Outlandish Outlining

By
Thomasnovels

When I start to write a new book, I build a detailed outline with lots of flow charts on characters, settings, research and dialogue. It really is a beautiful thing to gaze upon and takes up the entire bulletin board above my desk. Nice neat columns and color-coded notes. But as I’m working on the outline, a scene from further into the book will flash across a synaptic and I want to get it written down before it dissolves into the ether. So out come the Post-it Notes (remembering some words are copyrighted). If I’m out of Post-it Notes (did I forgot to do the shopping … again?) then colored index cards will work. I just pushpin (spelt pushpin, push-pin or push pin and not copyrighted) them right onto the outline, obscuring most of the page. Index cards are also handy for the bedside table when those I’m-almost-asleep-ideas hit and the person beside of you wants to know what the hell are you doing over there. Index cards flip better than Post-it Notes.

Now I’m ready to move onto the computer (that doesn’t like Post-it Notes and don’t even think about pushpins) where I type all these notes in sort of a free flowing document. Thoughts, plots, ideas, scattering of dialogues all divided with a line of bold, red question marks because by now I’m questioning if all this stuff will ever become a story let alone a book. Pages and pages fill up with gibberish until I’m lost and can’t remember where any of the good stuff is. I hit print (do the ink prayer), grab the sheaf of papers and cut and paste. Literally. I cut it all up at the question marks and start to organize it into a timeline. By now the characters have gone off in a corner for a cigarette break and I’m almost sure they’re talking about me.

My beautiful, original outline has disappeared under an avalanche of paper. Important scenes on Post-it Notes have melted and fluttered down like snowflakes. (Could that murder scene be what I wrote the shopping list on the back of? I hope it’s not floating around at the grocery store. Of course, they would have to have handwriting samples to prove it was mine and I don’t think I wrote a check.) The entire apartment looks like an office supply store blew up in it. The person from the other side of the bed complains there is so many Post-it Notes on the bathroom mirror he cannot see to shave and sleeping with me did not include sleeping with Chapter Three under his hip all night. I dive for the bed, pretend to be changing the sheets while searching for the real sheets.

None of this has anything to do with writing the book but it seems to be a process I need to go through to get to the actual writing part. When I actually start cleaning up the mess, I wonder if the inside of my head looks like the inside of the apartment after a long writing spell. I have unearthed cryptic notes months later where even I can’t read my own handwriting and can only hope I didn’t leave a character sitting somewhere, waiting on me to come back.

And my daughter once found the shopping list for villain’s murder kit on the front of the refrigerator and wanted to know if she should stop by the store on her way home.

Murder vs. Sex

By
Thomasnovels

Recently, a young man approached me inquiring about the type of books I write. I gave my standard answer of mysteries. “That’s perfect,” he said, explaining he wanted to surprise his mystery-buff mom with original, autographed books. “Murder mysteries?” he asked. I assured him one if not more people would be knocked off. “Even better. She loves a good murder.” I gave him a business card, provided him with a list of my published works and offered him a discount. As he started to leave, he turned back and shyly asked, “They’re not racy are they?” Apparently, he had caught sight of one of my covers but hadn’t read the blurb.

Racy? The word brought a picture of my mother to mind. She’s a great reader and has even read some of my books. Racy? I remember being at a family gathering right before my first novel came out. I think she was proud of the fact I was going to be published but she leaned over and whispered in the ear of a lady of her age range, “But it’s a little racy.” She wasn’t worried that I was thinking up ways and means to kill characters. She was worried because I was letting them have sex.

Racy? The young man took my business card but I knew I had lost the sale when he said, “My mom won’t read something that has anything remotely racy in it.” Okay, I get it and won’t be the first writer to say it. It’s all right to kill them in ever expanding gory techniques but just don’t let them fall down together on the bed, floor, table, ground (you get the picture) in the throes of passion. Naked body on the autopsy table, good. Naked body glistening in afterglow, bad.

Racy? As a reader, I find it aggravating when characters shut the bedroom door and the chapter ends. Next scene, they’re back, fully clothed and sharing the symbolic cigarette. Wait. What happened? How characters (and we real people) relate to one another during sex influences how they relate to one another in the rest of the story. Was it satisfying? Were there problems? Was it standard or inventive? Was there noise and conversation or was it so silent you could hear the zipper drop? Yet, numerous popular novels switch from third to first person just so the killers can describe their feelings and actions in great detail.

Racy? And it’s not just an age thing. Women of my own age (don’t ask) wouldn’t buy the second one. They said they didn’t realize I knew so many positions … knew so many ways … knew so many … they did not allow that sort of thing in their houses. Makes me wonder where they got their kids from. But these same women enjoyed the murders and never figured out who done it right up until the end. Cheers to the woman who told me she read excerpts to her husband … in their bedroom … naked. I don’t think they ever found out who the guilty person was.

Racy? “If only you’d leave out the sex, they’d be such great reads.” And really short books. I tried once to write a novel without sex. The characters got really grumpy and frustrated right along with the author. And no one has ever asked me to leave out the murder.

Anyone want to race?