It seems that my writing process, if I have one at all, is to stack as many odds against myself as I can. I overcommit to too many real-life projects at the same time, I don’t outline, and I push my writing schedule way too close to deadlines. The net result is to live in a world that is far more stressful than it needs to be.
Somehow, it works. It just doesn’t always feel that way.
Sometimes, when I’m pantsing along without benefit of an outline–pretty much the definition of pantsing (as opposed to plotting, or outlining)–I can find myself in the middle of a plot twist that seemed like a really great idea when I first made the turn, but now that my character is in the middle of great peril, I have no clue how I’m going to get him out of it. Or, perhaps she made a bold courageous choice, and I now have to figure out why she would have done such a self-destructive thing instead of making the safer, more logical choice.
Tick-tock. Deadline’s coming.
The coward’s way out is to go back and change the story to relieve the pain on the story’s pressure pressure point. I resist doing that for several reasons. First of all, I’ve learned over the decades that my imagination takes me to places for a reason. If the choice that got me in trouble seemed like a good idea when I made it, I’ve got to trust that it was, indeed a good idea. If I stay with it long enough, a solution will emerge.
Too many inexperienced writers, I believe, punt early and take the coward’s way out. They find themselves in a creative corner, claim “writer’s block”, and then either abandon the project or start over. Don’t do it, folks. Stay the course.
But if you do go back and undo the troublesome plot twist, beware the ripple effect. If you’ve written for anytime at all, you’ve been there: where a single change to a plot point makes another plot point no longer relevant, and by the time the secondary and tertiary effects are calculated that tiny change has created major headaches.
Another reason I rarely go back and make changes (never say “never,” right?) is purely logistical: I typically don’t have time left in the schedule for long rewrites. Since I’m always screaming, face on fire, to make my deadlines, I’m lucky if I’ve got a week left over after typing The End to do the clean up rewrite. I most definitely don’t have time to rewrite the entire third act. So, damn the torpedoes, my course is set.
Finally, logistics aside, here’s the most important reason not to take the coward’s way out and punt to the rewrite: hubris. old fashioned pride. My characters aren’t cowards, so I can’t be one either. If I put them in a tough situation, I can get them out. And you know what? I always can! Sometimes it takes the application of a little more imaginary explosives, other times it takes an additional character with a few lines of dialogue.
There’s a weird thing that happens in every book, and it always comes about in the third act. I call it the unexpected shortcut. I’ll have planned this elaborate set piece with multiple points of view that’s going to take ages to write, and then out of nowhere, I’ll get smacked with the realization that I’ve provided myself with a much more streamlined, elegant and effective route to the conclusion that I didn’t even know I’d written.
In my most recently completed book, Burned Bridges, the first of the Irene Rivers series, to be released next year, I found myself buried up to my neck in the third act with the action scenes clear in my mind, but I didn’t have a way to reveal to the good guys the secrets that justified killing the bad guys. Once the bad guys died, their secrets would die with them, but I didn’t have a believable motivation for them to confess. I knew there had to be a way.
Then it hit me. I had introduced a character way back in the second chapter whose original purpose was to be a walk-on catalyst for an entirely different scene. All Irene Rivers had to do was place a phone call to this character (no longer just a walk-on, and likely destined to return i future books), and the rest would fall into place.
Whether you’re new to this writing game or wizened and gristly with war stories from the storytelling trenches, you need to remind yourself from time to time that you’ve got this. You know what you’re doing. The story that seemed like a great idea when you first started writing it is no less a good idea just because the telling of it is getting frustrating. It’s supposed to be a little bit hard all the time.
Okay, it’s your turn, TKZ family. How do you hack your way out of plot corners?
If I put them in a tough situation, I can get them out. And you know what? I always can!
I came to the same conclusion some time ago. There’s always a way to make it happen. But not disarming a villain with “Then Snively Whiplash stumbled and dropped his gun.” That wouldn’t happen. When people stumble, they instinctively clutch whatever they’re holding. They don’t drop it.
I’m currently at this junction. I’m supposed to take my protagonist through a difficult situation. But while every condition around suggests this is the best path, I can’t think of a way out yet. Because of that, I’ve been stuck for days on whether to embark on the journey with my protagonist or take the coward’s way out. Now, it appears this is the stimulus I’ve been waiting for. Thank you for pointing out the way, Mr Gistrap.
