Chuck Wendig's Blog, page 268

25 Ways To Plot, Plan and Prep Your Story

I'm a panster at heart, plotter by necessity — and I always advocate learning how to plot and plan because inevitably someone on the business side of things is going to poke you with a pointy stick and say, "I want this." Thus you will demonstrate your talent. Even so, in choosing to plot on your own, you aren't limited to a single path. And so it is that we take a look at the myriad plotting techniques ("plotniques?") you might use as Storyteller Extraordinaire to get the motherfucking job done. Let us begin.

The Basic Vanilla Tried-And-True Outline

The basic and essential outline. Numbers, Roman numerals, letters. Items in order. Separated out by section if need be (say, Act I, Act II, Act III). Easy-peazy Lyme-diseasey.

The Reverse Outline

Start at the end, instead. Write it down. "Sir Pimdrip Chicory of Bath slays the dragon-badger, but not before the dragon-badger bites the head off Chicory's one true love, Lady Miss Wermathette Kildare of the Manchester Kildares." Rewind the clock. Reverse the gears. Find out how you build to that.

Tentpole Moments

A story in your head may require certain keystone events to be part of the plot. "Betty-Sue must get sucked into the time portal outside Schenectady, because that's why her ex-boyfriend Booboo begins to build a time machine in earnest which will accidentally unravel space-and-time." You might have five, maybe ten of these. Write them down. These are the elements that, were they not included, the plot would fall down (like a tent without its poles). The narrative space between the tentpoles is uncharted territory.

Beginning, Middle, End

Write three paragraphs, each detailing the rough three acts found in every story: the inciting incident and outcome of the beginning (Act I), the escalation and conflict in the middle (Act II), the climactic culmination of events and the ease-down denoument of the end (Act III). You can, if you want, choose the elemental changes-in-state you might find at the end of each act, too — the pivot point on which the story shifts. This document probably isn't more than a page's worth of wordsmithy. Simple and elegant.

A Series Of Sequences

The saying goes that an average screenplay usually offers up eight or nine sequences (a sequence being a series of scenes that add together to form common narrative purpose, like, say, the Attack On The Death Star sequence from Star Wars or the Kevin James Makes Love To All The Animals In Order To Make The Audience Feel Shame sequence from Paul Blart, Zoo Abortion). So, chart the sequences that will go into your screenplay. If you're writing prose, I don't know how many sequences a novel should have — more than a film, probably (or alternately, each sequence is granted a greater conglomeration of scenes).

Chapter-By-Chapter

For novel writers, you can chart your story by its chapters. A standard outline is more about dictating plot and story without marrying oneself to narrative structure. This, however, puts the ring on that sonofabitch and locks him down tight. A chapter-by-chapter outline is visualizing the reader's way through the novel.

Beat Sheet

This one's for you real granular-types, the ones who want to count each grain of sand on your story's beach (or, for a more terribleminds-esque metaphor, "count each pube on your story's scrotum"). Chart each beat of the story in every scene. This is you writing the entire story's plot out, but you're writing it without much dialogue or narrative flair. It's you laying out all the pieces. The order-of-operations made plain.

Mind-Maps

Happy blocks and bubbles connected to winding bendy spokes connected to a central topical hub. Behold: example. You can use a mind-map to chart… well, anything your mind so desires. It is, after all, a map of said mind. Sequence of events? Character arcs? Exploration of theme? Story-world ideas? Family trees? The crazy hats worn by your villains? Catchphrases? Your inchoate rage and shame made manifest? Your call.

Zero Draft

AKA, "The Vomit Draft." Puke up the story. Just yarf it up — bleaaarrghsputter. A big ol' Technicolor yawn. You aren't aiming for structure. Aren't aiming for art or even craft. This is just you getting everything onto the page so that it's out there and can now be cleaned up. You've puked up the story, now it's time to form it into little idols and totems — the heretic statuaries of your story.

In The Document, As You Go

AKA, "The Bring Your Flashlight" technique. You outline only as you go. Write a scene or chapter. Roughly sketch the next. Then write it. Onward and upward until you've got a proper story.

Write A Script

For those of you writing scripts, this sounds absurd. "He wants me to outline my script by writing a script? Has this guy been licking colorful toads?" Sorry, screenwriters — this one ain't for you. Novelists, however, will find use in writing a script to get them through the plotting. Scripts are lean and mean: description, dialogue, description, dialogue. It'll get you through the story fast — then you translate into prose.

Dialogue Pass

Let the characters talk, and nothing else. Put those squirrely fuckers in a room, lock the door, and let the story unfold. It won't stay that way, of course. You'll need to add… well, all the meat to the bones. But it's a good way to put the characters forward and find their voice and discover their stories. Remember: dialogue reads fast and so it tends to write fast, too. Dialogue is like Astroglide: it lubricates the tale.

Character Arcs

Characters often have arcs — they start at A, go to B, end at C (with added steps if you're feeling particularly saucy). Commander Jim Nipplesplitter, Jr. starts at "gruff and loyal soldier boy in the war against the Ant People" (A) and heads to "is crippled and betrayed by his country, left to die in the distant hills of the Ant Planet" (B) and ends up at "falls in love with a young Ant Squaw and he must fight to protect his ant-man larvae" (C). A character arc can track plotty bits, emotional shifts, outfit changes, whatever.

Synopsis First

You might think to write your query letter, treatment or synopsis last. Bzzt. Wrong move, donkeyface. Write it not. It's not etched in stone, but it'll give you a good idea of how to stay on target with this story.

