Glove or Glass Slipper

Glove or Glass Slipper

YEAH, yeah, I know. Another post about something not fitting. I promise it is not a trend; it just seems to be trending in my writing and plotting lately. But there’s a true reason why I am writing this post.

Back in the day, I used to keep a binder of all my pre-writing stuff so that I could quickly access data regarding characters, settings, languages, maps, etc. with a quick thumbing through of the tabs of the binder. Actually, because it was so extensive, I had a binder alone just for the languages of my still-unpublished series (perhaps more on that later). While it was technically quite efficient, at least more so than a collection of scraps of paper with scribblings on them, it was still an antiquated way to organize everything.

And that was just how I organized my pre-writing—how I wrote was quite outdated and restrictive as well. I was what is referred to in the writing community as a “pantser” — no, I didn’t go around pulling down the pants of unsuspecting victims, it simply means that I wrote by the seat of my pants, that I had no road map. I remember some days I would sit at my computer attempting to write and the white page anxiety was crippling, and I stubbornly wouldn’t move onto some other scene in my book until I figured out the one I was working on. Seems stupid, now that I think about it, and I probably wasted so much of my time not writing when I could have moved to a different part of the book and worked on that part instead while I let the other scene stew in my brain and work itself out.

SCENE WRITING

WHEN I met my writing coach, Joe Nassise, back in 2011, I had never really heard of plotting. I mean, I vaguely outlined my projects, but only in the sense that I knew the parts of the novel/story that I was forced to study in all my literature classes: Exposition, Conflict, Rising Action, Climax, Falling Action, and Resolution. And those are definitely crucial parts to have at least softly worked out before you start the writing process, but the study of literature and process of writing it are far different. In actuality, a story is not comprised solely of these 6 parts; each part could have multiple scenes within it, meaning that the scenes have to make sense within their respective parts (having a high-energy climax scene during the falling action of the story might make the resolution seem rushed, etc).

If you think of your story less like a linear path of writing and more like scenes of a movie—like how a director might film certain scenes of a movie first and others later,  joining them together in seamless sequence during editing—it might reduce that white screen anxiety and make your writing process a lot less daunting. So how does one do this? 

When I worked with Joe, he had me think of my chapters as scenes and had me write out the chapter/scene name on the white side of a 3″x5″ index card, and place the basic bullet points of each scene on the lined side. I could pick up any of those index cards on any given day and write that scene. So, if I felt worked up or combative, writing a fight scene that day might be better, and writing a love scene on a day I was feeling extra emotional, romantic, or sentimental would yield a better product because of my respective mood.

GLOVE OR GLASS SLIPPER?

BUT here was the other great thing: I didn’t have to get it right the first time. If in writing a scene I realized it didn’t make sense or didn’t fit in that spot, I’d pull the card out (saving the scene for later) or shift it and make another card for the scene that did. I went into this “Glove or Glass Slipper” style of writing with my scene cards. Now you might be asking yourself: “WTF is he talking about?”

Let me explain, and it will (hopefully) make sense.

Some of of you reading this are probably too young to remember the OJ Simpson murder trial, but starting the fall of 1994 and spanning over a year, that was pretty much the thing to watch and follow on television. There was a famous line from OJ’s Defense Attorney, Johnnie Cochran: “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit,” referring to the glove found at the crime scene, saying that if the glove didn’t fit on OJ’s hand, then he couldn’t have possibly been the one to commit the murders of his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ron Goldman. As asinine as that logic is, it’s what returned a not-guilty verdict from the jury, which meant that whomever’s hand fit that glove must be the murderer. Right?

Here’s the issue. Gloves are made to fit more hands than just one person. You know, something something capitalism. In fact, all apparel on the market is generally mass constructed so that it fits multiple buyers and increases profits. Unless it’s custom, like a Glass Slipper, which fits only the person it was designed for. Yes, yes, I am sure you could argue that someone with an identical foot could slide on into it, but those would be few and far between.

Sometimes scenes are Glass Slippers—they fit the gap between their bordering scenes with the precision of footwear formed by a fairy godmother; but other times, a scene can fit like a generic glove—too loosely that the scenes around it seem disconnected, as if it belonged somewhere else, or even too tightly, and leaving it in place would be almost criminal, like getting away with murder.

