Do I ever work?...

...someone has asked.  Because I don't describe my work process, or at least not in detail, and not often. I blather on, instead, about my grandchildren, my cooking, the birds at my feeder (woodpeckers at the moment), and the beautiful light across my meadow at sunset.

But yes, I work, every day.  I have at the moment three separate manuscripts, each the start of a book, which I finally (duh) realized was the same book, probably Part I, Part II, Part III. At the moment I am working on Part I...today I am up to page 64.

I tend to think in scenes. I probably write one scene a day, and then in the evening, sub-consciously (occasionally consciously) I think about the next scene---where  it will be, who will be in it, what will be its purpose (this is important!), and will it be dialogue, description, or both, and if both: how much of each.

Last night, for purely recreational reading, in bed, after my dinner company had gone home and I had done the dishes, I dipped back into a Sue Grafton mystery---I forget which letter of the alphabet---there are a bunch of them on my Kindle.  And suddenly I was overly aware of how much space she (the author) takes up in the minutiae of characters moving around. We have to read about them turning doorknobs. Or putting tickets in parking garage meters, and then finding a parking place, parking, and getting out of a car. You get seduced into thinking that there is something important about this entering-the-garage scene. It takes mental energy to enter that garage as a reader, to see each tiny detail, to picture it, to absorb it...and then POOF. It wasn't important. It took up space not only on the page but in the reader's brain and imagination. And meant nothing.

Then just today,  out doing errands, I flicked on the car DVD player to finish listening to the thriller that accompanied me for 6 hours back and forth to Boston last weekend. Harlan Coban. I've forgotten the title. It has serious credibility problems and is not a great book. But it holds your interest and the reader is terrific, especially doing vocal inflections....or an accent (the French detective; he's very funny). But what struck me---because I'd been reading Grafton last night---was that Coban doesn't try your patience, or insult your intelligence,  in that  way.  He assumes that if a chapter ends in one location, and the next chapter begins someplace else, that the reader will get it that the character has walked, driven, flown, or by some means  gotten himself there, and that he has rung a doorbell, or used a key, and opened a door, maybe walked up some steps.  Only the things that matter are revealed in careful crafted detail.

I try to do it his way.

I make notes to myself as I think about each completed chapter. The notes are about things I know I must go back and attend to at some point. One current note has to do with dialogue among four characters—the protaganist and three others—in an earlier chapter. I know that the three minor characters in the scene , minor though they are, need to be delineated better. They must have individual personalities that are made clear through the dialogue. It will be easy to go back and add that in, and I don't feel a need to do it immediately (hence the note, to remind myself to do it at some point).  Those characters will appear briefly again, I assume, so I have to give them identifiable characteristics. But not right now. Right now I am more concerned with moving the plot forward.

Just got a phone call from my grandson, in his dad's car, telling me that they are on their way here. I have to think about making spaghetti sauce.

Grafton might write: She put the computer on SLEEP, pushed back her chair, rose, left the den, walked through the hallway and the living room into the kitchen, and opened the Kitchenaid stainless steel refrigerator.

Me, I would rather start the next scene: She stared into the open refrigerator and wondered whether last Friday's leftover spaghetti sauce would still be edible.

I think not. Time to cook.

Comments

[Tom Morse]

It may be your style to write like Coben, but since Grafton started her alphabet mystery series, she has used the voice of a private investigator writing a report on an investigation. Using that voice, it would not make sense to leave out parts in the timeline. And that device not only works for her method of story-telling, it is also an indispensable aspect of the main character. Criticizing her narrative device is like criticizing Faulkner because Benjy Compson's narration in The Sound and the Fury was disjointed and difficult to understand. Both authors were/are bound to use the voices of their characters.

[Katja]

Oh that was beautiful to get such a detailed insight into your writing process. Thank you so much!
I'm watching Soccer championship right now. USA vs. Ghana. The US boys are doing great. I heard, the soccer fever slowly creeps into your country...

[Lillian]

Thanks for sharing! It's wonderful to get a small glimpse into your writing process - as well as what you are reading. It's also wonderful to hear about your grandchildren, the lovely birds at your feeder, and the internal dialogue that leads to the creation of fresh spaghetti sauce.

[Heather Jessen]

I enjoyed reading your post.
-Heather Jessen

[MTabb]

Thank you so much for sharing a bit of your process. It's quite fascinating to me. I have been reading you since I was nine years old (1978). Find a Stranger, Say Goodbye made a huge impression on me and directly affected some of the choices I made as a young adult. I hope you continue blogging.

[Corey]

Let's be friends.

[Betty Birney]

Hi, Lois. I have a theory about Grafton's style. She was a film and television writer before writing fiction, as I was. I tend to see everything I'm writing as if I'm watching a movie (turning the door knob, shutting off the computer). However, film employs jump-cuts, which I also try to use in my writing. Sometimes jump-cuts merely cut out unnecessary action - sometimes they are used to grab the viewer's attention. The attention to details such as the doorknob would only be used to build tension.

[T. Crockett]

That was simply a lot of fun to read. Thank you.

[James Preller]

Nice post, Lois, I completely agree about the transitions. Sometimes I'll write those details out -- needing somehow to walk myself from room to room -- but later (hopefully) edit them out.

I notice it when watching old television shows, cop shows from the 70s, when you see the car pull up in front of the house, the detectives get out, stroll up the walk, push the doorbell. So sloooow. Nowadays, all those scenes are eliminated and we cut to the door opening -- or maybe we're already in the living room, grilling Miss Cavendish.

What's the bit of advice from Elmore Leonard? Try to leave out the parts that readers tend to skip.

But what do you think of character description? Clothing? How much is too much, or too little?

JP

[lois Lowry]

to JP: Your question is interesting and so I have answered it, or given MY answer, at least, in a newer post.

[Pat Wooldridge]

Lois, this post is so relevant! I will especially return to the parts about scenes and detail, and making notes to oneself while writing.I didn't do that, last time. I was too busy writing. That was a big mistake in thinking, since sooner or later everything comes home to roost. Oh, boy.

Re: Tom Morse's post: I have to criticize Faulkner because his material is so hard to unravel. Or, maybe it's me. A friend of mine told me that her college English professor said: "Reading Faulkner is like going 60 mph in a convertible with the top down. Backward." When she said that, I felt much better that at least one person had the same opinion.

[Tammy Moghadam]

Thank-you for all the insight into your life. I have four children too and my oldest son is turning thirteen on Aug 23 and starting yet another school on his birthday (move number 6 in his short life). Having moved a lot yourself I was wondering if I could send him a few words for him on this new journey...we have read and loved all your books together and are both huge fans.

[Lois Lowry]

I can only say to your son that moving frequently was one of most positive experiences of my life. It taught me to adapt, to adjust, and to observe.