I don’t know anyone who enjoys revisions like I do. But then, I only know a few authors and they’re all that weird, tight-lipped kind of writer who doesn’t really want to talk about their “process” because either they’re not confident in their process or, more likely, they’re too confident in their process and they don’t want to give away trade secrets to little old me. Yes, this combative stance is why I don’t know more authors. Anyway, the alpha period on Hybrid Mechanics is finally up, so it’s time to get back at it! Here’s where we’ve been and where we’re going.
Tag archive: Book V
It’s never too early to start freaking out about having to write a book description that will somehow magically convince people they need to read my latest Science Fictional opus. I have never, not once, written a book description that I was happy with. Instead, I write something the day it goes live on Amazon and hope for the best. Probably not the best marketing tactic, but whatever. For book 5, I’m looking to get a jump on that madness.
I sat down this morning and told myself there was no way I was going to get anywhere near a book description. Instead, I just started writing some garbage. Then I paused, hit Enter a few times, and wrote more garbage. I did that for about half an hour. Here’s what that produced:
The year is 2017. Donald Trump is President. Mass murders are commonplace. Nazis are back. The world balances on the precipice of nuclear war. Most people agree: reality is completely out of control.
But it’s not all bad news.
As it happens, none of it is real.
The world as you know it is actually a simulation centered around the city of Austin, Texas, and more specifically, four of its residents. There is nothing special about them on the surface; one’s a manager at a tech startup, another is a former soldier who drives for Brinks, the sole female is a moderately famous YouTube personality, and the fourth is a day-trader who is making a killing with Bitcoin.
They’re just normal people living out what they believe are normal lives.
But in reality—that is, actual reality—they are all dreaming, hooked into a collective delusion set in the Live Music Capital of the World.
For almost four decades, they have enjoyed American life at the dawn of the 21st century. But now it is time to wake up.
How will they feel when they learn everything they’ve ever known is a lie? Will they tell themselves they knew it all along? Will they abandon their faith and embrace chaos? Or will they use the opportunity to make a fresh start as someone else?
Only time, vicious infighting, and the threat of death at the hands of synthetic killing machines will tell for sure.
Does this adequately describe what Hybrid Mechanics is about? Not really. It’s one aspect of a multi-faceted story, the idea that we’re all living in a simulation. I really want that idea to be in the book description because I don’t want readers to think it was all a simulation is some kind of twist.
It’s not a twist.
It’s a starting point.
After that, comes the how, why, where, and when. The real question is whether the characters can survive long enough to answer even one of those questions.
Someone should take my blog away.
I do a lot of silly things to encourage people to write reviews of my books, but this whole get your name in the next book tactic seems to work the best. You know, aside from cold hard cash, which, by the way, should not be delivered as an Amazon Gift Card unless you want to get 20-30 reviews deleted in a single afternoon. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle to get reviews (even bad ones), especially when the book is selling and plenty of people seem to be reading it. I used to think I could impress upon people the importance of leaving reviews, but no. Bribery is pretty much the only thing that works.
Last time’s winner was Curtis, and since it’ll be a while, here’s a preview of where he ended up in the zero draft:
“Identify yourself,” said Jake.
The man stepped back and looked up.
“Ho there,” he called. “Don’t see many people up this way. What brings you to Challis?”
“Identify yourself!” Jake stepped to the railing and pointed the rifle over it.
The man’s hands went up. “Easy, stranger. My name is Curtis.”
“Curtis what?” asked Jake. “What’s your revision?”
“My revision? What do you take me for, some kind of Lassiter drone?”
“You’re not organic,” said Jake.
“Now that is true. I am not an organic human. But I am a person, just like you.”
“I am a sixth generation Vinestead synthetic,” said Jake. “You’re nothing like me.”
“They’re up to Six now? Interesting.” Curtis stepped back several feet so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck. “Well, Mr. Six. Seeing how you’re hunting organics and I’m not an organic, I don’t see that we have any quarrel.”
