Right now I’m focusing on a picture book, mostly because the process is a lot faster with 1,000 words.

So I’m in the midst of a draft, looking to accomplish two or three key things, and suddenly it occurs to me that I’m jumping the shark. And it’s a terrifying moment.

“Waaaait a second,” I tell myself. “Hold on here.”

With a chill, I look back over my page and see that I’ve made my edit, but in the process I’ve pursued a tangent (adding 35 words! GASP!) introduced new thematic messages and indulged in other total nonsense (like changing the title to correspond to the new thematic messages – Really? REALLY?).

I had to remind myself – you’re not making a new story. You’re making a better story. You’re polishing, not renovating (or in this case, adding out-buildings).

It’s subtle – a softening of your word choice, a plural versus a singular. You’ve done the sculpting with the chain saw, this is the refinement with small-grit sandpaper.

Even if an edit involves introducing a new layer or storyline for one of your characters – something that will have an impact all the way along – you need to hold onto the original story thread. You need to braid the new stuff into what you’ve already done – otherwise it won’t be a strengthening, it will be a splintering.

So what did I do? I pulled back from the brink, used the delete button pretty generously, cut the new flab, and reinstated the title.

Then I sat back and sighed in relief.

Beware the shark.

And I’m thinking: I want that.

So here I am revising THE SEEDKEEPER’S SECRET, and as I approach each scene, I’m asking myself:

1. what is the goal?
2. what is the disaster?
3. how can I make it more uncomfortable for my protagonist?
4. and how can I use what makes him uncomfortable as an opportunity to reveal more about his character?

Once I’ve done the revision, I’m going back through the scene with my highlighter, and I’m marking each and every word or phrase that amps up the tension – so I can see it, peppering the page. Also so I can look for gaps filled with non-committal words – and give them an edge.

I’m here to tell you that it’s going great.

Suddenly things aren’t on the page just because they’re helping me get from set piece to set piece. Instead each scene is becoming an important link in the chain. My scenes are getting stronger, more interesting and more meaningful.

My protag did it this way because of thus and so. And so. And so. And sooooo….

It feels like you’re getting to know your characters – like they’re becoming three dimensional, like there’s suddenly an explanation for their actions that lets you weave your plot ever tighter. Doesn’t that make it important work? Doesn’t it?

Well, sure. It is important work. Backstory is the foundation on which your characters are built, and one of the engines that drives your plot forward.

But I’m learning it needs to be put into your manuscript with care. The kind of care you’d take with toxic waste. (You’ll need more than a pair of oven mitts.) Why? It’s a momentum-killer. A suspension-of-disbelief-breaker. A downer. It ejects your reader from the forward-moving story, and drops them into a purgatory of memories.

The damage it does is exponentially more painful the earlier it happens in the manuscript. Inserted later, your reader will forgive you for it – and be able to appreciate it for the dimension and poignancy it adds to what they’ve already read.

Here are some tools for dealing with backstory, in order of priority:
- If you can delay the insertion of backstory, do it.

- If you can’t delay the insertion of small amounts of backstory, then weave it in and out of your narrative like a thread, building to its own reveal, that gets the reader saying: “oh THAT’S why!” Tease your reader – don’t be cruel – but dropping a few hints never hurt anyone.

- If you can’t delay the insertion of larger amounts of backstory, then do it in a way that builds tension and conflict. Have your characters disagree about it, disbelieve it, or reject it altogether.

Following these rules will allow you to use backstory with finesse – and give your writing a professionalism it might previously have been missing. Okay who’s kidding who here – it will give MY writing a professionalism it might previously have been missing.

In that year I’ve read me some Donald Maas, and I’ve written me a whole bunch of new stuff. I feel like I’ve gotten stronger and smarter about how I write, and I am so psyched about adding that into my much-loved first manuscript.

I have a small set of questions and comments, and my own niggling list of to-dos to accommodate – but it will be great to get in there and see what transpires naturally. I’m hopeful that this revision will prove as creative as the original writing process.

Stay tuned!

In my limited experience on this blog, my most-read entry – by far – is a tiny one on environmental fiction for kids. I believe these are messages that need to be heard, and I think as parents and other adult influencers of young readers, like librarians and teachers, grow increasingly aware of the issues we’re facing as a culture and as a planet, they are building an increasing demand for these stories.

