Sandra R. Campbell lives along the tranquil waters of the Chesapeake Bay. She first discovered her passion for the macabre while reading Edgar Allen Poe with her childhood pet, Big Fellow, a crow, by her side. Since then she has submerged herself in a wide range of dark literature. As an avid thrill seeker, Sandra is always on [...]
You are one of a kind. So is my jewelry. You and my jewelry should meet each other, maybe go out sometime, I think you’d really like each other. I make things that I like, and I seem to like a lot of things. Gemstones, wood, glass, religious symbols, recycled materials, skulls and spooky stuff. [...]
An American living in the UK, R.J. has found a home in the Old World while writing about the new. She fancies herself a steampunk writer who will one day grow up into the History teacher she was always meant to be. A sometimes artist and most-times hermit, you can find her dancing to [...]
S.W. Sondheimer is a native New Englander currently living in exile slightly below the Mason-Dixon line. She is a practicing registered nurse, earner of a Masters of Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School, and a former martial artist. She’s found that these disparate aspects of her life have been a boon to the creation of [...]
It’s really funny what a vacation can do to you. Or at least; do to the creative mind. Especially one that gets so flustered so quickly.
My happy ass got very flustered, very quickly.
I suppose it’s my fault, I was thinking too much and too hard. About everything, really. School is starting back up soon, my job is getting more stressful, my story (despite my last blog entry on this page) was spiralling out of control.
Down, down, down it went. Woo, there it goes, bye bye little story.
There is a such thing as too much planning.
Don’t get me wrong, outlining is great, it really helps when you’re in a plot pinch and need direction, but there comes a “too much” or “too detailed” point. I think, anyway. Someone else could tell me I’m smoking dope and that detailed planning is the best thing since sliced peacock. Er, wait, no. Pizza, I meant pizza. How did peacocks come into this?
Anyway.
That’s where I was at. Digging out my old Levenger notebook (thanks, Shiri!) I filled page after page after page with arrows and plot sequences. This thing lead to that thing which, in turn, made this thing happen right about the time that this other thing should have happened. Oh, and this character needs to do this to make this happen leading another character to-crap, where does this guy come in again?
Augh!
Too much!
And I was so terrified of losing anything. Jesus, I would stay awake at night making sure I had everything in my head written down just so I wouldn’t forget a plot point or piece of dialogue. I’m pretty sure that’s called obsession.
So, I took a vacation. Or maybe the vacation took me. Either way, it was the best thing that has happened in a while.
It allowed me to breathe. To relax. To take in something other than my convoluted made up little world and the crazies who inhabit it. It allowed me to sit down and write without a detailed outline.
Yes, certain things have to happen in Blood on the Quarter to make this other thing happen. But, maybe not in the way I wrote it down.
Shiri told me that an outline is just a guide. Much like the ending to any story; as long as something is there, you have a direction. It can change, but at least you know where you’re going.
What she says is true. I just took it too far. Thinking that I had to track every minuscule thing, I wrote it all down, telling myself this is how Blood on the Quarter is going to happen and nothing is going to change that. This. Is. The. Story.
Yeah. No.
The plane ride to Munich, Germany (1 hour and 50 minutes) I took the story back to the beginning, jotting down a whole chapter of Mickey, George, Evan and Joseph hashing out if Elizabeth Reddington was really a dead girl walking or if my Irishman is nuts. From Munich to Krakow (1 hour 30 minutes) I continued the scene, continuing it into George’s house. Four days came and went without me touching, or even thinking about, my story. On the way back I spent an hour and thirty minutes taking George and Mickey into Lizzie’s room where she’s breathing, but they’re not sure if she’s alive.
There I stopped. The ride from Munich back to London saw me passing in and out of consciousness. Last night was the same way. We got back home, passed out presents, and I hauled my happy ass off to bed. Where I passed out. I’m pretty sure I snored. Loudly.
Tonight I plan on writing as well. The tough part will be starting again. Writing on a plane offers a distraction away from annoying people that you have no choice but to sit by. Home is a different story. Distractions from writing abound and it takes work to focus on the task. Music helps, somewhat but it is not a cure all.
I’ve decided many things over the course of writing this little story of mine. I keep saying “I’ll do this” or “I’ll do that”, and I have. Some things work, some things don’t. Outlining does not. Scratch that. It does, to a point. This time I won’t say what I’m going to do, that doesn’t seem to do much for me. I will say that I’m going to keep writing. Come too far not too, right?
Toodles!
-R.J.
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