Jake considered the offer, shook his head. There weren’t supposed to be any other synthetics. If there were, who did they follow? What was their purpose?
“What are you doing here?” asked Jake.
“We have some monitoring equipment up there,” Curtis replied, gesturing with an outstretched arm. “Helps us keep tabs on who comes and goes in the valley. We picked up a whole mess of activity in Arco day before last, so I came down to make sure everything’s in good working order here.”
“You’re tracking our movements?” His finger trembled on the trigger.
“Yours. Humans. Animals. Anything that moves. Gotta know who’s walking in your backyard, am I right?”
“This isn’t your backyard,” said Jake. “This is Lassiter’s domain.”
That made Curtis chuckle. “Lassiter doesn’t exist in this world, pal. He may reach out to you from VNet, but he can’t walk here. Funny how that works, huh?” He adjusted his jacket. “Look, I’m on a schedule here, so if you’re not gonna come down, I’ll just come back another day. Safe travels, Mr. Six.”
He turned to leave. Jake raised the gun.
“I’m not done with you,” he warned. “This gun will tear you in half.”
Curtis shrugged, didn’t look back. “You’d be doing me a favor. I was never a fan of this sleeve anyhow.”
If you’d like to join Curtis in Hybrid Mechanics, you can buy / review my most recent book, Por Vida, here.
See you in the Vinestead ‘Verse!
Almost as soon as I call a novel finished and ready for publication, I start on the next one. I think everyone does. And like a lot of other writers, I don’t really have a new story in mind. It’s just an idea. One of hundreds. And each one needs to be investigated to see if it contains a story. For months, a year, maybe more, I investigate each of these slivers of ideas and try to stretch them like a ball of dough into something resembling a pizza. It doesn’t always work, and sometimes it is hard to tell when I’m not good enough to write the story, if I’m just being lazy, or if there simply isn’t a story there. I try to stay pragmatic, not get too overexcited, but at some point, you just can’t deny you’ve got the beginning of a novel on your hands.
In my experience and humble opinion, there is no more vital milestone than the completion of 1/3 of Draft Zero. For my books, that’s about 20 chapters at 2,000 words apiece. Everything before this moment is just the cobbling of ideas, pushing them together to see how they fit. But once you reach this point, the story takes on new life. The rules have been established. The characters are in the proper positions.
Everything is primed. The story can now write itself.
At this stage of what I generously call my writing career, I can write 2,000 words on anything. Any story. Any idea. You want 2,000 words? Give me a couple hours. Or give me Red Bull and candy if you need it sooner. The fiction I post on this blog are examples of this daily “scratch writing,” which I do after a novel to find the next one.
It’s harder to stretch an idea to 10,000 words. If really pressed, by sheer force of will, I could do 20,000. The number of ideas that live past 20,000 are shockingly low. As I mentioned, it could just be that I’m lazy or not skilled enough to stretch the story, but to keep my ego on life-support, I tell myself there just wasn’t a story there.
It’s a cruel game sometimes. You think you have something. You write several chapters, and then it just fizzles out. Or you try and try but just can’t hit that sweet spot. Because really, it’s not just about getting to 20 chapters; it’s also about properly positioning the people, settings, technology, and conflicts.
I’ve gotten ideas to 1/3 of Draft Zero exactly four times in the past. All four became novels.
How’s that for a jinx?
So that’s why I’m excited today. That’s why I’m posting this nonsense on my blog, even though it is likely of little interest to anyone else. I, on the other hand, love to learn about how other writers do it.
So for those of you who write: how do you know when you’ve got a novel?
Organics did not organize.
They did not fight.
They cut each other’s throats in the night for an expired can of beans.
I saw the aftermath in town after town.
Such was the legacy of the organic race.
If you read enough books, you can gain an understanding of sentence length variance without really knowing what you’re learning. And when you sit down to write, you’ll follow the style and flow of your favorite authors, using short sentences if they used short sentences, and going on long-winded, semicolon-dotted tirades describing the contents of a store room if they went on long-winded, semi… okay, you get it. But if you do need it spelled out for you, consider this quote:
“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”
— Gary Provost
I love and hate this paragraph. I love it because it’s dead-on. I have not seen a piece of writing advice that encapsulates rhythm and flow like this one. And I absolutely hate it because I wish I had been clever enough to think of it first.