PLOTTING WITH PLOTTR

SINCE I started writing again after my hiatus, one of the tools I’ve grown the most fond of is Plottr. It acts as both binder and index card holder, keeping information such as places, characters, notes all in one place while also acting as a timeline of your story with Scene Cards—much like those trusty index cards of yore—which you can move around, even to another book in the series if you realize that the scene you just finished writing belongs at a different place in the whole scheme of the overall plot.

THIS past weekend was spent doing damage control on my own Plottr timeline for Wonderspark. What I had originally plotted was fitting as well as the foot of an evil stepsister, and the more I tried to make it fit, the more holes I created in the plot further down the line. But the great thing about Plottr is that instead of just scrapping all the scenes within the existing timeline that didn’t fit, I moved them with one click to a “bucket” project from which I can pull from later, even for an unrelated project altogether.

STILL LEARNING

WHILE I am still learning the software, I love its capabilities. They offer YouTube tutorials and both free and paid seminars to get the most out of the software. I’ve learned they creators of the software are very receptive to feedback and suggestions, so I have already made a couple of suggested features that would enhance user experience and functionality.

As I learn how to use it better, I plan on giving my own tutorials and creating my own templates for it, so stay tuned!

Square Peg, Round Hole

Square Peg, Round Hole

OFTEN writers are told to trust the process, to let the story unfold naturally, and to listen to the characters as they guide us through their journeys. Yet, despite this sage advice, there are moments when we find ourselves grappling with a stubborn plot point or a character arc that just won’t seem to cooperate. It’s akin to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole–frustrating, time-consuming, and ultimately, counterproductive.

In my own writing journey this past week, I encountered instances where I was trying to force a storyline to conform to my initial vision, only to realize that it’s like swimming against the current–exhausting and futile. The truth is, trying to shoehorn a square peg into a round hole not only impedes the creative process but also robs the story of its authenticity and vitality.

BRING HIM HOME

I spent several hours this week outlining, scrapping, and re-outlining countless scenarios to coincide with what I had already plotted. In my original outline, I was trying to weave together several existing parables and mythologies to strengthen the base familiarity of my series, a trick in Speculative Fiction to help readers associate with themes or threads within the story so that disbelief is more readily and easily suspended.

Originally, the backstory I had plotted out involved three brothers, loosely paralleled with the Biblical brothers Cain, Abel, and Seth, and interwoven with the Prometheus myth and Garden of Eden—an undertaking, I know. I would get one or two threads to work and the other would fray from the tapestry. At one point, I had the brothers in Israel, by the Sea of Galilee; at another point, I had them in the Greek Isles; and before I finally decided to let the characters talk to me and tell me their story, I was trying to force them to tell the story from Denmark. And none of these backstories worked because they ultimately weren’t meant to.

Now not every writer from Maine needs to base their stories there—and I am leagues away from having Stephen King’s talent—but why not have the story set in Maine. It’s mystical and majickal, a bit treacherous and rugged, with some of America’s oldest histories and oldest tales… I sat back in my chair and decided to bring it home. Literally. And by doing so, I changed the locale of the entire story (from Boston to Downeast Maine) even if only by 360 miles or so. 

THE THREE BROTHERS

ONE of my favorite areas of Maine is its Downeast coastline of sea caves and high cliffs, islands and inlets, all dotted with lighthouses to warn incoming sailors of the dangers of its jagged shores, a literal beacon of light to ward off darkness and disaster.

I decided to move the timeline of my backstory further into the future than the outlines I scrapped; although there’d still be generations between the backstory and the main plotline, putting centuries between them just to fit the original outline that, well, honestly didn’t fit, made no sense at all and only left plotholes and a heck of a lot more research for me to do—research that theoretically would never make it into the story if only with slight references. It started feeling contrived, forced, hammered into a spot it wasn’t meant to go. It started to feel like overbuilding.

As I did the research of migrations to the Downeast area, it all started falling into place. Instead of making my outline fit to a time or place, I first found a place and then the time when it would all fit. While I still had to find the exact size round hole for it to fit, I was no longer working with a square peg.

Eventually, three McKenna brothers were sparked into creation, fitting the world to which they were born versus being born into a world in which they didn’t fit.

