lizvogel

I'd heard that Dylan song, of course, but I'd never realized that the title was "Positively 4th Street".

That's... freakin' prophetic, that is.

So, there was 4th Street.   ( cut for length... )

I mentioned in a very previous post that I came up with a way to ask something, and it didn't work.

My idea was this: When people talk about characterization or world-building, they get very detailed on how-to -- and often very mechanical; there's role-playing character sheets, for example, or something like Pat Wrede's worldbuilding guide.* When people talk about plot, however, it's all examples and results but very little how to do it.**

What I need is the kind of granular, how-to equivalent of what people do with character or setting, but I need it for plot.


I thought this was a clear and insightful explanation of what I'm looking for, but I tried it out on two very different groups of people (fellow seminar participants and established pros), and it failed utterly both times. I got some recommendations for the usual plot books, none of which do what I'm talking about; I got a detailed and specific definition of what a plot is, which wasn't wrong, but again wasn't what I was looking for.

Luckily, this was at last year's 4th Street, so I also got a lot of good discussion and further analysis of what I was looking for. Part of the problem is that I'm so at sea when it comes to plot that I'm still trying to find the right way to ask the questions, and we all know that asking the right questions is at least half the battle.

It was Skyler who put her finger on one of the key elements: directing/misdirecting reader attention. I particularly struggle when it comes to writing mysteries, because of course plot is especially important in a mystery story. And a core component of a good mystery is that the reader gets enough clues that the reveal makes sense at the end, but not so many that they figure it out long before the detective does.*** And how do you get those clues in front of the reader in a way that they'll remember them, without going "THIS IS A CLUE, REMEMBER IT"?

Including the clue in a list of other things is one way. If there's a needlepoint cat pillow, a blue teapot, a thread-bare armchair, and a faux-fur rug in a room, and in a later scene a blue teapot's been stolen, the astute reader might connect the two. Another trick is to make the clue mean one thing when introduced, and another later on; there's a couple examples I can think of where something's presented as a formative bit of character backstory, then later it turns out to also be a vital plot element.

There are doubtless many other ways; feel free to mention your favorites in the comments.

Another good suggestion (and I don't remember whose it was) was to outline/flowchart what's happening from the bad guy's POV (assuming you're writing from the good guy's POV, which I generally am). I may have to try that for the fantasy-mystery that's in the queue, laying out the crime and its fallout from the thief's perspective.


So directing and misdirecting reader attention is part of what I'm looking for. This applies to more than just mysteries; in any story, there are things you want the reader to pick up on without hammering it at them, things you want them to have but not notice that they have until it's time to use them.

I think cause-and-effect is another part of it, but I'm not sure I can yet articulate that part in a way that makes sense to anybody else.

I'm still looking for other questions to ask, and better ways to ask them.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometimes I wonder if anybody understands plot, at least in the way I'm trying to.

It may be because most people don't really have plots in their lives. They have a series of events, related chronologically if at all, but that's exactly what you don't want in a novel. Characterization they have: If you want to show your character is lonely and feeling outcast, all you have to do is show a bunch of people sitting at a table in the breakroom, and your character comes in, looks wistfully at them, and then goes to sit at a different table by herself. Anybody who's ever been to high school can relate to that. And of course we're surrounded by setting all the time; one of the classic ways to teach yourself to do setting is just to pay attention to the details of whatever places you find yourself in. Worldbuliding is just setting with more Why behind it; if one doesn't have that already, one can go and read a lot of history and economics to develop the Why muscle. But true plot isn't something that most people directly experience. (I suspect pacing might be equally as hard to teach on the granular level as plot; I wouldn't know, because I'm lucky enough to have been dealt the pacing card and so can generally do it by feel.)