Index Cards

Index cards are a kick-ass organization tool. You can use them to do anything — list characters, track scenes, list chapters, identify emotional shifts, make little Origami throwing stars that will give your neighbors wicked-ass paper-cuts. Lay them on a table or pin 'em to a corkboard. Might I recommend John August's "10 Hints For Index Cards?" I might, rabbit. I might. See also: the Index Card app for iOS.

Whiteboard

A whiteboard represents a great thinking space. Notes, mind-maps, character sketches, drawings of weird alien penises. Get some different color pens, chart your story in whatever way feels most appropriate.

The Crazy Person's Notebook

Once in a while a story of mine demands a hyper-psycho notebook experience. My handwriting is messier than a garbage disposal choked with hair, but even still, sometimes I just like to put pen to paper and scribble. And I sometimes print stuff out, chop it up, and tape it into the notebook. (Example!)

Collage

You're like, "What's next? A shoebox diorama of the Lincoln assassination?" That's a different blog post. Seriously, on my YA-cornpunk novel POPCORN, I took a whole corkboard and covered it in images and quotes that were relevant to the work. Then I'd just wander over there from time to time, stare at it, get my head around the story I'm telling and the feel of the world the story portrays. Surprisingly helpful.

Spreadsheets

Stare too long into the grid of a spreadsheet and you will feel your soul entangled there — a dolphin caught in a tuna net. Even still, you may find a spreadsheet very helpful. Track plots and beats to your heart's delight. Seen JK Rowling's spreadsheet for Harry Potter? High-res version right here.

Story Bible

Everything and anything goes into the story bible. Worldbuilding. Character descriptions. The "rules" of the story. Plot. Theme. Mood. An IKEA furniture manual. (Goddamn Allen wrenches.) The BIOSHOCK story bible was reputedly a 400+ page beast, which means that yes, your story bible may be bigger than your actual novel. The key is not to let this — or any planning technique — become an exercise in procrastination. You plan. Then you do. That's the only way this works.

The Power Of Templates

Film and TV scripts already follow a fairly rigorous template, but you can go further afield. Look to Blake Snyder's SAVE THE CAT beats. Or Joseph Campbell's hero's journey. Go weirder with the Proppian morphology of fairy tales. You may think it non-imaginative but the power of art and story lives easily within borders as it does without them.

Stream Of Consciousness Story Babble

Slap on a diving bell and jump deep into the waters of the stream of consciousness. Order, you see, is sometimes born first from chaos, wriggling free from a uterus made from fractal swirls and Kamikaze squirrels. Open yourself to All The Frequencies: get into your word processor or find a blank notebook page and just scribble wantonly without regard to sense or quality. You may find your story lives in the noise and madness and that on that snowy screen you will find structure. Like a Magic Eye painting that reveals the image of a dolphin riding a motorbike and shooting Japanese whalers with twin chattering Uzis.

Visual Storyboards

Sometimes the words only come when given the bolstered boost of a visual hook. Sketch it out yourself. Get an artist friend. Find images from the Internet. Ingest some kind of dew-slick jungle mushroom and paint your story on the wall in your own variety of fluids. Sometimes you really need to visualize the story.

The Test Drive

Take your characters, storyworld and ideas, and run them through a totally separate story. Let's call it apocryphal, or "non-canonical." It's not a story you intend to keep. Not a story you want to publish. You're just taking your story elements through their paces. Run them around a test drive. "This is where Detective Shirtless McGoggins solves the murder of the goblin seamstress." Sure, your Detective lives in the real world, a world not populated by goblins. Fuck it, it's just an exercise. A test run to find his voice and yours.

Pants The Shit Out Of It

All this plotting and scheming just isn't working for you, so go ahead and pants the hell out of it. (Me? I don't wear pants. Pants are the first tool of your oppressors.) Sometimes trying to wrestle your story into even the biggest box is just an exercise in frustration, so do what works for you and what doesn't. Once again, however, I'll exhort you to at least learn the skill of outlining — because eventually, someone's going to ask for a demonstration of your ability.

* * *

Want another booze-soaked, profanity-laden shotgun blast of dubious writing advice?

Try: CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY

$4.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

Or its sequel: REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY

$2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

And: 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING

$0.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

Twenty-Sided Troubadours: Why Writers Should Play Roleplaying Games

Time to speak out with my geek out.

Writer-types, here's your homework: go forth and play a roleplaying game.

No, no, put down that Xbox controller.

Here. Take these.

*hands you a pile of glittery multi-colored polyhedral dice*

They're not pills. Don't swallow them. They're dice. You'll choke. Stop that. Take them out of your mouth. Here, you're also going to need some other stuff, too: a pencil, a character sheet, maybe some index cards, a bag of Cheetos, a 64 oz "Thirst Aborter" full of Mountain Dew, a 6-pack of beer, a pizza coupon, a can of spray deodorant, and a big overflowing bucket of your caffeine-churned imagination.

Playing a pen-and-paper table-top RPG is not going to make you a better writer.

It goes deeper than that.

It's going to make you a better storyteller. And here's how.

The Essential Ingredient: Characters In Conflict

Given the geeky composition of my audience, I assume that you grok the core experience of the average tabletop roleplaying game: a game-master orchestrates adventures for a group of players, all of whom control imaginary characters whose skills and abilities are laid out on a character sheet. A player says, "I want my character to see if he can use his Wombat Magic to steal the pocketwatch heart of the Toymaker's Daughter," and then he rolls dice in accordance with the rules to see if his Wombat Magic is a spell that can survive its own casting. Simple enough, yeah?

That's really not the truth of the story, though. That's just the nature of the rules.

