Tag: Story

NaNoWriMo 301 — Misconception Objections

November 7th. Do a word count. If you’re hitting 12,000 words today, you may join the Success Society. If not, then why not?

“That wild boar stampede set me back, and I’m still picking up the pieces.” — Boars are nasty violent and illiterate. Acceptable.

“Too much snow! It never snows here on the East Coast this late in October/early in November.” — My apologies. I forgot that everyone of importance lives on the Northeast Coast of the US and A. Sincerest and humblest apologies. All is forgiven. Mittens shall be mailed to you and your needy family.

“I need to write this right, because I’m not one to go about writing all wrong.” …

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

This is my first time actually doing NaNoWriMo. I’m still really excited about the idea of finishing and hitting 50,000 words on my first attempt. But I’m only about 6,000 words in after a week! At that rate, I’m not going to get there, and I’m a bit worried. I think my problem is that I have to make everything “perfect.” I find myself going back and making changes which help things run smoother, but it’s obviously not working. What do you suggest? (And thanks in advance!)

—Kirsten Jennings, Olympia, Wash. 

(Note: NaNoWriMo is short for Narcissistic Nonsense Writing Motivation or something like that. Simple premise: write a “novel” of fifty-thousand words within the month of November. The prize? Fifty-thousand dollars. In the competition’s 196-year history, only three have claimed the prize.)

/does math, divides 6,000 over 7, carrying the nine.

Yeah, you’re in trouble, but you’re not “done for.” I think I may pull out the extended metaphors for this one. A NaNoWriMo novel is special. There are rules it bends and breaks, and one of the halves of this battle is knowing what a NaNoWriMo novel is not. Here are some misconception objections.

1. A NaNoWriMo novel is not a building.

To borrow a “joke” from the watermelon-smashing comedian Noel Gallagher: “Why do they call buildings ‘buildings’ after they’ve finished them? Why not call them ‘builts?’” Point being: you’re building, but you’re not building a building here. You’re building a 50,000 word ‘something.’ Don’t fret because you put the bathroom on the rooftop, or that you didn’t quite figure out the concept of load-bearing walls. If you feel you’ve created an occupational hazard, well, you likely did, but your illegally-hired illegal workforce isn’t going to be crushed by putting the first floor on the third floor. Who cares if it’s not “up to code?” Keep building for now, worry about OSHA later.

2. A NaNoWriMo novel is not a jigsaw puzzle.

Whether you think about it or not, you may be writing to “make the pieces fit.” “Oh, I need to use 50,000 pieces, put them together, done!” No. The more time you spend putting pieces together, the more time you lose creating. You should have the story in mind, the completed image. But it shouldn’t be the image on an M.C. Escher® Impossipuzzle™ box containing 50,000 pieces. You’re making pieces from scratch with this. You’re putting an image on cardboard. You’re cutting that sheet. The goal is making those 50,000 pieces. Even better if they happen to fit together here and there.

3. A NaNoWriMo novel is not an “un-kangaroo.”

Well, now that I’ve painted myself into a corner here: a few kangaroo facts—they’re the world’s largest marsupial, got their name from the Aboriginal phrase for “dude’s got hops,” smell like curry, taste like tarragon, sprout miniature kangaroos from pouches containing spatial portals, and don’t move backwards. Yes, for a kangaroo, it’s “one way or the highway,” and that way is either forward or onward. Your NaNoWriMo novel should be the same, moving ever forward, hopping along, meter by meter, eating eucalyptus and doing all that fun marsupial fun. Forward only. None of the backwardness. It is not the “un-kangaroo,” an animal that’s moving backward and being un-marsupial.

Yeah.

So what NaNoWriMo misconceptions did you have to destroy to break down that dam and get the 50,000 gallons of water rushing upon the plain?

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com), followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong), and probed for more NaNoWriMo nectar during the month.

NaNoWriMo 201 – Enough for 50,000 Words?

November. NaNoWriMo begins tomorrow.

You have a plan, picked direct from the last post. On to the story.

Wait, not sure on the story yet? Oh dear.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

Still debating on a few story ideas, but how do I know if my story will last 50000 words? 

—Jansen Wheeler, Boca Raton, Fla.

(Note: NaNoWriMo is short for Narcissistic Nonsense Writing Motivation or something like that. Simple premise: write a “novel” of fifty-thousand words within the month of November. The prize? Fifty-thousand dollars. In the competition’s 196-year history, only three have claimed the prize.)

Simplest way: use one of your monthly time-travel teleports to zip to December and find out.

If you don’t want to burn one of those, try a few of these handy-dandies.

Summary time:

“Oh, yeah, it’s about (something something soooomething yeah).” If you can sum it up neatly within 10 seconds or in a simple sentence, you may be in trouble. Pull an anti-Inception here: the simplest, rawest form of the idea is not what you need. A two-second, five-word summary might not be enough concentrate, bub. But a two-paragraph, five-minute presentation of a summation? Maybe.

