Complications
Okay, we’ve gone over the basics of starting a novel. I can’t write it for you (Well, I could, but you wouldn’t want to pay that much and really, what’s the fun of having someone else doing the work and taking all the credit?) so at some point the odds are good you’re going to start writing.
That means that sooner or later the complications are going to kick in. Oh, I’m the first to admit that life is complicated enough, but I’m not talking about your life here, I’m talking about the life of your baby. You’re novel, unless you are amazingly lucky or exceptionally skilled, is going to hit a snag somewhere along the way. It’s seldom at the beginning, at least not for me. Hell, by the time I let myself get started on a novel most of the tale is plotted in my skull and written except for the pesky typing part.
Everything is going along smoothly, you’ve introduced your characters, you’ve established the foundation of the plot, you’ve got the sets all painted and ready for your use and your adrenaline is kicked up a few notches, assuring that you can write to your heart’s content. Heck, you’re so with it you’ve already arranged that minimum of an hour where everyone knows to leave you alone and you’re already too damned disciplined to let the internet distract you TOO much, aren’t you?
Ten thousand words into your novel and all is well. Twenty thousand, and this is starting to feel easy. Right around thirty thousand words, closing in on the halfway mark, and suddenly, the first seeds of doubt take root. 35,000 and now you’re wondering if you forgot some crucial plot points along the way. Or maybe, you should have worked in a few more characters and a half a dozen more subplots…
It’s hard to say what, but something is missing. How do you know? Because the story has progressed far too fast for your satisfaction and at best this feels like it’s going to be a novella.
Well, my answer to that is easy: Let it be a novella.
But Jim, how can I sell a novella to the big New York publishers?
It’s possible. Not probable, but it does happen. Norm Partridge recently managed it with his amazing novella Dark Harvest. Of course, it’s far more likely that you won’t sell it to the big New York publishers. Say thank you to all of those small presses, won’t you? There you go.
Oh, wait, you’re here because of rumors that I might actually have wisdom to impart. Apparently you haven’t caught on that I’m bluffing. So, let’s look at the question a second time.
How, oh allegedly wise one, can I fix this problem, keeping in mind that I’m writing a novel and not a novella?
Well, if you insist on not making it a novella, let’s go ahead and look at the potential problems. First and foremost for me, I only seem to run across that sort of problem when I’ve done a detailed outline. That is, for the record, one of the reasons I don’t normally do detailed outlines. They hinder me too much. So if that’s the case, consider coloring outside the lines. Oh, you know you want to. You’re allowed to you know, because it’s your novel, no one else’s. Write it for you.
While I remain firm in my belief that going back and editing a novel in progress is a surefire way to lose momentum and in a lot of cases will actually kill the novel before its time is due, you might want to go back and read it. Not edit it, but read it. You may be as critical as you desire, but there’s a decent chance that you’ve already put in a few situations that you might want to explore regarding your characters and their situations.
Listen, let me put it another way: How many times have you read a book and wondered why the author didn’t actually go back and examine a subplot that was left unresolved? Well, if it was one of mine, the odds are good you ran across several of them, but in my case they’re normally deliberate. They might be deliberate for other writers, too, but then again they might be undeveloped notions that the author forgot about. It happens and it happens a lot. Part of breathing life into your characters is giving them issues that have not been resolved. Part of that, for me, is leaving a few of those issues unresolved because remarkably little in life can be wrapped up in a neat package.
Is Don, Our Hero, having an ongoing argument with his neighbor, Lou, who likes to play his radio too loud, tends to put his garbage in Don’s trashcans and throws rocks at Don’s cat every time the cat gets out? Like as not that won’t be resolved in the course of the story, but it can be, if you decide to examine that aspect of Don’s life more carefully.
What about Amy, who has very real affection for Don but still hasn’t resolved her feelings for Jared, the misunderstood, slightly possessive and almost recovering alcoholic ex-con she recently swore never to deal with again (It would be easier if he didn’t seem so nice when he’s sober)? Well, right now that’s just something that gets resolved in the final scenes when she decides that she can’t take Jared’s lies anymore. But what if Jared is the jealous type? What if he’s the insanely jealous type who was actually locked away for a very good reason and lied about it when he said he’d stolen a car when he was younger and dumber? What if Jared is the sort who feels the need to stalk a woman who doesn’t want to be with him anymore, or hell, for that matter, what if he’s the sort who doesn’t see a problem with shanking that annoying new boyfriend to get his way?
See my point? There’s a reason for developing the characters before you start a novel. There’s a reason for letting them evolve. Not every idea has to be explored, but if you’re anything like me (And God help you) then the odds are good you’ve already written in a dozen different aspects of your characters’ lives that are potentially goldmines of disaster waiting to happen.
Now, let’s look at that plot for a moment, shall we? Yes, I get it. There’s a ghost in the house. Yes, the ghost would like Don to move away immediately but Don can’t afford that nonsense and if he wants to inherit his Uncle Wilford’s family fortune he has to stay in the new house for at least one year. What? That’s it? There’s no one else who could be working on the sidelines to get the family fortune instead? There’s no else out there that might have a reason for haunting the house? Are you sure it’s a ghost? Are you absolutely positive there’s only one? I mean, what about Don’s half-sister? You know, the one he’s never gotten along with all that well? The one who hates him because of some dark, sordid event in their pasts (Pick a dark, sordid event)? What about the rumors that there are hidden catacombs under the house? You know, the ones where that crazy great, great grand uncle was supposed to have been doing evil and unmentionable experiments?
Do you see what I’m getting at here? Nothing has to be straightforward. Hell, as a reader and a writer both, straightforward is just about as boring as white rice. You should make sure you stay coherent, and make sure you never, ever forget the points you’re trying to make with your novel, but there’s nothing at all to stop you from having a good time while you’re getting there. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s distinctly possible your editor will come along later and ask you to cut something, but that’s a different discussion for a different day.
James A. Moore