The truth of the story — its essential element, its elemental essence — is that of characters put in conflict. And you see laid bare the nature of all our stories, right there: character-driven conflict. Even more awesome is what happens when you let the players just fuck around at the game-table without even trying to steer them. Eventually, they'll start creating conflict. Tavern fights, dead cops, stolen items. While this may not always be true to the character it is true to the story: conflict must fill the vacuum and that conflict must be driven by the characters present in the narrative.

What's more interesting to the players at the table is when their characters are at the center of the conflict. Not conflict driven externally by the world, but characters who are knee-deep in the thick shit.

This is their world, and their problems matter.

The Labor Contractions Of Birthing Good Story

Pacing is a really hard trick for storytellers. It's ultimately too simple to say that escalation is the only order of pacing, because it's not — you can't just drop a cinder block on the accelerator pedal and let the story take off like a rocket. Eventually the engine burns out. The audience grows weary. Constant action is naught but the electric cacophony of a single guitar chord blasted over and over again.

This becomes abundantly clear at the game table. You know you have to ease off the gas from time to time. Let the players breathe a little. Let the characters talk to one another. Even the tried-and-true "our characters walk into a tavern" schtick reveals this, to some degree: they don't kick open the door and start throwing punches. A tavern fight starts simple. Drinks. Laughs. A goblin says some shit. A paladin encourages restraint. A warrior gets all up in the goblin's business. Someone throws a bottle. And then — explode. Spells and swords and shotguns and goblin venom.

And then you have the come down. The denouement as the fight ends. Wounds licked.

Session to session you can see the pace change, too — one session might be heavy on action, another session heavy on politics. Or introspection. Or melodrama.

You not only start to see exactly how important it is to keep the pace staggered but also how important it is to let this narrative chameleon show all his colors. A story is not one thing and it does not take off like a horse with a rattlesnake shoved up his ass — sometimes that horse needs to stop, drink some water, slow down the pace unless that old nag fancies dropping dead in the dust.

Writer's Block Does Not Live At The Game Table

You can't get writer's block at the game table. Not as a game master, not as a player. You can't be all like, "Yeah, I'm just not feeling my character's actions today, let's try again tomorrow." It's shit or get off the pot time, Vampire Cleric from Minneapolis. You gotta do something. Anything. Stab! Throw a Molotov! Hide under a car! Manifest your Vampire Cleric batwings and take flight above the city!

Same thing goes for writing. Shit or get off the pot. Do something. Throw a narrative grenade. If anything will remind you of this, it's the act of rolling the bones with a couple-few like-minded gamer-types.

The Audience Is Waiting And Their Knives Are Sharp

They're listening. And watching. And waiting.

Them. They. The audience. The other players.

This is a group activity. This isn't something you do in isolation. You don't sit over there in the corner fiddling with your dice and surreptitiously rubbing the crotch of your khaki shorts. You're in the thick of it. Your words — whether as a player or, more importantly, as the game master — are the central focus. You can tell when you've hooked them, and can tell when you're losing them. You shuck and jive and duck and weave and do any kind of narrative chicanery to keep the momentum going, to ensure that the table doesn't spiral off into restless side-conversations ("Do you think an Alchemical Exalted would be able to beat Jesus, if Jesus were wearing like, Mecha Armor given to him by the Three Wise Men?"). You're on stage. They're on the hook. It is, as David Mamet writes, fuck or walk.

Your story is the story of the moment, and it reminds you just how important it is to keep the audience in mind — not just your intent as storyteller but their interests, their needs, their attention.

It also reinforces the cardinal rule:

Never be boring.

Because if you're boring, they're going to start talking about Dr. Who.

Unintended Emotional Resonance (Or, "I Like To Move It, Move It")

Every once in a while, you'll have a moment during a game session where it's like, "Oh, holy shit. These other people are actually worked up over this story. I've inadvertently affected them."

They'll get mad at a villain. Pissed at one another for botching a plan. Sad at the death of a character. They'll hoot and gibber, victorious over the death of the Necro-Accountant who's been making their lives hell session after session. Their emotions worn plainly upon their faces, the masks worn away.

And then it hits you: this is part of your arsenal of storytelling weapons. To make people give a shit. Enough so that their heads aren't in this alone; their hearts hop in the car, too, riding shotgun until the story's told.

You learn how to do it there so you can do it on the page.

At The Table As On The Page: Anything Is Possible

You sit down at the game table and you start to realize: whatever I say is made manifest. Okay, sure, sure, maybe your skill check doesn't let you automatically drive the car up the ramp formed by the crushed school buses and straight into the Kraken's unblinking eye — but by god, you have a shot. And as a game master, this is multiplied infinitely upon itself, this god-like power to create realities from words in whatever direction you choose.

No constraints. Speak the word, and let it be so.

That, my friends, is the power of fiction. It's the power of books, comics, film, and — duh — games. But it's not just the obvious non-revelation that what you say at the game table is made into a fictional reality. It's also the notion that you can say whatever you want. You aren't contained by comfortable boxes of genre. You aren't stopped by expectations and tropes. In fact, you're often rewarded by jumping right just when everybody thinks you're going to jump left. You begin to realize that the enemy to good fiction is doing the same thing over and over again. The enemy is fear, where you're afraid of sitting there in front of an audience and telling the story as it lives and breathes. You don't have to worry about the story as it lays dying in a cage shacked by rules of genre, trope, template or format. You have it all right there in your hand — a few dice in your palm, maybe a pencil, nothing more — all the elements of creation laid bare.

It's an awesome — in the truest definition of that word — feeling.

One that will serve you well when you bring it to the written page.

