Trying to think...I'm working on grounding a scene (my scenes usually start out floaty and I have to go back and ground them in place and time), and this scene is very much like a scene later in the story, one that I already went to the trouble of grounding. I thought, hey, I can just pull the setting and physical details, move them up here, and trim them to fit. Because I don't have to use the second scene at all, do I?*

But then I thought, wait a minute, maybe I can do more with the second scene than just cannibalize it. The scenes are similar--is there something that can be shown by contrasting the way the character responds in the first scene with the way he does in the second? Is there something I can get across by doing this? Something about the character arc?

I don't know if there is or not. That's what I'm trying to think. What does the character learn in the book? Self-control, for one thing. Distrust. Thought before action. So, is there anything he is unable to do in the first scene, that he can do in the second? Or vice versa?

I do see one path I could take. I have some stuff from earlier versions, about the character's regrets during the first scene. It would fit right in if I keep that and develop it, then during the second scene show him having learned from those regrets. The only problem is that I've led the reader away from this aspect of the character recently.

What I have to do, I think, is make sure I have a grip on what makes this character respond to crisis with action, and what makes him totally lose it. That's going to be tough to get across--that the character is both cool-headed and a loose cannon. I need to understand it better or the characterization will come off as inconsistent.

I know that he's a good guy to have around in a crisis if the situation calls for immediate, gut-level response. Like pushing a stranger out of the way of a speeding car. But if the situation is more complex--especially if there is no clear, quick action to take--he can become a problem. And--I think this is what's hanging me up--his ability to respond goes out the window when his own tragedy hits. You'd think that anybody who has the presence of mind to leap in front of a speeding car and push someone out of its path would keep that presence of mind 24/7, no matter what. At least, the reader is probably going to assume so.

This is very, very tricky.


*I don't know the answer to this anymore because I no longer know what the exact path to the ending is.

Jumped ahead to a tough part, although I'm not into the worst of it yet. I saw today that while sometimes it's good to get things right before you move on, other times it's just dumb. It's extremely clear that some of the problems I was having with tone are going to dissolve under revision. That sounds good, but it might not be because I've got to go back and cast everything in a different light. I'm a little worried that I'm going to dig my way into this and eventually run out of places to dig--and that's how I'll learn that none of this is going to work. The whole ms, an unworkable story. I cannot imagine a worse hell at this point.

So. I guess tomorrow the thing to do is continue to look at the tough part, although I'm not even sure what scenes need to be in it, or what all they need to do. I have a vague idea, but that's it.

What's tough about them? I guess that they're the kinds of scenes you'd prefer to write around if you could--too raw, too close to the emotional bone for this character and, therefore, for me. Of course, this means a very real risk of overwritten melodrama. On top of that, the rest of the story rides on these scenes because they provide the motivation for everything that follows--every despicable, unlikeable act the MC does. I have to somehow get the reader on board, or if not on board, at least sympathetically wishing they could warn the poor guy not to do what he's going to do. And if I can't do allllll that, the whole story falls.

Somebody remind me, please--why didn't I just get a job flipping burgers? Oh yeah, that's right--the smell of grease. We'll see how much longer that seems like a minus.

Off topic--business

I got another thing in the mail from my German publisher for Repossessed, via my American publisher. I've only had a few books sell foreign rights (yay, foreign rights!), and mostly didn't hear anything about them beyond somebody at some point telling me they sold (except I got a couple of copies of Beating Heat in German, which was cool). But for some reason, this is maybe the fourth time I've gotten a clipping from a German magazine that mentioned Repo, usually with picture of the cover. I have no idea what kinds of magazines they are, or what the clips say. They could be complaining about the writing or saying the book is written by an evil American who lives in the same state with George Bush, who knows. But it hit me today, these are the only "reviews" that I get and I'm nothing but pleased to see them. There's no momentary girding of my loins, no tensing of muscles till I know whether I can ungird or not. There's no wondering if the wording represents the book accurately or if it will mislead readers. I know from the second I see these clippings that I'm never ever going to have a clue what they say, and I'm just glad looking at my cover in a German magazine. I think these must be the best kinds of "reviews." Maybe more American reviews should be written in foreign languages.

