Thursday, March 08, 2007

ah, but my plan is beautiful! (or: a syllabus, at last)

I have a plan.

That sounds simple, commonplace: I have a plan. But it was a long time coming--it took lots of work and wishing to produce this plan, which is why I feel so darn smug. So now, when friends and family ask cautiously, “How’s the writing going?” I (for once!) enthusiastically reply, “It’s going GREAT!” They’re a little startled, perhaps a little relieved. And I’m ecstatic.

This plan is a monster. It came out of hours of reading Elizabeth George’s book Write Away, especially the parts where she details her own novel-writing process. It came out of my December and January, when I was so burnt-out on my book that I couldn’t think about it, and I decided I’d do short stories for the rest of my life. (Ha.) And it came out of my recent NYC conference, where two editors said that we could send them something, and they’d read it.

For people outside the publishing industry, this might not sound like a huge deal. But to those of us who feel doomed to obscurity, it’s the Golden Ticket. It means my sorry little manuscript has a chance at the big time. Or, more practically, it has a chance to get a polite form-letter reply. (Because even in my headiest daydreams, I don’t think I’m going to make the Random House editor fall out of her chair with my astonishing prose. Okay . . . that was in one daydream. But just one.)

All this to say: Elizabeth George’s book gave some good tips; my short story ideas dried up; I miss working on the novel that I wrote in November; and I have nine months to fix and send it. Okay.

So I whipped up a glorious thirty-five week plan, a map for navigating the immense amount of work I still have to do. I’m used to making four-week plans for my research papers at Calvin: there was an ugly spring when I had three major papers due on the same day, and what student has that kind of self control? But by making three hyper-detailed plans, and (mostly) sticking to them, I was able to finish on time.

This plan makes those four-weekers look like preschool.

Scanning its listing of dates and activities, I can see where I should be in April and July and October. I even have a few weeks that are blank--"disaster" weeks, set aside for the unthinkable: writer’s block, broken wrists, computer meltdown (and subsequent writer meltdown, therapy, etc.) The plan allots a few weeks for character development, more for research, and some for tweaking the setting and finalizing the characters. Then it’s on to plotting, looking over last November’s work, and then--gasp--the real, complete, rough draft. A chunk of time for thorough revision, followed by a revision of the second draft. Next, preparing queries for--have to pinch myself!--two major publishing houses.

Then, after still more work, I ship my child out to New York City, and . . . get to work on that second novel idea, which is gnawing a hole in my brain. Don’t even think about hearing back on the first novel, just get to work, get to work. And make another plan, perhaps.

So, the days of this crazy March are scheduled for character development. One by one, I’m pulling my principal actors apart--who are they, after all? Who were their parents, what do they hope to do, what do they think of their world? What do they want to change, what do they want to avoid? What makes them laugh, or sing, or droop? I’m knitting furiously (brain liberation!) as I try to unravel these invisible people.

Our March is, unsurprisingly, insane. We’re taking three trips before the end of it, to Nashville, Tennessee; Branson, Missouri; and Seward, Nebraska. And when we’re not gone, we’ll be redoing a bathroom. (These past few days have been filled with floor samples, faucet designs, and cabinetry.) Despite it all, I hope to inch forward on my plan, ticking off the next steps no matter where we are. Now that I have my hard-won plan, the challenge is to follow it! --jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 03/08 at 02:39 PM
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