Tag: Structure

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When Procrastination Pays Off

Posted on by beckylevine

Okay, you know how it goes. You haven’t quite got that story to the place where you’re ready to write. Or maybe you’re a pantser, and you’re always ready to write, but for some reason it’s not flowing today. The pants are too tight. Too loose. Whatever.

So you find something else to do. Something you need to do. Oh, it’s part of the writing process. Maybe it’s research, a book you’ve found that really does have all the details you need. Or there’s an actual site you have to check out, to get the description correct in this scene. Sure, yeah, that site happens to be at the beach. Next to the ice-cream truck. On the most beautiful day of the year. Hey, it’s part of the writing process. No research? Surely there’s a writing workshop you need to take–the new one on settings you’ve heard so much about, or the one that promises to teach you the trick to writing a foolproof query. Yes, absolutely. All important. Part of the writing proc—you get it.

For me, it’s almost always plot. You probably know that by now. When I get muddled or frustrated or lost, I back out of the words and try to see the sequence, the structure, the map. And, yes, like all my other examples, it’s something I need. Truly.

It’s also, though, oh…just a little bit of procrastination. That’s what it feels like, anyway. Especially when I am frustrated or lost, and I have strong doubts that the plot work will lead to anything helpful. Heck, by that point, I usually have doubts that Hermoine Granger could come up with anything helpful. And I end up being pretty sure I’m just playing head games with myself, coming up with an excuse not to face the hard stuff, filling time instead of filling pages.

Oh, and isn’t it nice when I’m wrong?

Today, I did just what I’ve described. I stopped by my Bookmobile and got most of the picture books that Eve Heidi Bine-Stick dissects in  How to Write a Picture Book, Vol 1: Structure, and I started reading. First the picture book, then Bine-Stock’s breakdown. I got through Leo the Late Bloomer and Harry the Dirty Dog (a book I have always loved so much, I didn’t even have to get it from the library; it’s already on my picture-book shelf!). Not only did these examples wake me up to the fact that I’m probably writing a simpler/younger picture book this time around, but they helped me see the structure more clearly and–as usually follows upon that clarity–got the story ideas popping!

I ended up where I always end up with a good writing-craft book: putting the book down and racing for my computer.

And, of course, doing the happy dance.

Such a happy dance that I’m not even embarrassed to paraphrase something from the A-Team: I love it when a procrastination plan comes together!

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Some Explanation: Why I Love Structure

Posted on by beckylevine

I’ve been going on here for a bit about plotting and having a structure for my novel and figuring out what happens, technically, at various points in a scene. And I think sometimes I may sound like I’m looking for a quick fix for something that is just a long process.

Quick?! Do you know how long I’ve been working on this book?!

That’s not really it.

Martha Alderson, author of Blockbuster Plots and The Plot Whisperer probably says it best, although I’m paraphrasing here: We need a bucket for the inspiration to flow into. (Okay, she probably didn’t end her sentence with a preposition!)

I think I need a sturdier bucket than some other people do.

When I write, I have an image in my head–not a visual, but a sort of flavor–about how I want this book to feel. With my first book, a mystery, I knew I wanted light and funny, and I wanted some good action–arguments, sneaking around, a good chase scene. (Oh, I had fun writing that chase scene!). I know what all those things feel like when I read, and I think I hold that feeling out somewhere in front of me, as a goal to reach. I’m not trying, obviously, to copy the voice or writing of another author, but I know when pacing–for example–feels right on. I know what it’s like to read a book where the character layering is perfect–not too heavy, not too flat. And I want to achieve those things in my own writing.

What I don’t always (often?!) know is the how of that achievement. I do, however, believe there are techniques–ways of structuring a sentence, a paragraph, a scene–that are part of that how. I know, because it’s what I do when I critique–make suggestions about how to tighten a sentence, how to layer movement into dialogue, how to trim words that slow down action. I know it, too, because when I sit down and analyze a book, really look at what the author’s doing, I can see their buckets. I don’t know if they actually went out and built their buckets–if they picked and chose the right metal, a cool handle, welded everything up themselves–or if they are so good they basically waved their magic writing wand and just made the bucket appear.

I just know I’m pretty much out here cutting the metal, rolling it up and putting in rivets (rivets?), somehow getting a nice solid bottom into it, and making sure that handle doesn’t come off when I fill that bucket and pick it up.

Luckily, as I do the work, I can feel the inspiration bubbling. I get ideas that I send myself in an email (hey, it’s a long way from the couch workshop to the computer!), and I start to see the layout of the book. I start to know what has to happen when, who needs to make it happen, and where I’ll need to be rearranging plot points and character arcs. For me, the bucket is a necessity. And I have to believe that, if I do the work, someday that bucket will look a lot like this.

Posted in Form, Picture Books, Plot, Structure, Uncategorized, Writing Books

Form: Learning It

Posted on by beckylevine

Years ago, I read a writing book by Lawrence Block. I’m pretty sure it was Writing the Novel: From Plot to Print. The advice I remember most from this book was that the best way to learn plot was to go out and plot a book. One you liked. By a good writer.

At the time I was working on a mystery novel (for grown-ups), and I did dig a few of my favorite mysteries off the shelf and re-read them and look for the big plot points. I probably didn’t go as far with this as I should have, but (in forgiving hindsight to myself) that book turned out to be the one that dragged on way too long and did nothing to make me happy, and I put it in a drawer when I made the jump to kids’ fiction. Someday, who knows…

Anyway, this week, I’m reading Anastasis Suen’s Picture Writing, and she’s basically giving me the same advice. In her book, she asks writers to storyboard out a few picture books–ones with strong characters. So I went to my shelf.

And just in case any of you are anywhere near being as much of a kids’ book addict as me, I’ll show you my list, so you can ooh and get all nostalgically syrupy for a moment.

Now, obviously, when I talk about form, I’m not talking about a formula. There is no formula, as much as we would sometimes like. But there is form. There is a common structure upon which every book in a genre is built–even if doing the building means taking the familiar shape and twisting or even breaking it.

An example: Suen talks about a big story problem, then three small problems that show the big one. One of the books–Bread and Jam for Frances did have the three problems, although I had to read pretty deeply to identify them to my satisfaction. Another book, though—Miss Spiders Tea Party uses eight small problems to illustrate what’s going wrong. And they both work. Between the identification of the big problem and the ending climax & resolution, the authors give the hero a strong or increasingly bad problems to deal with.

And–here was another fun difference. The Hobans and Kirk handled the last, most critical problem in two very different ways. Remember, this is the problem just before the Climax, so it has to be big, and it has to have impact. In Frances’ story, the Hobans deliver several scenes of Frances not getting any other food than her bread & jam. The authors took their time over the first two problems, but they deliver these scenes in quick succession, not giving Frances–or us–any time to recover between them.

Kirk has taken the opposite route. He gives the first seven problems a two-page spread each (one page of verse & one full-page illustration). The last problem, though, he spreads out over eight pages (four verse and four illustrated). He’s drawing out the problem, raising and dropping Miss Spider’s hopes, and seriously increasing the tension…again, to get us to the climax.

Now, I would never say that writing a picture book is easier than writing a novel. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s harder, & you’ll probably hear me say that plenty of times in the next year or ten.  But…it is, I think, an easier form to study in this way–simply because there are fewer words in which to hunt for the structure.

Why am I doing this? For the same reason we should all be doing it in whatever genre we’re writing. No, we’re not out to learn that mythic formula. No, we’re not out to play “Copycat the Rich & Famous.”

We’re out to learn everything we can about the form we’re writing. We’re out to make our own books in that form the best that we can.