Being aware of the flow of your words is paramount. It’s another layer of storytelling. It’s more than what you’re saying; it’s how you’re saying it. Can stilted language create anxiety? Or long sentences fatigue? Or any length any emotion?
If a character is overwhelmed, I’ll run a sentence into the ground until everyone is exhausted. If a character is scared or angry, their dialogue will be short, clipped. How fast the reader gets through the sentence, the paragraph, the page, the chapter… all of it matters. When do they stop for air? When does it all become too much?!
I finished another chapter in Book V this morning, so I loaded it up intent on counting the number of words in each sentence. When that got too tedious, I decided to count the number of words in each paragraph. After all, those need variance too, right? Too many big blocks of text and the reader’s going to go watch YouTube.
So I counted up the words. 2,106 words in 79 paragraphs. Smallest paragraph: 1 word. Longest paragraph: 95 words. Average paragraph: 27.
Here’s what it looks like:
I like short sentences. They have drama. Power.
Longer sentences are great too, especially when they’re drawing the reader in, showing them things they may have missed, expanding on ideas in a thousand different ways to show them the hopelessness of the character’s plight.
I was glad to see there was plenty of variance in paragraph length. I think I tend towards shorter paragraphs because of the way it looks on the page, so there’s definitely an aesthetic consideration at work here as well.
When I look at the shortest of sentences and take into account their content, it’s almost as if they serve as punctuation marks for groups of sentences. A handful of regular-sized paragraphs followed by a short stinger.
“Watch me,” said, Armando, tossing a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He hurried out of the bathroom, wanting to get away from Jimmy and Ethan and the office and the horrible malaise that was slowly enveloping him. It was as if reality had developed a feel to it, a weightiness, one he was only aware of now that he’d been outside of it. Standing beneath the falls, standing on the bleak emptiness of existence, he’d felt free, almost… clean.
That was the word he was searching for.
Reality was a shroud he was forced to wear. It weighed him down, connected him to the simulation. If he could break free of it, he would also break free of its feel, its smell and taste—just everything about it. He could shed it all.
But first he’d have to make it back to the underworld.
The Rogue sputtered, growled.
I could see another writer combining the first three paragraphs, just letting it all run together. But to have a single sentence on a line by itself imparts importance, a clear clue to the reader that they should pay attention, something interesting just happened.
Anyhow, I was just thinking about this today. I hope you think about it too.
Because if I preview your Kindle book and am greeted with a page with no paragraphs breaks, I’m probably not going to read it. I’m looking at you, Victor Hugo.
Alcohol and caffeine in the evening. I sacrifice my teeth, liver, heart, and general physical health for you, dear reader.
For some reason, I’m under the impression that if I’ve written and sent out a chapter in the last day or two, then I’m under no obligation to use my free time to write. Instead, I purchased a new domain and set up a new blog here at deadlineavoidance.com. I’m not sure why I set up a new blog–none of them have ever panned out in the past–but it’s here now and I’m going to talk about writing and publishing and how much my son poops. He is almost three months old. You will know him as El Matador.
I should explain (about the chapters, not El Matador). As with my previous novel, Por Vida, I’m using TinyLetter to send out chapters of my new book as I write them. It was a lot of fun the first time around. There’s nothing quite like getting instant feedback when you introduce a twist in the story. I’ve got less of an idea of where the story is going this time, but the feeling of it is there.
Reality. Hyperreality. Simulations. The Multiverse.
Lots of interesting ideas that evoke a feeling inside me. If I can take that feeling and wrap it up in a hardcore romance/cyberpunk blend, then we’ll have a new book to pimp on Facebook.
Until then, I’ll be here, avoiding the next deadline in a life-long, self-imposed series of deadlines.