Writer-Gamer Hybrid Types, Chime In

I know a good number of you came here originally from some of my game work or are yourselves gamers still — moreover, I know that the Venn Diagram of GAMER and WRITER has some big crossover in this audience. So add your two cents. Why should writers and storytellers play tabletop games? I know you have reasons I haven't even considered. Spit 'em out like broken teeth!

(Oh, and again I'll mention: if you haven't checked out SPEAK OUT WITH YOUR GEEK OUT, well, get on it, won't you? Go forth. Speak your geek. Own your nerdery.)

Dinocalypse Now!

So by now, you may have heard the news:

I am writing a SPIRIT OF THE CENTURY novel for Evil Hat games.

If it works out, I might be writing three of them, actually.

The first begins with –

DINOCALYPSE NOW!

All I'm saying is:

Psychic dinosaurs.

1935.

Get your head around that.

And once you have your head around it, I've some questions to ask you.

First up: if you're a fan of the old pulps — and a fan of crazy adventure and pulp heroes and weird science and all that good stuff — then I gotta ask, what would you hope to see in a new pulp novel?

Second, if you're a fan of SPIRIT OF THE CENTURY, what defines that game to you? What are the essential ingredients to any SotC adventure — both the adventure that unfolds with dice at your game table and the adventure that might unfold in, say, a novel? I've got a synopsis of the novel written down, but thus far I've got a lot of uncharted spaces. Which is why I'm here, looking to you to distill down what you feel — as a fan of the game — best embodies the awesomeness that is SPIRIT OF THE CENUTURY.

I'll hang up and wait for your answer.

*click*

Nine-Eleven

I think we're supposed to talk about that day today. In some ways I get that — it was a giant tent spike through the heart of this country. On the other hand, there's only so much memorializing you can do before it becomes a sickening buzz — the television stations are not our grief counselors but rather the vultures pulling the tendons of our fear, earning ad revenue for bludgeoning us over the head with non-stop 24/7 9/11 remembering. Talking heads telling us how to feel.

Remembering is good, though. Celebration isn't, but that's up to us not to turn this into some kind of crass holiday. Point being, I wasn't going to write anything. And yet, here I am, barking into the void.

You want to know what I remember about 9/11? Here's what I remember.

I remember driving to work in the middle of town and listening to the radio as it all unfolded. By the time I was getting to work the second plane had already struck.

The entire town was connected that day — as I got out of my car and walked to work I could literally follow the transmission of information. Some people had put radios outside. Some were yelling to one another to tell them what they just heard on the TV. Folks were standing out on sidewalks talking about it. People were bound together in tragedy. (And given what we eventually learned about 9/11, that our leaders had heard the warnings and ignored them, this is tragedy in the truest theatrical sense of the word.) I thought, this is our Kennedy assassination. This is that one moment that defines our generation. The one we'll always talk about, the one we'll always feel in our heart and in our bowels and the one we'll always say, "I remember where I was on that day, when that horrible thing happened."

And what I remember most is that connection between people.

And how for a good year, we were united in that memory and that experience. We were united in anger and hope and fear and that whole tangled thatch of emotion that came with the two towers tumbling down.

And I remember how that connection festered and was pulled apart. Because our leaders, instead of unifying us, found in that day opportunity. Opportunity to take us to war in that day's name. Opportunity to pass legislation whose strictures were absurd and whose ghosts still haunt the so-called "homeland." Opportunity to invoke that day as a campaign slogan.

Opportunity to divide, not unite.

You really think who we are as a nation now — a nation with boots stuck in the sucking mud of a double-dip recession, caught in the middle of a highly disordered and fractured two-party pissing match, afraid of anybody who looks even a leetle bit different than us or who worships in a way that seems no longer profound but only somehow perfidious — isn't as a result of that day? Where we can't bring a bottle of shampoo on a plane lest it contain some exotic-and-fragrant shampoo bomb? Where the specter of terrorism overrides the political needs of far greater crises?

I feel like the country went the wrong way after that day. Our leaders could've fostered that connectedness and instead exploited the disconnect. And in that gap rose a howling fearful wind.

But that's them. That's our leaders. That's not us.

We are not our leaders. Not anymore.

The message here is that the connectedness we felt then can be reclaimed. As a weird side segue, would you believe that this is why I like social media? The sense of connectedness is robust and even at times profound (see the latest earthquake and hurricane for that, where I felt connected to people who I didn't even know, who were hundreds of miles away — hell, see Egypt, or London for how people can bond together — the core notion of the Internet is connectedness, after all).

We need to move together, not fall apart. We need to find the bonds that bring us together and make us human, not highlight all the bullshit differences that take our humanity away.

That's the thing I'd hope people remember today. The solidarity of the nation in that year following 9/11. A time when it felt like we were all in the same boat. Find that again. Trust in your neighbors, not in your leaders. We're coming to a time once more when we will somehow need to remind our leaders that they must be accountable to us, not us accountable to them. The day of 9/11 is ours, not theirs.

They fear our connectedness, after all. As they should. Our ideas and connections have the power to change the world. That terrifies them. So be connected. Forge the connection with others once more. Talk to people. People you don't always agree with. Common bonds exist; find them. When we find those things we can move forward again. We can find the things we believe are essential and work to accomplish them. We must not be led by a corrupt body of leadership or by a vocal minority of selfish monsters. We must reforge lost connections. That is how we can once more find truth and hope in a day like 9/11.

Flash Fiction Challenge: "The Torch"

Uhh, holy shit. Last week's 100-word-story contest had over 100 entries…! Go check out the entries. I'll pick a winner by the end of this weekend. Keep your grapes peeled.

