That Thing Where I Draw: Angry Suriya

I don't want to say much about this scene. Even though Cunning Folk is T-minus-infinity years away from being published, I don't want to spoil it. (Though now I wonder how negative numbers fit into the spoiler formula).

All I'll say is Suriya finds herself betrayed and gets mad. Like many fledgling super-powered humans, her powers go a little nuts when she's upset. On the plus side, there's no one left to mess with her when she's through.

So after a year or two of asking people what kind of pencils they use, and searching in vain for Prismacolors (they seem to be the brand of choice, but good luck finding them in Chiang Mai), I finally found colored pencils that actually blend. My previous attempts with colored pencils -- even the better ones -- never felt like this. It's like I've been playing a two-string guitar and someone said, "You know there are supposed to be six?"

The Problem with the Gun on the Mantle

"One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it."
-- Anton Chekhov

This is good advice. By putting a loaded gun on stage (or on the mantle, in the other version of this quote), you are making a promise to the reader. If that gun doesn't go off, it's not only wasting words but it's kind of a let down. If a storm is brewing, it better hit by the end. If there are embarrassing secrets, their keepers must be embarrassed!

But there's a problem: if the gun always goes off, then as soon as it's introduced, the reader knows what will happen.

I noticed this while reading Duma Key by Stephen King. There's some early foreshadowing that basically told me how it would end and drained some of the tension. I respect Stephen King, so I won't spoil his novel by using it as an example. Instead, I'll spoil Avatar.

Jake learns the ways of the Na'vi -- a super tall, blue-skinned race of nature-loving aliens. One of their rites of passage is to bond with a predatory bird they use for transportation and war, which Jake does. But he's almost taken down by an even bigger predator called the Turok.

Jake's girlfriend tells him the Turok is the biggest predator on the planet. "It has only been tamed five times in our history," she says. "Those riders became legends. They brought all the tribes together, bringing peace to the world."

Gun. Mantle. You don't have to see the movie to know what they do with it. Foreshadowing is good, and Chekhov was right about using all the elements you put on stage. But if you're not careful, it becomes obvious and predictable.*

The trick? One trick is to be subtle. Subtle foreshadowing is the stuff you don't realize was there until after the gun goes off, then you're all, "Holy crap, it was there the whole time!"

Another trick is to foreshadow things so that the reader has to know how it happens. The Turok wasn't interesting because we knew the result: Jake would prove himself legend, bring the tribes together, and use their combined might to fight the humans. Contrast that with the other Avatar: the final showdown between Aang and Ozai is forecasted from episode 1, but you have to see it because (a) Ozai has to be killed and (b) Aang doesn't kill anybody.

If you must foreshadow plainly, then twist what the reader expects. The gun goes off, but it backfires on the shooter. Jake fails to bond with the Turok, but his girlfriend rescues him and she becomes the legendary rider.**

Like anything in writing, be intentional. Keep your promises to the reader, but don't stick to the letter of the promise. A predictable climax can be just as bad as a gun that doesn't go off.

* My only real complaint with Avatar was its predictability -- there was a lot more than just the Turok.

** Then the movie might not have been so much like this 20-second summary.

True Neutral

From a conversation I had on Facebook. Make your own motivational posters here.

5 Secrets to Keep You in the Game

The writing game is really, really easy to quit. Maybe it's because your first novel always sucks but, like an American Idol first-rounder, you have no idea. Maybe it's because you need to write a million words before you start writing good ones. Maybe it's because you get rejected 100 times before something clicks and you understand why.

I don't mind if people quit -- less competition for me. But since you guys keep coming back and saying such nice things, I'm going to tell you a few secrets to keep you in the game.

It's okay to rehash old plots. I quit for almost a decade because I rewrote The Fellowship of the Ring without realizing it. Granted that novel would never have sold as written. But I could have worked the story and reworked it. I could've injected it with other rehashed plots, original twists, and my own voice until it was something fresh. Everything's been done and will be done again. Don't let that stop you.

Your first draft will suck. Write it anyway. Everything bad can be made good with revision. Even something good can be made better. But you can't revise a blank page.

Everything can be deleted. That clever turn of phrase? Gone. That supposedly-important chapter? Don't need it. That boy you thought was the protagonist, but actually this girl over here is far more interesting? Delete him. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is necessary. Everything can be cut. Try it and see.