Digressive potential: 

While I normally discourage the abuse of this, NaNoWriMo isn’t about quality. If your narrative is too compact, loosed up the threads a bit. Writing Sci-Fi? Come on, Sci-Fi is nothing but digression. You can spend 10,000 words on why bipolar tachyon vortices work in prehistoric vacuums, but not in postpositive bended reality. Add a <tech> tag and move on. Same with fantasy. Spells, potions, the Codex Magicus, arcane histories, backstory that won’t advance the narrative: it will advance you to the finish line.

Characters: 

Quick: name the longest Charles Dickens novel, then name the Dickens novel with the most characters. Yep, it’s the same one. Then you have The Tale of Genji, featuring over four hundred characters. It’s long enough to win you NaNoWriMo for half a year. Point being: stick in enough characters to consume 50,000 words worth of treatment.

Flashbang flashbacks:

Did you know that, according to science, we humans spend up to 27% (!) of our day either rehashing the past, reminiscing, or dwelling on things we’ve done in the past? NaNoWriMo doesn’t care if you drive the narrative into a temporal ditch to go back in time and give your story some story-behind-the-story. Same thing with looking forward. Dreams and ideals to come are part of our existence. Feel free to imbue the narrative with the same. Give it the time trifecta.

Any other handy-dandies work for you?

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com), followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong), and probed for more NaNoWriMo nectar during the month.

Lame Shame Name Games

Nomenclature: it means “something about names.” Names may seem a small part of the narrative, but naming conventions will either be undercurrents of appropriate accentuation or they’ll be the proverbial cracks in rusted armor.

Names done well will be fitting, poignant, maybe even memorable. Done like an amateur, and you’ll have oft-repeated, repugnant eyesores, infecting your vision like an oozing gnat assaulting your eyeball. Small, yes, but annoying unto disgrace if you can’t get those little things right.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

I feel like I can tell a good story, but I want to take it to the next level by picking some memorable names for my characters. I don’t want to make them too cliché, but I think stronger writers have a knack for picking the “right” name. Any suggestions?

—Ethan Fritz, King of Prussia, Pa.

It’s not every day that I receive an email from royalty, much less the King of Prussia himself. I’d be happy to offer my suggestions, fealty, and remaining serfs upon my property, my lord. If you have a knighthood to spare, hit me up. I’ve always wanted to brand out as Sir Writing All Wrong, First Regent of LeBaronshire.

Speaking of LeBaron, here are some suggested considerations when it comes to naming.

1: Don’t name characters where they shouldn’t be named.

Pick a name fitting for the space and time.

“‘T’was a blighte upon my honour,’ quip’d Kraysheawn Denarius.” — Wrong.

(Blatant disregard for the respective era. Don’t do that.)

“Rusty ‘Big Jim’ McDigger pranced out of the salon feeling like a new man.” — Wrong.

(Unless he went into the salon with a shotgun, I don’t think people named Rusty ‘Big Jim’ frequent those sorts of places. Not sure about the prancing.)

“The Reverend Alburt Stuffedcrust preached long and hard upon fornication.” — Wrong.

(Alburt works, but Stuffedcrust is pushing credulity. Sounds too yummy.)

“‘I need those documents and reports now!’ demanded Janice Malarkey.” — Right.

(Not too gimmicky, and [no offense to Janices] I can see myself being bossed around by a Janice. The high-heel fits.)

2: You’re not strong enough to go generic.

Don’t try the cutesy trick of “letting the story make the character.” Lame name, lame game.

“He couldn’t find his way to the ever enigmatic Brandon Fields.” — Wrong.

(Wait, maybe “Brandon Fields” is a place. If I have to ask, then you’ve failed.)

“Sarah Palmer cast her eyes upon the gazing shore.” — Wrong.

(Almost had me at “gazing shore.” Forgot to dismiss another bland name here.)

“No man could stand up to Brawn Davis.” — Wrong.

(Unacceptable, with “Brawn” placing 5th on the Top 10 Baby Boy Names of 2011.)

“The target, O’Higgins Brodansky, had eluded the best agents of P.O.R.T.O.P.O.T.T.I. with ease.” — Right.

(Can’t argue with ‘Brodansky,’ bro.)

3: Don’t get too cheesed away either.

If it’s too easy and too cheesy, you fail both tests. F-minus-minus. EZ-Cheez™ is not for writing. Save it for the pork rinds.

“Marlin Fisher reeled in the biggest tuna of the millennium.” — Wrong.

(Too easy, unless Marlin really wanted to be a doctor, only to have his dad replace his hands with fishing poles to limit his career choice to his unfortunate namesake.)

“The horse just couldn’t break Helena Montana.” — Wrong.

(Helena’s a big place. You’re gonna need a bigger horse.)

“Slow day in the meat locker for Butch Cleaver.” — Wrong.

(If Butch is a fishmonger, he can be forgiven. Since he’s not, then no. And why is poor Butch hanging out in a meat locker? Is he really hanging? *gasp* Is this a butcher shop run by cannibals?)

“Anyone hiring Jim Bob Deadfield knew they were getting the best assassin clown in the business.” — Right.

(I have difficulty fathoming the scarier component of this: a hitman named “Jim Bob” or a clown surnamed “Deadfield.” It’s too convenient, and it’s just right.)

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com), followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong), and appointed 5th Duke of Haruld’s Regentistry, Baronet.