See that photo?

That's your challenge. Take a good long look. Think about what you see. And leaping forth from the flames you will find a story inspired by that photo. Whatever story it is, whatever genre you find it in, write it.

Let that image be your narrative guide.

You've got 1000 words.

Post it online at your blog.

Then link back here.

Then drop a comment below and point us to your story.

That's all you gotta do.

One week to write it. By Friday, September 16th, noon EST.

Refining The Interrogation Procedures Here At Terribleminds

You've seen the Thursday interviews, yeah?

Well, we're gonna do more.

I've already got a couple lined up, but — but!

Your help is requested.

Here's how the interview process works. I ask a pre-established set of questions and then, from those answers I ask some follow-ups specific to each author. What I want to know from you is:

What other questions do you want me to ask? Anything in particular?

Second thing I need: who do you want me to interview? Suggest some people. Sweet Jeebus only knows if they'll answer my plea to be strapped into a chair and have electrodes strapped to their temples, teats, and fiddly bits, but you don't get anywhere by not asking for things. Who should I approach for said interviews? Shoot me some names. Not just novelists, but writers and storytellers of all stripes.

Alternately, if you're an accomplished storyteller and you want an interview here, speak up.

25 Things You Should Know About Queries, Synopses, Treatments

1. Everyone Hates It (And Nobody's Great At It)

Writing a summary of any creative endeavor makes every writer feel like he's wearing a tuxedo made of bumblebees. It's a very uncomfortable process and any writer who tells you how much she enjoys writing synopses should be immediately shoved in a bag and burned because she is a robot from the future sent here to destroy all writers. Why would we enjoy the process? We just wrote a whole screenplay or an entire novel. And now we're supposed to compress it down until it fits in the palm of our hands? Fuck. Fuck. It blows. It's difficult. Nobody does it 100%. But you gotta suck it up and do the work.

2. Put This Pig In That Bucket

A pig will not fit in a bucket, and yet, that is your task. You must identify all the parts of the pig that you cannot live without. The rest? Chainsawed into bloody gobbets and left on the abattoir floor. You're not here to explore the whole pig. You're here to give a sampling of the beast — a taste of pigness. The hoof, snout, squeal and tail are for later. For now you need to deliver a packet of prime cuts only.

3. Excuse Me While I Whip This Out

Length matters. A query letter is never more than a page. A synopsis or treatment is maybe two to 10 pages, though some treatments are as long as 60. A beat sheet for a script is maybe 10% of the total document (or six pages/hour). Identify the length and stick to it. Though, like with a certain dangling male organ, it's not just how long it is, but what you do with it. For instance: my penis kills hooded cobras, like a mongoose.

4. The Shallowest Reader In The World

On the next Twitter #fridayreads, tell the world you're reading a fuckload of book jackets and DVD cases. You know how if you're writing epic fantasy it helps sometimes to read epic fantasy? Well, what do you think this is? You're trying to summarize your work, so read summaries of other work. And book jackets and DVD cases are exactly that. True story: the book jacket for my upcoming novel DOUBLE DEAD features text pulled straight from my synopsis. The text on a book jacket or DVD case (or video game case or Amazon description) is meant to entice. Which is also your job when writing a query, synopsis, or treatment.

5. Egg Samples

You need to find examples of good — meaning, successful — treatments, queries, and synopses. Grab them from writer friends. Dig them up online. Discover what about them feels successful. Mine and mimic.

6. Get Goofy On Rainforest Drugs And Explore Core Truths

I often phrase this as, What the hell is it about, maaaan? As in, if you were sitting around a fucking drum circle or some shit and you were stoned out of your gourd on some weird powder made from pulverized elk bezoar and someone grabbed you by the collar of your ratty technicolor robe and they asked you that question, what would you say? Not the basic plot, but dig deep for what it's really about, what it means to you. The essence of that answer must be present in your truncated treatment. Because it matters. It's one of the things that elevates it from an examination of plot to an exploration of story.

7. Bottle All The Lightning

Another fun exercise: go through your novel or script and start identifying all the things that you think are — caps necessary — FUCKING AWESOME. The knees of the bees, the hat of the cat. Action scenes, plot turns, character foibles. Any of that. Call it out. Write it down. It won't all go into your synopsis but it helps to have an arsenal of Awesome Things to call out, don't you think?

8. We Come For The Character…

That sounds dirty, doesn't it? Well, stop juicing your capris and tenting your khakis, we have things to discuss. What's true for your overall story is true for any synopses of that story: character matters most. Good characters serve as our vehicle through the story and so it must in part be our vehicle through any treatment. Distill those characters down and make sure we know who they are and what arcs they travel.

9. …We Stay For The Conflict

Readers are dicks. We want to read about bad shit. We don't want to read about how Sally didn't study and got an A on her test. We want to see sad li'l Sally put through her paces. "She's poor and her textbook was eaten by coyotes and the teacher hates her because he's dating Sally's mother and she still got an A on her test." Conflict is the food that feeds the reader. Any query, treatment or synopsis must showcase conflict.

10. Heh Heh Heh He Said "Tentpole"

Repeat after me: "This story doesn't stand up unless I include [fill in the blank]." No, you're not supposed to say "fill in the blank." Are you brain-diseased? You're supposed to actually fill in the blank. You need to go through your story and find those tentpole items: details that, were they not included, would cause the story to collapse without their presence. When and Where are two you likely cannot do without.