RORIK "ROOK" MCKENNA, AGE 16
RIORDAN "RORY" MCKENNA, AGE 15
ROONEY "RUNE" MCKENNA, AGE 12

CONCLUSION

SO, why do we persist in this futile endeavor of forcing? Perhaps it’s because we’re afraid to deviate from our meticulously crafted outlines or reluctant to let go of our preconceived notions of how the story should unfold. We cling to the familiar, even when it’s clear that it’s not serving the narrative. But here’s the thing–writing is a fluid, organic process. It’s about being open to inspiration, allowing the story to evolve naturally, and embracing the unexpected twists and turns along the way. And sometimes, that means being willing to abandon the square peg in favor of the round one.

In my experience, some of the most compelling moments in storytelling arise when we let go of our preconceptions and allow the characters to drive the narrative. It’s about relinquishing control and trusting in the creative energy that flows through us, guiding us toward the story’s true essence. So, the next time you find yourself struggling to make a square peg fit into a round hole in your writing, take a step back. Reassess the narrative, listen to your characters, and be open to alternative possibilities. Remember that writing is a journey of discovery, and sometimes, the most profound insights come when we surrender to the flow of creativity.

In the end, it’s not about forcing the story to conform to our expectations but rather about embracing the beauty of serendipity and allowing the narrative to unfold in its own time and in its own way. After all, the round peg may lead us to places we never imagined possible, enriching the story and our writing journey in ways we could never have anticipated.

World Building Series: Language Construction—Part 1

***Originally posted on The Bearded Scribe on March 30, 2012; post has been edited and updated.

World Building Series: Language Construction—Part 1

HELLO, Beardies!

I decided to do yet another post within my World Building Series, this time focusing on language construction. Being a lover of language, especially in Fantasy, I believe this is one of the many elements that sets the genre apart from the rest.

I mean… How exciting is it to open up a new book and find a glossary?!? I love the challenge and the ‘secret’ invitation to get inside the head of the author. How the author forms the language, how it is used by the characters, and how the author incorporates it into the book are all things that make for a stimulating read. At least for me.

I spent years trying to perfect my first language. At first I got in my own way. I was just creating words—with truly no fluidity or method of organization. I even complicated things by trying to incorporate too much complexity into the language. I was my own worse enemy.

I finally had a breakthrough when I realized I needed to simplify. A lot. It was overhaul time, but where to begin? Sure, the words I created were wicked neat (as we say in New England) and evocative of their true meanings, but there was no cohesiveness to their styles or potential etymology. I almost scrapped it completely, but I ran across something that changed my outlook on Tolkien’s genius and fantasy languages altogether.

One chilly winter’s afternoon, I took a sojourn to Lansing, Michigan and my path led me to a newly-finished, outdoor mall. I can’t recall if I went there specifically or happened to stumble upon it, but at any rate, they had one of the largest bookstores I had ever seen (I’ve seen much larger ones since, but this was a great find for us at the time). While browsing the shelves, my eyes were drawn to the bright red binding and the title of the book pictured below: The Languages of Tolkien’s Middle-earth by Ruth S. Noel.

THE image is perhaps too small to read the block of text under the title, so I will oblige all of you with a transcription: A complete guide to all fourteen of the languages Tolkien invented.

Yes. You read it correctly. Fourteen! I figured if it gives me even the slightest inclination as to how he did it with fourteen, then surely I should be able to create at least one!

I read that thing from cover to cover. Twice.

And then I re-read it with a journal and pen to take notes on all the helpful information it contained. It is in no way a reference guide to how Tolkien did it, but it contained enough clues for me to discern a pattern and methodology. And with my journal now full of notes, hints, and questions for me to ask myself about my own language, I decided to jump in head first.

I also discovered something important. Tolkien didn’t create his languages from scratch, he had a little help. I am not saying that Tolkien wasn’t a genius because he didn’t create his language from scratch—because he absolutely was one; I am saying that perhaps the fact that he decided to use an existing language for guidance proved his very genius. Why not borrow parts of a language that already has all of the ‘kinks’ worked out? It made perfect sense to me, so that’s what I decided to do.

As Tolkien based his language upon Finnish (whether it was just one—or perhaps all fourteen—I am not certain), I, too, decided to structure [at least parts of] my language on an existing one…. well, many, actually. Parts of my language are derived from Gaelic, parts from French, parts from Latin, parts from Finnish, parts from Hebrew (the list actually goes on, but I will spare you from its entirety).

