I am at the beginning of writing a book. I’ve done this before, like, multiple times. The beginnings of books are fun. I start out with something–sometimes an opening line, sometimes an opening scene or chapter or (in at least one case) ten chapters, and I keep adding things in and following loose characters down dark alleys and exploring…
Then I realize that if it’s actually a book it will have to go somewhere, and the process of narrowing and aiming and refining begins. And at that point things often grind to a halt. This has happened before; it should be a familiar process. But every time, every. damned. time, I go through something like this, and every damned time I’m flummoxed.
Generally I have some idea of where I’m going. When I’ve described the process before I say that it’s a little like driving over countryside. I have a topographic map at my side, and there are perhaps some places I know I need to hit–his hill, that river, that quaint village over there. And I have an idea–sometimes quite a clear one–of what the destination is. In Point of Honour, for example, I knew that I was pointed toward a scene at the end at which my heroine and the heretofore unsuspected villain of the piece have a showdown. But when I was writing The Stone War I just knew that somehow my hero had to find a way to bring peace to an embattled New York. So… like that. I don’t have specifics, just a direction. Until the specifics reveal themselves.
But at some point that non-specific approach can make me grind to a halt. When I hit a “where is this going anyway” roadblock I have a number of tricks I use to get things moving again. They don’t always work; sometimes it just takes time, and then one day I wake up and start noodling and the block dissolves. Sometimes if I write a scene closer to the end of the book it helps me figure out that destination point (even if I don’t use that scene in the final book). Sometimes I retype the book up to the point where I ground to a halt (there are books where the first 5-10 chapters were retyped several times, to the detriment of my wrists). And sometimes I make a list of books to read that I feel, in some inchoate way, do something I want to be able to do with the book. What that something is is not anything very clear cut. For example, here’s a list I made this morning of books I need to re-read, in no particular order:
- The Goblin Emperor, by Katherine Addison
- The War for the Oaks, by Emma Bull
- I, Claudius, by Robert Graves
- The Magicians, by Lev Grossman
- Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria, by Beverly Daniel Tatum
- The Once and Future King, by TH White
- The People, by Zenna Henderson
Others may occur…as I’m thinking about this, inspirations can spark other inspirations.
Does this give you an idea of what I’m writing about? If I can get this book to behave and decide where it’s going, it will be unlike anything else I’ve written (at least I think so–you don’t always know what your subconscious is throwing into the mix).
If you need me I’ll be in a corner with a pile of books, looking for inscrutable inspiration. And clarity. Ah, clarity.
Hmm. I wonder if there is anything I could read that would help me at a similar place in my current book. I’ve read some great books of late, but they are all so very different from what I’m doing. I usually read more non-fiction (general reading, not for research) than fiction when I’m in heavy fiction writing mode, but perhaps I need to re-think that.
In a lot of cases, I re-read fiction because there’s something about the work that does something I may be trying to do, and I want to see if that helps me figure anything out about my own work. Sometimes I come away thinking “well, that was swell, but that’s not the book I’m writing.” Sometimes I come away thinking “okay, if I borrow that technique but stand it on its head…”