11. Talk That Shit Out

Before you write, vocalize. Sit down with somebody you trust — friend, family member, agent, basement-dwelling cannibalistic hobo — and babble out your synopsis. Have a few drinks. Figure out how you'd sell a buddy (or a man-eating hobo) on your story. Keep pitching it to them. Hone your approach. Write it down. Harness what you learned and incorporate into any synopses you must write.

12. Act Structures And Outlines

Maybe you did an outline before you wrote. Maybe you didn't. Doesn't matter now because you need to grasp the architecture of this thing. Act structures and outlines help you get your hands around a story in terms of summarizing and — behold my brand new made-up word — succinctifying. I always exhort writers to grow cozy with writing outlines because trust me when I tell you: someone's going to ask for one.

13. The Logline Is Your Best Friend

Learning to write a logline is your first best step. Take the logline. Hold it close. Nuzzle it to your neck like a cuddly ferret. Treat it right, it'll coo and burble. Treat it wrong, it'll spray piss in your mouth and bite off your earlobe. Wait, you don't know what a logline is? Take your story. Summarize it in a single-sentence pitch. But it's more than that, too — you're trying to sell the story, trying to give an aura of mystery and possibility. A good logline hits at around 50 words. Go to 100 words and it's likely too long.

14. Sharpen That Hook So That It Can Rupture A Fucking Atom

A bad hook makes for a bad query, treatment, or synopsis. Every molecule in your marrow resists this: your script or novel is not built on so flimsy a foundation as a single line of marketing text, but I am sad to remind you that life is not fair. Puppies are not immortal, rivers don't run with ice cream and you don't get a free blowjob every time you pay your taxes. Life is tough. So learn to whet the hook to an eye-gouging point. The hook must be the promise of the premise. And don't ignore emotional investment. I've seen some loglines for DIE HARD that leave out the wife, and the wife is the core of that film.

15. The "Explode It Out" Method

Summarize your story in one sentence. Then one paragraph. Then one page. Or, do it in reverse: page, paragraph, sentence. Imagine someone's got a gun to your private parts. You gotta do this or they'll blow your nibbly bits into the carpet. You'll soon see what is essential and what is not: pearls versus peanuts, rubies versus shiny pieces of aquarium glass. Learn to pare down until only its heart remains.

16. Embrace The Holy Trinity: Hook, Body, Climax

Open with a hook: a real juicy logline. Then move into the body: your story laid bare. Sum-up the ending in the same way you wrote the hook: a single sentence that delivers the final kidney-rupturing punch. I've seen some advice that says some agents or producers don't want to hear the ending: unless you know this for sure, I'd say make sure you give it to them. It's a significant piece of the story puzzle.

17. The Saggy Fatty Middle

The danger of a novel or a script is the same danger you run into with a synopsis: the saggy, soggy middle. Tighten that shit up. Find the boring parts and cut them out or rewrite so they're a dose of meth instead of a mist of sinister sleep gas. Be advised: writing a synopsis can suddenly highlight secret problems in your story. Don't let that freak you out. Embrace the opportunity to go back and do some repair work.

18. Stick That Landing

The ending should be as lean and mean as the hook. Maybe 50 words. Maybe 100. If the hook is the promise of the premise, then the ending is the fulfillment of that promise pistoned through the reader's brainpan.

19. Still True: "Show, Don't Tell"

You're not standing in front of your intended audience (editor, agent, producer, executive) and reading a menu of options. You're grabbing their hand, kicking down the door to your storyworld, and showing them what you've built. Always write your synopses from a place of wonder and potential, not from a podium where you deliver a sullen reiteration of your work.

20. Your Voice Matters

What's going to elevate your synopsis from being dull as regurgitated cardboard? Your voice. Specifically, the same voice used to write the novel in the first place. Your synopsis is not the place for a dry recitation of plot points (and then, and then, and then, and then), but rather, a place for your words to bring the story to life in a different context. Put yourself into the synopsis same as you put your heart into the story.

21. Beware Strip Mining

You've taken your pig, blown him apart with a hand grenade and fit what you could in the bucket. Suddenly you realize: the value of this pig isn't the loin chops but rather in the squeal. Writing a synopsis sometimes reveals that you've gone the wrong direction. You've taken the best parts out. You've chosen to embody the wrong emotions. You've strip mined the soul out of the thing and now it's just a hollow exercise.

22. Go Back Over It With A Magnifying Glass And A Scalpel

Always re-read your queries, treatments and synopses again and again. It is your war-horse leading the charge and if it's an out-of-shape nag with a herniated disc and a bad case of bell's palsy then it's not going to survive the coming battle. Read and edit and read and edit. Then give it to someone else and let them read and edit, read and edit. Compress that lump of coal until it is a throat-cutting diamond.

23. You Are Not A Pretty Pony

Different recipients want different things. If an agent specifies that she doesn't want an author bio, then do not include an author bio. If guidelines say, "A 10-page synopsis," then it's your job to give 10 pages of straight-up synopsizing. You're not the only pretty peacock in the room. Don't stand out by giving your middle finger to the rules. Stand out by writing a kick-ass query for an even kick-assier story.

24. Vaporlock Is Your Enemy

Paralysis of the analysis: writing synopses will freeze a writer's brain like a moist dick pressed against an ice-frosted flagpole. You can try all manner of thought exercise, but in the end the only way to the other side is the same as it is with any project: write your way through the swamp no matter how stridently the mire sucks at your boots. Stomp forth sloppily: remember that it's okay for your first synopsis to suck. You aren't beholden to just one draft. You get as many at-bats as you need, slugger.