Your first story will not be published. Harsh? Yeah, but it's better for you to know now. Don't let it stop you. Try and get published anyway, because the stuff you learn from failing will help you too. Who knows? You might get lucky. But don't be surprised when your dreams are shattered, cutting your bare feet on the floor.

You have more than one story in you. A lot of folks learn the previous truth the hard way then get bitter, decide the game is rigged. It's not rigged, it's hard. The only way to keep your hopes from piling up on a story that can't sustain them is to write another story. And another one after that. If your dream is to get published, then keep writing until it happens. Who knows? Maybe you can pull that first story back out of the gutter, rinse it off, cut it up, and try again.

How about you? Got any secrets?

That Thing Where I Draw: Novice Suriya

No, this isn't Aang (though she does live at a temple, and she is, for all intents and purposes, firebending). I've paused work on Cunning Folk to implement Air Pirates Plan B, but Suriya's story is still bouncing around my head in pictures like this one.

So after fleeing the villages and ditching Anna (a decision she's still not sure was the right one), Suriya takes refuge at a Buddhist temple in the countryside. It becomes almost a home to her, the first place she has felt safe since she was little. But it's only temporary -- someone will find her eventually.

When she sees a vision of bounty hunters burning the temple to the ground, looking for her, she wonders if she should trust the monks with her secret.

5 Things I'm Proud Of (Sort Of)

1. Won a 99-minute round of Super Smash Bros. (MattyDub and I played only because that's how high the timer went, and we wanted to see if we could do it).





2. Watched all three Lord of the Rings' movies in one sitting (extended versions).





3. After a 3.5-day fast, finished an entire El Champion plus chips and salsa. (Though I didn't eat anything else for another 24 hours).





4. Can play the theme songs of Laputa, Crystalis, and Firefly.





5. Once out-ate a guy twice my size on a trip to Mexico. I finished his dinner for him too. The next morning, while he was cradling his belly and waving off breakfast, I made a fat burrito and ate it in front of him with a smile.

So that's mine. What lame accomplishments are you proud of?

The Slow Death of a Literary Agent

Average American
You are an average American. You sleep 8 hours, eat 2.5 hours a day, work 40 hours a week, and commute a quarter of an hour each way.* The rest of your time is split pretty evenly between things you Have To Do (cooking, cleaning, fixing things, buying things...) and things you Want To Do (watching TV, reading, playing guitar, having a social life, etc).

* Those last two are actually below average, but I'm being generous with the numbers in this post to make a point.

No Response Means No
You decide you want to be a literary agent. That means, in addition to your regular work hours which make money, you have to read query letters. Thinking a query letter is something like a resume -- you send it out widely and only hear back if you get an interview -- you adopt a "no response means no" policy.

Still, it takes you an average of 3 minutes to read and make a decision on each query. Getting through 200 queries a week, plus partials and fulls, means 12 extra hours of work. Fortunately you weren't very good at guitar anyway. And you probably don't have to see a new movie every week.

Form Rejections
Writers, you discover, are needier than the average job seeker. Without a response, they pester you endlessly wondering if you've gotten to their query yet. After talking to your agent buddies you adopt a form rejection policy. Copying/pasting everything, including the author's name and their book title, takes an extra minute per query -- over 3 hours more each week. No big deal, but it does mean you have to stop watching those reality shows.

Improved Form Rejections
After a few years of interacting with writers on your blog (which you do now instead of going out Saturday night), you decide form rejections aren't enough. You're eager to give writers what they want, so you personalize your rejections -- not all the way, of course, but since a query usually gets rejected for one of a few reasons, you create five "personalized" form rejection letters.

What you didn't realize was how difficult it is to stop and analyze every query for why it doesn't appeal to you. And some queries don't even fit into your categories. It ends up taking another 2 minutes per query, leaving you with only 4 hours of "Want To Do" time a week. You survive though, trading sleep so you can play Halo or read a book occasionally.

Personalized Rejection
It's still not enough. Instead of being thankful for your help, the writers are arguing with you over why you didn't like their story! Years later you'll learn it's just human nature, that it's hard NOT to defend your work even when faced with hard evidence. For now, you decide you'll write truly personalized rejections. It takes a while -- about 10 minutes per query, actually -- but it's worth it if it helps writers improve their craft.

Of course everything you eat is ordered online now, weekends are something that happen to other people, and cleaning is right out (and you can't afford a maid, of course, because you're not getting paid for any of this). But finally the writers will be satisfied.

Won't they?