Also, like Tolkien, I decided to use combination forms of words so that I could create better-formed proper nouns—names of characters and places and important things.

This post is getting rather long, so I will end it and continue where I left off in a future post. Keep your eye out for it! 🙂

Since this post was first published in 2012, I've actually dissected my languages and have decided to simplify even more, so I removed the section of this post that contained the older language references.

Stay tuned for the next post in this series,

Picture of Joshua A. Mercier

Joshua A. Mercier

World Building Series: Overbuilding

***Originally posted on The Bearded Scribe on March 20, 2012.

World Building Series: Overbuilding

WELCOME BACK, Beardies!

Here is the second installment of my World Building Series of blog posts, as promised, which has to do with the dreaded dilemma of OVERBUILDING.

Overbuilding can cause serious procrastination for a writer, and I can attest that I am perhaps the worst culprit of this—or at least I used to be. Attempting to perfect my languages was the biggest distraction for me, and in doing so, I never actually got much writing done.

I had created three separate languages for my first series (a separate languages for two of my races, and an Ancient dialect used for majick), and I was never completely happy with the first two of them. I kept going back to ‘tweak’ the languages, at first trying to make what I already had work, and then trying to reconstruct them altogether. But it was when I finally decided to simplify that I chose to scrap the weaker parts of both, combining the stronger parts of each and forming a universal language for the world instead of separate ones for the two races. Honestly, a lot of this was decided when I realized that I needed more than two races in my series, which meant possibly creating a separate language for each; and just like that I realized how daunting the task at hand would be and opted to create a unifying language for all the races. It seems like an easy way out–but I had to ask myself the important question: how much of each language would honestly go into the various books in the series? Which meant also asking: shouldn’t I be spending more time on the actual plot?

I can tell you from experience: just as there are flaws in the world we live in, the world you create for your story will never be perfect or to your liking until you actually write the plot. Writing the plot irons out the flaws and answers the questions that are left unanswered while you are in the initial building stages.

Or maybe there are not flaws, per se, but minor issues that arise while writing. For instance: whereas I was happy with my Ancient dialect used for the majickal system in the series, I realized while writing one of the chapters (where the majick system is the most prevalent), that I actually need to ‘tweak’ and define the language a little further to fit the rules and limitations of the majick. This type of building where you build it once it’s needed—as opposed to overbuilding and never using some of the material in the actual writing—is highly encouraged. I feel the choice made my majick system more believable and understandable (not only to my readers, but to me as well).

Stay tuned for the next post in this series,

Picture of Joshua A. Mercier

Joshua A. Mercier

World Building Series: Introduction and Fundamentals

***Originally posted on The Bearded Scribe on February 29, 2012.

World Building Series: Introduction and Fundamentals

GREETINGS Beardies!

While writing on my current project, Valkyrie, the other day, an idea for a post started to formulate in my mind.

World Building.

FANTASY and Speculative Fiction or not, every book (and movie/screenplay) has it. Even non-fiction has a bit of world building involved. An author must know the limits and facts about the world in which he/she is writing before he/she can construct a believable, fully-formed story. If an author’s facts have inconsistencies or flaws, he/she can discredit his/her knowledge of the craft, and by doing so, quickly lose readership. Simply put: if you don’t know the world in which your story takes place, how are you supposed to describe it to your readers in its fullest capacity?

I have been pondering at how to go about writing on such an extensive topic–or even how to begin doing so, for that matter. After much deliberation, I decided that breaking it down into several posts would be the most practical option, not only for my personal choice to put constraints on post lengths, but also to get more detailed and concise, content-related posts for you, my readers.

This first post will focus on the initial steps to world building, intertwined with my own anecdotes of trial & error with my own writing, and will also introduce the next post in this specific series.

BEFORE I ever knew what world building was, I was unknowingly creating my own worlds. After reading books like The Egypt Game, The Bridge to Terabithia, The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings, I became obsessed with creating worlds of my very own. I sketched maps galore, created languages (minor undertakings back then), secret codices with which I could write notes to my friends, and planned out entire cities in which to create my stories.