25. In The End, It's About Making People Want More

This is really where writers buck at their chains: a query, synopsis or treatment is a sales tool. You're trying to get people to buy what you're selling. It is enticement. It is tantalization. You're dangling lush grapes, trying to lure someone to take a bite. In the end you think, this is not what I do, this is a distillation of my work and isn't what I signed up for. Only problem? It is what you signed up for. Storytelling is always an act of enticement and, further, is frequently an act of whittling and winnowing until the best of the story remains and the worst is burned to ash. Sometimes it just takes a reconfiguration of thought: look at your query as just a smaller version of what you already do, which is to say, look at it as yet another act of storytelling. Because that's what a synopsis is: it's you telling your story. Except instead of 300 pages you get, say, ten. Or five. Or one. Hey, nobody said it was going to be easy.

* * *

Want another booze-soaked, profanity-laden shotgun blast of dubious writing advice?

Try: CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY

$4.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

Or its sequel: REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY

$2.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

And: 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING

$0.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF

Stuff And Things And Things And Stuff

Obligatory THE LIFE OF THE WENDIGO post incoming.

Alert your state government. Hide your sisters.

The Penmonkey's Revenge

You may have noticed that –

Drum roll please.

REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY is now on sale. For $2.99, you get a boatload of writing advice and penmonkey satire. In addition, you get a 10k "memoir" by yours truly about the life of a writer and the lessons learned, and you also get a brand spanking new Writer's Prayer ("Time to load the guns, brew the ink, and go to work. Because I am a writer, and I am done fucking around.") Further, if you procure this week, I'll toss you a free copy of 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING. These e-books are how I finance the existence of terribleminds, so in advance I thank you for procuring a copy and spreading the word. Your procurement options are as follows:

Kindle (US): Buy Here

Kindle (UK): Buy Here

Nook: Buy Here

Or, buy the PDF ($2.99) by clicking the BUY NOW button:

Speaking Of Penmonkeys

Jay-zeus, that was fast.

COAFPM is now up to 307 sales sold since I started the Incitement Program.

That means it's time to give away another t-shirt and postcard.

I will pick both tomorrow morning in the comment section of this post.

Look for it!

Holy Shit, New Double Dead Cover

You click that cover, you'll be taken to the artist's site — the cover is by the inimitable PYE PARR. From there you can make with the clicky-clicky to see a larger version and a version without the text.

In other words: fucking awesome.

That cover makes me want to jump out of my chair and run around town draining ladies left and right with my pointy teeth. All I have to say is, this November, Coburn is coming.

Pre-order, if you're so inclined.

The Little Human Now Laughs

On Sunday night, my three-month-old son laughed for the first time.

I mean, he's laughed before, but it's kind of been this gasping squeak. But last night was a bonafide giggle, all because his mother was bouncing him around on her knee. HOLY SHIT did he love it. I've got video of it I'll have to cut up and post at some point — he was in some state of unbridled baby bliss. And now I know the truth: his laughter is like heroin, and here we are, ever-chasing that high. Probably from today until we perish. We will always be chasing that dragon, and all the laughs hence will not be as delightful as that first, most primal, laugh. The cross that parents must bear is becoming all the clearer.

It was so adorable, though, my teeth rotted out of my head and my body stopped producing insulin.

Foodboy

Been a while since I did a proper food post, yeah? I'll have to get back on that. Anybody got any recipes to share? I could use to play with new recipes, so whatever you've got, toss at me.

I'll tell you one thing that gets me by some lunches:

Flour tortillas.

Take one of those and it's suddenly like you're motherfucking Lunchtime Picasso. You can try anything in those things. I just grab all kinds of crap from my fridge and chuck it in there. Boom. Lunchalicious.

Here's two things I'm fond of:

First, take an avocado. Slice it up. Layer a bit of cottage cheese over a flour tortilla. Lay the avocado on top. Salt the avocado. Spritz it with a quarter-lime. Dash of hot sauce. Grate cheese if you have any, and if you have turkey, you can laythat on there, too. Roll up. Shove into face until you are moaning in delight.

Second, chop up any fresh veggies you got laying around. My most recent concoction was summer squash, green beans, bell pepper, and onion. Saute in olive oil — get the onion and bell pepper soft, first. Then the rest of your veggies go into the ring. Salt, pepper, any herbs you have — I totally recommend fresh basil in there. Though, add the basil late, or it can lose some of its phatty garden-fresh flava. (Phresh? Phlava? I dunno. Shut up.) Then take that and shove it into a flour tortilla, and cram that into your food-hole. Bonus points: add in some Gochujang sauce in there.

Have you had this stuff? I am a Sriracha fan, but I think I like this more. Korean. Fermented soy. Has a stronger flavor beyond just heat — though it has that crucial zing, too. Great on, well, anything. Anything. A hot dog? A hamburger? A taco? A stir-fry? My creamy inner thighs? All of the above.

Anyway. There you go.

Googolplus

G+ continues to be a curious experiment. On the one hand, it's fairly slow — a tepid flow of "social media updates." Sometimes the feeds from my circles feels downright inert. Stagnant water sitting.

But I'm starting to see that as a feature, not a bug. Because when someone does drop something into the ecosystem, it generates a lot of activity and discussion. Like, in a forum, you wouldn't want endless topics being added so fast you can't keep up with them, right? You'd want a measured pace with lots of activity in the forums, not outside.

This is that, I think. And it continues to confirm for me just what Goo-Plus is good at:

Conversation and discussion.

It's not all there, yet. This pie is only half-baked. Even still, you get the sense that the LORDS OF GOOGLE might have more in store. Only time will tell. What's everybody else think?

The Sub-Genre Tango

Flash fiction! With a prize! Of an edit! Of up to 3000 words!