Anyway, we’ll see if I’m right. I just launched Agent Search 2.0 with a new picture book manuscript called LUCY NEEDLES, KNITTER OF SWEATERS. From the query: The importance of a healthy environment and the power of art are intertwining themes in this fable that is a little bit Aesop and a little bit Etsy.

Oooh! I loves it.

Cross your fingers for me.

Anyhow, I haven’t yet cracked SPECIALS, but I probably will. I found both books to be compellingly characterized, plot-driven romps through a fascinating dystopian future Earth.

I was also pretty stoked to read YA written about a girl, by a guy. And I have to admit, he Tore. It. Up.

They were both totes bubbly.

For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s about a photographer in NY who begins a long-distance friendship with an 8 year-old girl who has turned one of his photographs into a painting. From there he develops a friendship with the girl’s mother, and then a romance with the girl’s older sister. And eventually it (SPOILER ALERT) all falls apart. In the end it turns out the little girl never painted anything, the older sister doesn’t exist, and everyone – including two cell phone accounts and 15 facebook accounts – was the 40 year-old mother…and there is a dramatic confrontation/confession on the shores of Lake Michigan.

Meanwhile, the photographer’s filmmaker brother and friend are documenting the entire thing.

There has apparently been a big debate over whether the whole story was real or fake, so the hubby and I did a little research on the interwebs and among other things found that Zach Galifianakis believes it to be fake (oh WELL then!)

So we watched the interview with the filmmakers in the bonus features section of the DVD – and it was pretty obvious to us that they had fudged the veracity of the story pretty hugely, but nevertheless told an entertaining tale.

For me, what tore it was this: the mastermind’s husband, portrayed as a somewhat simple dupe, comes out with a catfish story – totally spontaneously – that captures the essence of the whole story in one gorgeous nugget. Apparently when cod was shipped alive to China in vats on board a ship, when it arrived, the flesh would be mushy. But when they popped a catfish in the tank with them – they arrived in perfect condition. He went on to describe a “catfish person” as someone who, good or bad, keeps our juices flowing and keeps us on our toes.

To me, storytelling turns on that nugget – and the grace with which we introduce it in our prose, is EVERYTHING.

I can’t really imagine how one would create a novel without outlining, plotting and planning. Writing is wonderful, and I love to do it. But writing 80,000 words or so is hard. It requires a discipline that doesn’t come naturally to me. So I guess I just want to be efficient about it.

(Now that I’ve said the word “efficient” you probably think I’m going to bore you with some kind of soulless dissertation, am I right?)

(Hardly.)

When I plot, I am not shackled to it – I leave gaps where I haven’t figured things out yet. Sometimes I write through those gaps, winging it for small periods of time. Sometimes I look at the map I’ve made myself, and voluntarily depart for a while into the wilds. But a lot of the time, I confess that I write what I planned to write. Once my first draft is done and I begin the edit process, I refer back to my outline often. Editing a whole novel is a bit like trying to wrap your arms around an elephant, and it pays to have the 1,000 foot view of things close at hand.

I’ve read a lot of blog postings by people who are clearly uncomfortable with the idea of plotting, and to them I say:

Plotting is vacationing in your own head. It is sculpting with big, sharp tools that reveal wonderful shapes right before your eyes. It is building connections and links and layers and layers and layers of meaning that reinforce and strengthen your story until you can strike it and hear harmonics vibrate through its structure. It is equal parts indulgent stream of consciousness and incisive problem-solving. It is creativity that uses your whole brain and it is joyful.

That is all.

But before I Google it to find out for sure, let’s get on with the show here.

So I work for a university with two campuses in cities about an hour apart. This means the occasional roadtrip. Today was one of those days. In the seconds before I had to jet out the door this morning, I searched itunes for podcasts about writing that I could listen to on the way – instead of top 40 radio.

And hel-lo. I found the Odyssey SF/F Writing Workshop Podcasts. There are like 40 of them! For FREE! Anyhow, I only grabbed two before I left, and they were so good that I’m now grabbing the rest. You should check ‘em out too.

Anyhow, more information on the Odyssey workshops, click here.