Of course, those worlds failed me; more correctly, I failed them because I didn’t know enough about my creations. Sometimes I would sketch pages and pages of maps with great detail, but I neglected to populate it with creatures and characters that were believable for the setting. Sometimes, vice versa. Other times, I forgot to ask myself important questions whose answers would have provided me with a connection between the different aspects of my worlds. I constantly wrote myself into corners—or worse, circles. My writing was all jumbled—mismatched additions, not all too dissimilar from the Winchester House—without any coherence whatsoever. I neglected to make the full blueprint before building the house; but fortunately, with training and practice, I realized the errors and remedied them.

The Winchester House - Santa Clara Valley, California

MOST ideas for stories usually develop long before a writer even thinks about world building. Unfortunately, I feel that this leads to weaker stories in the end. I am saying this from experience because the first few starts at my now-finished manuscript were torturous. My characters and my world felt disconnected and, to be honest, a bit contrived. In my opinion, it is much easier to build believable characters inside of a defined world than to a build a foreign world around a cluster of characters.

Asking yourself fundamental questions will help guide you in creating the blueprint; and creating a basic blueprint for your world before you go any further will save you a lot of headache.

THE first set of questions we will discuss have to do with Earth settings and their variations/possibilities:

  • If this story takes place on Earth, does it occur in the Past?
  • Present?
  • Future?
  • Some alternate version/history of Earth? [for instance, an Earth that has been decimated by a nuclear war or asteroid? A post WWII Earth in which Hitler had won?]

EACH answer should and will produce more questions for you to consider, and each answer will also narrow down the genre/category of your manuscript. Let’s take our two examples from above, starting first with a post-asteroid collision.

  • When, where, and how did the collision happen?
  • How did it change the landscape/structure/rotation/orbit/population/technology of the Earth?
  • Were there any alien life forms or microbes on the asteroid?Or maybe some advanced technology?
  • If yes, how did that change the landscape, environment, or population? Did it change the genetic makeup of humans/animals/plants? On the negative side, did it bring disease or famine? On the positive side, did the asteroid’s introduction create a superior human/animal/plant?

AS you can see, each answer spawns a whole set of additional questions, which then defines the conflicts and plots. Placing characters within this constructed world is now a breeze.

The questions for our second example might look a little like this…

  • How had Hitler and the Axis forces defeated the Allied?
  • Did Hitler continue his mass genocide? And if so, how has this affected the population of Earth? Did Hitler succeed in creating an Aryan race? Does everyone speak German?
  • How long after the defeat does the story take place? Within Hitler’s lifetime? Twenty years later?
  • Are there secret Allied forces still hiding out from the Nazi Regime? Are they physically hiding out (in, say, underground caves) or pretending to blend in with society while maintaining their Allied lifestyles in secret? Are there plans to overthrow the government?

LITERALLY dozens of scenarios with an exponential amount of questions can arise from the first 4 questions above, and that is only dealing with Earth or Alternate Earth settings and plots. The second part of this post will deal with all other settings.

    • If the story does not take place on Earth [or any variation], is the setting a known one (i.e., Mars, the Moon, or the Andromeda Galaxy) or some distant or unknown planet/moon/galaxy? Is it even part of our known universe?
    • If unknown setting, how was the setting formed? Evolutionary (like the Big Bang Theory)? Or Mythologically (created by omnipotent beings)? Or a combination of the two?
    • How does the setting differ from Earth? How is it similar? Landscape/flora/fauna differences and similarities? Does it still have earthly forces (like gravity)? Does it have unearthly forces, i.e., majick (more on this later)?
    • Is it populated by more than one race/species? Are they humanoid? Are all of them intelligent?
    • Are there areas with concentrations of certain races, or do all the races live together?
    • If there is majick, where is it derived from (sun, moon, water, earth, air, blood, artifacts, etc)? Are all the races majickal? Only a few? One?
    • Are the majickal races exalted or suppressed? Is a majickal race the ruling race? Does it view the other races as unequal because of its lack of majick? Or vice versa?

The questions are endless, and so are the answers. And each answer lends itself to a different aspect of your world–from character races, history, politics (power struggles, classes), mythology (creation myths, deity current involvement and interaction), languages (spoken, written, ancient), majick (source, limitations, how it’s produced and used), et cetera.

The list is infinite, and I know I barely touched the surface when it comes to introducing World Building, which kind of brings me to introducing the topic of the next series in this post: Overdoing it!

Stay tuned for the next post in this series,

Picture of Joshua A. Mercier

Joshua A. Mercier