of the Teeth, and then the River
Anduin…”
“Osgiliath and Gondor…!” Gimli said, pouncing on this with
some enthusiasm. “And if by some miracle they get through Aragorn and Faramir,
they’d have to sneak past Meduseld unseen, which from that vantage point is
nigh-on impossible! We’d have the fortress of Helms Deep to use as a base for
our fortifications…”
“After some renovation, I should hope,” Legolas said drily.
“Hush you, cheeky Elf, I’m thinking.” Gimli grinned at
Legolas.
“As it happens so rarely, I apologise for the interruption,”
Legolas murmured, and Gimli snorted and flipped a hand at him.
“I’ll deal with that comment
later. But this is a very good idea. Aglarond is a new place, a new home, and
belongs to no clan. We could build it together. Surrounded by allies and in a
heavily defensible valley, we could easily shelter any refugees of the Orocarni
who are fleeing the death-throes of the Cult.”
“Look at Thranduil,” said Balin, and Thorin glanced over at
the Elvenking. He was watching Gimli with unconcealed intensity now, as though
absorbing his every word and movement for later study.
“This is all sounding very fine,” said Ashkar in a dry
voice, “but how are you going to let them know that, without letting the Cult know?”
“Oh, I suspect the Cult will know, almost immediately.”
Gimli waved that away. “That’s another problem. The first problem is to let anyone in the East know. And the second
is to convince them that our intentions are good.”
Ashkar looked surprised. “What?”
Gimli snorted. “Well, you wanted nothing to do with me at
first, eh? A Northern Dwarf, a Longbeard. Gondor and the West meant nothing
good to you: it meant slavery, slaughter and dominion. Such is the fruit of the
history between you. Were I to walk into the Ghomali court tomorrow and make my
offer, it would not be long before the Cult tried to twist my words into these
foul, miserable shapes of old. Am I right?”
“You’re right,” said Kara flatly, before Ashkar could
answer.
“Then we find a way to make our offer, and then we find a
way to make it believed,” Gimli said, and he rubbed his hands together. “The rest is not up to us, but to them. Ach, I need
a pipe. Thinking on a knotty problem always goes better with a smoke, as Sam
says!”
(2/?) How do you like to edit your works? Chapter by chapter, scene by scene, entire work by entire work? Is it all on the computer, or do you print it out and red-pen it up? Do you let other people beta-read, or is it just you aiming for perfection?
(¾) Sorry if that’s so much, and you don’t have to answer, but the editing process is one that has been a serious struggle for me, and one that most authors seem kind of secretive about… But your works are a joy to read and a great inspiration,
(4/4) that I would be foolish not to ask to pick your brain a little. In the meantime, thank you so much for everything you’ve done and written! I hope things are going well for you, your dwarfling is healthy, and your muse never fails! ♡
Hey Nonnie!
Awerhwlkejhfglsjhdfs honestly!! *fans face* that is super nice of you to say, thank you SO much, aaaaah
I think that is a wonderful dream. Go for it, with all your heart and all my love and encouragement.
Okay, well, bear in mind that this is all very subjective!
I do edit A LOT. I am constantly editing, frankly. There is a little bit of everything: sometimes a sentence or a single line of dialogue needs revising, and sometimes a whole scene needs re-writing. It’s not that it is BAD, per se, it is just that perhaps it isn’t adding anything. Or perhaps it is just clumsy, and so rewriting it will refine and distil it.
I do try to “zoom out” on occasion and look at the work as a whole, trying to find the weakest sections. I know I am not impartial when it comes to this, so it can sometimes be a challenge. I feel this is probably my weakest editing skill.
My strongest editing skill is most likely polishing scene by scene. It is sort of like music to me, or art, in that every scene has a sort of… shape, like a flow or a contour. I often think of the shapes of musical phrases, or like, musical structures, for instance. I build them up, remove the ones that interrupt the pace and the flow, re-write the ones that feel like they don’t belong. To me, every scene has to have a point to it, even a short scene. It has to have a reason. Otherwise why are we looking at it? So everything has to fit that shape, that contour. If it deviates, it has to have a REASON to do so. So, if a scene is a slow-building tension before a fight between two friends, and then there is a joke of some sort? That joke diffuses the tension. Why? For me, it would be in order to begin building it again, even higher than before. The joke gives the reader a moment to breathe and relax after all that tension – and then I can ramp it up even more, because the breather means that they have the stamina to come with me.
When editing and re-reading, if I can’t point to a scene and say: “the reason for this scene is [character development/plot advancement/relationship development],” then it doesn’t have a point, and it is time to go back to the drawing board.
I don’t really have a beta-reader. Sometimes one or two friends will be kind enough to look over a draft for me, to check for mood and pacing and stuff – and to reassure me that it isn’t a steaming pile of donkey-doo! But mostly it is me chipping away at it on my own. That’s okay, though: I don’t think there’s a wrong way to do this bit. As long as it is edited.
I don’t print it and red-pen. I do a LOT of highlighting on the word document, and I keep a notebook by the computer for ideas, character tidbits, snippets of dialogue that might get orphaned, etc.
I do read scenes aloud on occasion, to see if it builds properly, if the shape of it is as I hope it is. I also try reading the dialogue alone, without the description/exposition that may now and then happen between lines of dialogue, to hear whether it works as a play would. (Playwriting is honestly an amazing way of learning to condense a LOT of meaning into dialogue ALONE. Reading and performing plays has made me a better writer, I stg.)
Sometimes I look at timing in my scenes or in a chapter, and go URGH. That is when I start to think, “all right – break it down into CAMERA SHOTS.” This helps find the pace of it. For instance, I am not intimidated by battle scenes, because I control the camera. I can remove half the ‘takes’ later on, if they’re not helping. But just having them to begin with will give my battle-scene more space and more life and fullness, rather than simply describing blow after blow after blow.
I edit as I write. I edit after I’ve written two sentences. I edit after I’ve written a paragraph. I edit after I’ve written a whole scene. I edit after I’ve written a chapter. I edit after I’ve posted a chapter. I edit a previous chapter after I’ve tweaked the last one I posted. I edit like a madwoman.
Very often, the editing starts the words coming out again in a faster current, and I have the impetus/inspiration to add a bit more to the end of the work. And off I go again, editing furiously 🙂
This strategy might not help you, though. Some folks do better to write while the words are coming, and edit when they’re finished. No way is right, no way is wrong!
Aw Yiss 