I'm ready to declare a winner: Josh Loomis. If only because of his use of the phrase "taco-hole."

Josh, contact me. Getchoo set up with an edit from yours truly, sir.

Upcoming Projects

I think you know about most of what I got cooking.

Did you hear that I'm writing a novel based on the SPIRIT OF THE CENTURY RPG under the vigilant gaze of Evil Hat's Fred Hicks? It's true! I'm very excited about this. Pulp-tastic heroic awesomeness.

Amy Houser is also working on a cover for my first Atlanta Burns novella, SHOTGUN GRAVY. Soon as she's done with that the e-book will go live. I've got all four novellas outlined.

Got the first draft of my YA-ish corn-punk novel POPCORN back from the agent. Going through it now, picking nits, combing knots, hacking off limbs left and right. Fingers crossed.

I've got other irons in the fire, see if some of them won't get hotty-burny-melty soon enough.

How about you people? Whatchoo got going on? How's your writing going? Share and share alike.

 

Revenge Of The Penmonkey: Now Available

Borne on the back of a galloping hell-pony, carried in the satchel of a certified inkslinger, I give you:

REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY.

A mere $2.99.

Your procurement options are as follows:

Kindle (US): Buy Here

Kindle (UK): Buy Here

Nook: Buy Here

Or, buy the PDF ($2.99) by clicking the BUY NOW button:

…

Be advised: I sell the PDF through Paypal. I'll send you the e-book directly via email after you purchase: generally speaking, you will receive the file within an hour of purchase. But sometimes Paypal mysteriously delays alerting me, or something I'm asleep (like, say, if you order the book at midnight EST).

Just to be safe, I'll say that you will receive the file within 12 hours of ordering.

Though again, that's an extreme case.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way…

What's In The Book?

REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY is another collection of essays and articles ripped from the, erm, "pages" of this blog right here. It features 30 such essays, including but not limited to:

"Beware Of Writer II"

"How To Tell If You're A Writer"

"How To Jumpstart A Stalled Novel"

"Panster Versus Plotter"

"Six Signs You're Not Ready To Be A Professional Writer"

"Why Writers Drink"

"Word-Karate: On Writing Action Scenes"

"Writers Should Be Motherfucking Rock Stars"

"Your Self-Published Book May Suck A Bag of Dicks"

The book tackles self-publishing, freelance writing, story architecture, action scenes, and overall casts an unblinking eye at the insane-yet-delightful existence of the Average Everyday Penmonkey.

Original Content!

The book features 70,000 words of delicious fatty mind-meat material, but some of that material is brand spankin' new. The book features a new 10,000 word "introduction" ("True Confessions Of A Freelance Penmonkey") which talks about my life and the lessons I've learned about writing along the way. It features stories of crashed vans, strap-on dildos, shit-shooting, college sex, Yukon Jack, and gunshot wounds.

Some essays also receive postscript commentary where appropriate. Talking about general fan response or adding clarification. Noodling my own Devil's advocacy. And so forth.

The book also has another 20+ Questions appendix in which I answer questions put forth by You Crazy Humans Of The Internet. I answer questions about project management, writing goals, fatherhood, Disney princesses, and ketchup. This is riveting shit. It will blow your mind out the back of your head so hard, it shall kill whoever is standing behind you. So don't read it in a bank line.

Finally, the book also gets a brand new writer's prayer: The Inkslinger's Invocation.

Promotion!

First week promotion:

If you buy REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY between now and the close of Tuesday, September 13th, I will toss you a free PDF copy of 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING.

If you procure ROTPM via PDF through me, I will send you 250 THINGS automatically.

If you procure ROTPM via Amazon or B&N, you will need to email me proof of your purchase to: terribleminds at gmail dot com. I will then send you 250 THINGS.

Still not convinced to buy?

This Is How I Finance Terribleminds

Over the last year, maintaining this website has become a little more cost intensive: quite seriously and without trying to brag (though, I gotta brag a little), the visits to this blog have gone through the roof over the last six months. That means I've had to push this site to one of the more expensive hosting plans just to keep it from springing leaks and to keep my host from quietly drowning terribleminds in a toilet.

Further, my time has become even more premium with the birth of Der Wendigspawn, "B-Dub The Magnificent, Diminutive Dictator And Emperor Of Pennsyltucky." As such, it gets harder and harder to provide robust content here as often as I do — so, again, having that financial core to the site via my writing-related e-books helps keep the whole boat afloat.

I'm not saying you should feel obliged or guilty anything. I'm just saying, if you don't buy it, it's going to be another tear-stained pillow night. And my son will suffer from scurvy because I cannot afford orange juice.

"I Want To Commit Further Sins In Your Name"

You wanna do more? Spread the word, for one. Even if you're not procuring the book, then putting it on the radar of someone who might is a good thing and to that I'd say, thank you.

Also: leave reviews. Amazon, B&N, Goodreads. If you love the book, tell the world. If you hate the book, tell your houseplants and quietly swallow your burgeoning rage until a thrombosis forms in your veins.

For any and all of your help, I say: thank you.

"I Want Even More Free Shit, Wendig"

And so, I give you three wallpapers. Let me know if you can download them okay. You should be able to just click the image and download the size you so desire (up to 1600 x 1200).

(The Penmonkey sigil by Amy Houser. Cover and wallpaper design by yours truly.)

WRITE BIG AND WRITE BOLD

DONE FUCKING AROUND

F.U.

The Truth Of The Happy Goddamn Writer

At least, as I see it.

I'll just leave this here.

Please discuss.

And Happy Labor Day, you crazy sonsabitches.