Also--this is nothing to do with foreign rights--I thought this guest post in Nathan Bransford's blog was interesting:

nathan bransford-guest blog-book sales demystified


Disclosure:

1. No, Nathan Bransford is not my agent.

2. No, I've never met him.

3. Never met Eric the sales assistant, either, as far as I know.

Spent all writing time today revamping a chapter, I think it might be four. I am sick to death of trying to figure out northwest European 17th and 18th century cows, barns, byres, and hay. I need to let it go and just make something up.

Printed out first 40 or so pages and started going over them. (Yes, again.)


Concerns:

Do I find myself skimming as I read because it's not grabby enough--or because I've read it three million times already?

Is it too fairy-tale-ish in tone?

Does it get too glib in Chapter 3? (I already know the answer to this one: Yes.)



Non-concerns:

It flows okay.

Most of the backstory could possibly be in the right place for now.

Most of the description isn't tripping me up.



Things to think about:

That girl character needs to be a human being, not a piece of cardboard.

Maybe look at fairy-tale-overtone words (princess, palace) and consider whether any other terms will do.


Hmm. I think developing the girl character (even though she's a hundred yards away and doesn't say anything) will also do away with of much of the glibness, and maybe even some of the fairy-tale overtones. Not sure what to do exactly, though. Must think.

Worked on bridge scene--not a transitional scene, but a scene with an actual bridge in it. You know how sometimes you were just going to mention something (in this case, a bridge), but somehow the something takes on backstory and meaning and becomes its own scene? That's what happened here. I've had it for a while, and trimmed it up today, but I'm still not quite sure what exact point it wants to make to the reader. I think I understand now what the general idea of the point is, but if I'm not careful, I'll give too much away too soon. I'm not sure whether to try to figure it out right now, or leave it and move on to something else for the rest of the evening. Probably best to move on.

off topic--business

Have I ever posted this?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj5IV23g-fE

It's Harlan Ellison's "Pay the Writer" rant. I adore it.

Two not-very related thoughts:

1. When one of my sons was in language therapy at a certain place, there was a sliding scale for fees. One of the administrators told me that even though the institute had enough donations for the year to cover the entire cost of services for families at the neediest end of the scale, they still charged those families a token five dollars per session. I think the full cost at that time was something like $75 a half hour, and many parents were paying that amount.

Why did the office charge poor families? This place was fully booked and appointments were hard to come by, and there was a long waiting list of kids waiting to get help. But the office had found that parents who didn't have to pay tended to blow off appointments. They wouldn't call to cancel or postpone--they just didn't show up. The valuable time slots went unused, and the therapists sat around twiddling their thumbs till the next patient came as scheduled.

However, if the office charged five dollars for the visit, the problem virtually ceased to exist. Parents made a concerted effort to bring their kids in for the scheduled sessions. If they couldn't make it, they called ahead of time to let the therapist know. There was no charge for missed appointments, so that wasn't a variable. The parents simply valued the therapy more because they had to pay for it.

Here's what I think. I think that publishers also tend to place more value on what they pay for. I think that perceived value is directly proportional to the respect, courtesy, and professionalism with which writers are treated.


2. Once I got hired for a w-f-h project, along with a handful of other writers. The company decided that the best way to set a price per passage was to have us all submit a price, then average them. So guess what: somebody lowballed. I don't know who it was, or if it was more than one writer. All I know is that on a conference call, one of the other writers was saying that this job sure sounded like fun, and since s/he didn't really need the money, there was no pressure to interfere with the joy of writing for kids.

Here's what I think. When writers who have the luxury of getting altruistic and theoretical about pay actually get altruistic and theoretical about pay, some other writer who can't afford that luxury is likely to get screwed.