There are as many theories about novel outlines as there are novelists. I've never worked from an outline, which might be one reason (among many others) that I've got a file cabinet full of unfinished manuscripts. It does not, however, explain their noisy lovemaking what keeps me up at night. Worse than peacocks in a cement mixer, they are.
When I finally decided to seek a guide and find my way out of my rut (no ordinary ditch, this was a vast untrammeled wilderness of fear and stalling, well-populated by nasty mole ratses with red eyes and dangerous leathery flying things with mocking cries and loose bowels), the first task she set before me was an outline. That didn't take very long, because I've had the bulk of the tale floating around my head for quite some time. There were only a couple of plot surprises, minor new happenings that I didn't know about.
The true surprise was the mere fact of the outline itself. It was only twenty-three pages long. But once I committed the full story to paper, I could see that it actually had a coherent shape. There was a beginning, rising action, a climax, a dénouement. I discovered that I had done a much better job of story creation than I thought. There it was: love! Explosions! Transsexual hijinks! Oh my, yes.
Prior to this, I had been thinking of an outline as a supporting structure, skeletal, something to hang the meat of the story on before sending it off to shamble about the landscape. When I finished the outline, I saw it as more of a flume, something to contain the rushing waters of the tale as they bear the reader along through high-banked curves and precipitous drops towards the end. Some authors see an outline as too restrictive, preferring to ramble along and let the story find itself as they write. But I do all that rambling in my head. Late at night when sleep flees and teases like a...fleeing, teasing thing...I review plots and, more importantly, characters. Who is this person? I would ask myself. And myself would chide me, saying, You know, she really wouldn't react this way...you're forcing her to behave in a way that serves the plot, which is nonsense. Stop it at once! Likewise, I snapped out of a near-doze and killed off an entire sub-plot at 2:30 in the morning when I realized that it was the desperate and insecure flailing of someone who lacked narrative confidence.1 Once I had the outline before me, I knew that I'd made the right decision.
Every writer has different methods that work for them, and any Expert who tells you that This Is How It's Done is full of crap. You'll only know what works for you after you've tried a method and discovered its utility for yourself. At best, reading several variations of Successful Writer Person Writes About Writing will provide you with a variety of choices. Yes, there are certain immutable truths--writers write, James Patterson is a conglomerate, agent's assistants like chocolate--but nobody can tell you how to get your words onto your pages. You have to figure that out for yourself.
For me, this outline marked the end of the story development process. That's not to say that the plot won't continue to evolve. But the flume course is laid out now, the water is pouring down it, and I'm in ready to ride it and flash my tits at the camera during the big drops.
Let's see...amusement park metaphor...tits...yes, my work is done here.
1Killing off a sub-plot is a highly technical and writerly operation that involves removing the 3x5 index card with "Headshot in the park" written on it from the center column of plotty 3x5 cards and tacking it in a lonely corner of the cork board, where it sits and thinks about what a naughty distraction it's been.
When I finally decided to seek a guide and find my way out of my rut (no ordinary ditch, this was a vast untrammeled wilderness of fear and stalling, well-populated by nasty mole ratses with red eyes and dangerous leathery flying things with mocking cries and loose bowels), the first task she set before me was an outline. That didn't take very long, because I've had the bulk of the tale floating around my head for quite some time. There were only a couple of plot surprises, minor new happenings that I didn't know about.
The true surprise was the mere fact of the outline itself. It was only twenty-three pages long. But once I committed the full story to paper, I could see that it actually had a coherent shape. There was a beginning, rising action, a climax, a dénouement. I discovered that I had done a much better job of story creation than I thought. There it was: love! Explosions! Transsexual hijinks! Oh my, yes.
Prior to this, I had been thinking of an outline as a supporting structure, skeletal, something to hang the meat of the story on before sending it off to shamble about the landscape. When I finished the outline, I saw it as more of a flume, something to contain the rushing waters of the tale as they bear the reader along through high-banked curves and precipitous drops towards the end. Some authors see an outline as too restrictive, preferring to ramble along and let the story find itself as they write. But I do all that rambling in my head. Late at night when sleep flees and teases like a...fleeing, teasing thing...I review plots and, more importantly, characters. Who is this person? I would ask myself. And myself would chide me, saying, You know, she really wouldn't react this way...you're forcing her to behave in a way that serves the plot, which is nonsense. Stop it at once! Likewise, I snapped out of a near-doze and killed off an entire sub-plot at 2:30 in the morning when I realized that it was the desperate and insecure flailing of someone who lacked narrative confidence.1 Once I had the outline before me, I knew that I'd made the right decision.
Every writer has different methods that work for them, and any Expert who tells you that This Is How It's Done is full of crap. You'll only know what works for you after you've tried a method and discovered its utility for yourself. At best, reading several variations of Successful Writer Person Writes About Writing will provide you with a variety of choices. Yes, there are certain immutable truths--writers write, James Patterson is a conglomerate, agent's assistants like chocolate--but nobody can tell you how to get your words onto your pages. You have to figure that out for yourself.
For me, this outline marked the end of the story development process. That's not to say that the plot won't continue to evolve. But the flume course is laid out now, the water is pouring down it, and I'm in ready to ride it and flash my tits at the camera during the big drops.
Let's see...amusement park metaphor...tits...yes, my work is done here.
1Killing off a sub-plot is a highly technical and writerly operation that involves removing the 3x5 index card with "Headshot in the park" written on it from the center column of plotty 3x5 cards and tacking it in a lonely corner of the cork board, where it sits and thinks about what a naughty distraction it's been.
Monty Python quotes, Transsexual Hijinks, chocolate, amusement parks, tits, agent's assistants, snapping out of near-dozes and index cards; I can't believe that you managed to cram so many of my favorite things into one blog posting.
Talent, my dear. Just for you.