Read Online The Vorkosigan Companion by Lillian Stewart Carl, John Helfers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lillian Stewart Carl, John Helfers
Tags: Science-Fiction
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character or characters, their world, and the opening situation, and sometimes but not always a dim idea of the ending. I will start jotting notes in pencil in a loose-leaf binder. By the time I have about forty or fifty pages of these, I will start to see how the story should begin.
I use a sort of rolling-outline technique, largely as a memory aid, and work forward a small section at a time, because that's all my brain will hold, up to what I call "the event horizon," which is how far I can see to write till I have to stop and make up some more. This is usually a chapter or three. I'll get a mental picture of what scenes should go in the next chapter, and push them around till they slot into sequence. I then pull out the next scene and outline it closely, almost a messy sort of first draft. I choreograph dialogue especially carefully.
Then I take these notes to my computer and type up the actual scene, refining as I go. Lather, rinse, repeat till I get to the end of the chapter and, my brain now purged and with room to hold more, I pop back up to the next level to outline again. Every scene I write has the potential of changing what comes next, either by a character doing something unexpected or by my clearer look at the material as it's finally pinned to the page, so I re-outline constantly.
Making up the story and writing down the story are, for me, two separate activities calling for two different states of mind.
LSC: Whereas for me, they're virtually the same thing—the writing generates the creation. But everyone's muse has his or her own idiosyncrasies.
LMB: Yep. For me, creation needs relaxation; composition is intensely focused. I do the making up part away from the computer, either while taking my walks or otherwise busying myself, or, when I get to the note-making or outlining stage, in another room. I do not compose at the computer, although I do edit on the fly, and the odd better ideas for a bit of dialogue or description do often pop out while I'm typing. Sometimes, they're sufficiently strong that they derail what I'd planned and I have to stop typing and go away and re-outline; sometimes they're just a bonus, an unexpected Good Bit, and slot right in.
I do most of my writing either in the late morning, or the late evening. Late afternoon tends to be a physiological downtime for me.
LSC: I know from hard experience that some books come out a lot faster than others.
LMB: For me, it's varied from nine to sixteen months. The amount of time I've taken between books has varied from six weeks to six months. In the absence of distractions I write at a fairly steady rate—about two chapters a month, on average—but then there are the major life-interruptions, which pick their own times. Conven tion travel, much as I enjoy it, also takes a big bite of time each year. I lose one to two weeks of writing time/attention/energy for each three-day convention I attend.
My writing schedule, too, has varied over the years. In the beginning I wrote during my kids' naps and after they were in bed, but then they stopped taking naps and started staying up later. The younger one hit school as I was starting my fifth novel, Brothers in Arms , and then I began writing in the mornings and early afternoons, school hours, though I am not by nature a morning person. Since I have at last moved to a house with my own office, I sometimes get in an evening or late-night session. But my prime time is still school-hours.
If I have the ideas marshaled, I can write in much less than ideal circumstances. If my inner vision is a blank, it doesn't matter how much peace and quiet I have, nothing comes out. During the sticky bits of a novel, I've sometimes found it useful to fool myself with the "five hundred words a day" trick. Five hundred words is not very much, just a couple of paragraphs. A few days of lowering the bar, and I'll get past the bad bit, and it flows again. Other times the blank stays blank, and a good thing
I use a sort of rolling-outline technique, largely as a memory aid, and work forward a small section at a time, because that's all my brain will hold, up to what I call "the event horizon," which is how far I can see to write till I have to stop and make up some more. This is usually a chapter or three. I'll get a mental picture of what scenes should go in the next chapter, and push them around till they slot into sequence. I then pull out the next scene and outline it closely, almost a messy sort of first draft. I choreograph dialogue especially carefully.
Then I take these notes to my computer and type up the actual scene, refining as I go. Lather, rinse, repeat till I get to the end of the chapter and, my brain now purged and with room to hold more, I pop back up to the next level to outline again. Every scene I write has the potential of changing what comes next, either by a character doing something unexpected or by my clearer look at the material as it's finally pinned to the page, so I re-outline constantly.
Making up the story and writing down the story are, for me, two separate activities calling for two different states of mind.
LSC: Whereas for me, they're virtually the same thing—the writing generates the creation. But everyone's muse has his or her own idiosyncrasies.
LMB: Yep. For me, creation needs relaxation; composition is intensely focused. I do the making up part away from the computer, either while taking my walks or otherwise busying myself, or, when I get to the note-making or outlining stage, in another room. I do not compose at the computer, although I do edit on the fly, and the odd better ideas for a bit of dialogue or description do often pop out while I'm typing. Sometimes, they're sufficiently strong that they derail what I'd planned and I have to stop typing and go away and re-outline; sometimes they're just a bonus, an unexpected Good Bit, and slot right in.
I do most of my writing either in the late morning, or the late evening. Late afternoon tends to be a physiological downtime for me.
LSC: I know from hard experience that some books come out a lot faster than others.
LMB: For me, it's varied from nine to sixteen months. The amount of time I've taken between books has varied from six weeks to six months. In the absence of distractions I write at a fairly steady rate—about two chapters a month, on average—but then there are the major life-interruptions, which pick their own times. Conven tion travel, much as I enjoy it, also takes a big bite of time each year. I lose one to two weeks of writing time/attention/energy for each three-day convention I attend.
My writing schedule, too, has varied over the years. In the beginning I wrote during my kids' naps and after they were in bed, but then they stopped taking naps and started staying up later. The younger one hit school as I was starting my fifth novel, Brothers in Arms , and then I began writing in the mornings and early afternoons, school hours, though I am not by nature a morning person. Since I have at last moved to a house with my own office, I sometimes get in an evening or late-night session. But my prime time is still school-hours.
If I have the ideas marshaled, I can write in much less than ideal circumstances. If my inner vision is a blank, it doesn't matter how much peace and quiet I have, nothing comes out. During the sticky bits of a novel, I've sometimes found it useful to fool myself with the "five hundred words a day" trick. Five hundred words is not very much, just a couple of paragraphs. A few days of lowering the bar, and I'll get past the bad bit, and it flows again. Other times the blank stays blank, and a good thing
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