Brainstorming possible routes out of this situation is very effective. Read up on the methodology, which mostly consists of deferring all judgment until the session is over. You’re putting your “Guardienne,” your “unconscious” protective brain region, in the driver’s seat. It’s autonomous, conscienceless, and faster than the frontal cortex.
I find that a 15 minute brainstorming session raises my creativity for an hour or more.
Thanks for this, John. I was off to a good start on my current WIP but I’ve hit a wall because I need to stop and do more research. My story involves a man in Witness Security, a.k.a., Witness Protection Program. I don’t want to proceed with the story if there are certain things my character can or cannot do in his “new” life.
So, to answer your question, I guess I’m working my way out of a plot corner by doing more research. I’ve loaded up several podcasts about WitSec to learn more. Any advice you might have is welcome.
This post reminds me of an interview with Lee Child, who said he never goes backward. If he’s put Reacher in a locked room, he has to figure out a way for him to escape. Going back and hiding a key behind a filing cabinet would be “cheating.”
I think of myself as a “Planster” because I have a clue where I’m going, although not always how I’m going to get there. I have occasionally gone back to filter in some foreshadowing once I see where things are heading, although they tend to be more of the characterization variety rather than tough situations. Those, I tend to work out as I go, although in my recent Deadly Adversaries, I had to do some rewriting when my cop consult told me what I’d originally written just wouldn’t fly unless I was turning my protagonist into a rule-breaking cop, which would throw the case out once it hit the legal system.
I’m dealing with a similar problem. A juicy plot twist emerged while in the zone. Several chapters flowed from it. Now, I need to veer back on track, but because I planned my milestones (or signposts), I have the benefit of knowing where I need to end up. The only question is how best to get there.
I trust my subconscious. When I go back, I usually find a character/detail/opportunity that my subconscious planted w/o me realizing it. I didn’t know that breadcrumb would be needed in the future but my subconscious did.
I also have a couple of wonderful brainstorming friends. We throw the problem on the table and look for ways out of the corner I painted myself into.
My cozy author pal Leslie Budewitz says, “If my imagination got the character into that problem, that same imagination can get them back out.”
Thanks, John, for reaffirming that insurmountable problems can be surmounted.
Brainstorming is my go-to when I’m stuck. I’m an outliner, so going up to the 30K foot view of my story and jotting a one-page, big picture outline furnishes perspective.
While I outline, that doesn’t preclude discovery writing scenes. Sometimes, if I stall in one scene, I’ll jump ahead to another, especially now that I’m writing mysteries.
It’s important to listen to my subconscious and, like you, have faith I can find a way to make this work. If I do, I will find that way.
I’ll get smacked with the realization that I’ve provided myself with a much more streamlined, elegant and effective route to the conclusion that I didn’t even know I’d written.
This has happened to me a couple of times where something I mentioned early in the story became the unexpected solution to a problem in Act 3.
Good stuff, John!
Is it sometimes true that if you wait long enough, your character will figure out how to get out of the plot corner all by him/herself?
BTW, here’s a link to his latest, which I started yesterday. (I think there’s a little bit of drool on the corner of my Kindle screen…) 🙂
https://www.amazon.com/Zero-Sum-Jonathan-Grave-Thriller/dp/0786050101
I have learned to trust the process. I am not up against a deadline, so when I hit a roadblock, I have the luxury of ruminating. I know I’ve hit one when, after writing along, happily watching my word count increment, I’ll suddenly stop, often in mid-sentence. If nothing comes in an hour, or a day, I’ll know I took a wrong turn somewhere and the only thing to do is sit and wait for the answer to reveal itself. I’ll have a beer, smoke a cigar, stare at the clouds, and eventually (days, weeks) the answer will come in a flash, and I will inevitably think, “That was so obvious, why didn’t I see it right away?”
I sometimes want to tattoo Trust the Process on the back of my hand so I can see it when I’m typing. What often works for me is to hop over the problem scene/chapter/middle chunk and keep writing the chapters that follow. That’s what I did with my current WIP. I was surprised and delighted at the crazy stuff that happened after that. And the plot issues that resolved themselves. Sometimes loading the dishwasher or folding laundry helps too. Or the old take-a-shower trick. Whatever works. I just know I love the part of my brain that figures this stuff out for me.
When I hit a wall I think of it as the story telling me to let it breathe. I do something else for a while and nine times out of ten when I come back to the keys the rhythm returns.