I want the "Look at the room you're in. How would you describe it?" equivalent for plot. But nobody says "Look at the plot you're in, and describe it" for plot practice, and there's a reason for that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


* All of which bounces right off of me, because character and setting/world-building are among the cards I was dealt for free. I can't wrap my head around creating either in such a mechanistic, deliberate way, because my back-brain spits them up fully-formed (or close enough to be going on with) without any conscious effort on my part. Heck, I can't not come up with characters.

** The 4th Street seminar was a prime example of this. The romance writer detailed a very specific set of techniques to show a character progressing through their arc; the mystery writer talked about the effects a plot should have on the reader, and listed several books that did this or that plot-thing well. No dis to the presenters, they were all good, but it was the same disconnect I've run into elsewhere.

*** And not send the reader haring off in some other, completely unintended, direction entirely. This seems to be something I have trouble with. ;-P

4th Street was this past weekend. And I am almost recovered enough to string two sentences together.

It was a terrific con, probably the best one since the first year I went. Pretty much had non-stop good conversations from the moment I walked in until I finally pried myself away from the last few goodbyes. Got very little sleep and definitely over-caffeinated, and I'm not the least little bit sorry. ;-)

I made an effort to pace myself before the event so as not to arrive already exhausted before it even started, despite the overwhelming pressure of the to-do list. Those who know me will appreciate how dubious was my success when I say that I managed to leave without putting maps in the car. Luckily I had my own written directions, and I could probably do the route from memory by now anyway.

Had a great time reconnecting with the Intermediate Writers crowd, even though we didn't officially have a gathering. (Which was only because no one stepped up to coordinate one; guess what I'll probably be doing next year?) And with the consuite crowd, and the smokers' lounge crowd, and assorted other cool people.

The seminar was interesting and well-run, though most of what I came out of it with was the conclusion that I just don't learn well in a seminar format. (And that my process is non-standard and weird, but I knew that going in.) I also came out with what I thought was a good way to ask for help on something I've been struggling with, but I tried it out on two very different groups and it failed utterly, so I guess not. It did kick off some good discussions, though.

My 4th Street tradition continues of there being one or two panels that I don't think I'll be that interested in that turn out to be utterly fascinating, and one or two that I think are going to be right in my wheelhouse that leave me cold. This year, the example of the first was "Large-Scale Structures and Series Planning"; I'm not a big series writer and usually veer away from long tightly-connected series as a reader, but a lot of the stuff about planning and consistency and leaving tools (and toys) for yourself for later was not only really interesting but actually something I could connect to my own work. And the panel on "Writing As A Light Trance State" was deeply intriguing, though I still don't think I came away with an understanding of the difference between trance and just concentrating on what you're doing.

Unfortunately, "The Tropes of Emotion" was one of the latter category, mostly because they did a lot of high-level meta discussion and very little granular, boots-on-the-ground how-to. Which is a pity, because I'm working hard on a bit of how-to in the current revision pass, and I'd have liked some pointers. The other one that left me cold was the That's a Different Panel, which this year ended up being "Clues And Signaling" -- basically, how do we tell readers things -- the very topic I most hoped they'd choose. It would probably have done more for me if they hadn't spent half the panel going on about paratext -- because I am functionally blind to paratext. (No, really. One of the books they cited was one that I read fairly recently and remember well, and they went on and on about the ways paratext was used, and I have no idea what they were talking about.) And what wasn't about paratext was again high-level and meta, not practical and how-to.

(I've realized that when it comes to writing stuff, I do not learn well from getting the big-picture view and trying to apply it to specific usages; I'm much better off with using a specific example in my own work, and reasoning from that to the general principle. I'm not sure if that's how I learn non-writing things as well, or not; I'd need a specific example to consider. Which may answer the question right there. ;-) )

The cookies went over well once again. The dinosaurs were even more popular than I expected (I suspect it was the glitter), and the "writer's toolbox" joke went over well. (Oddly, it seemed nobody wanted to eat the hammers; they were always the last to go. Don't know why.) For future reference: I made 4 batches of dough, but only ended up decorating about 3 batches worth. 3 batches was plenty, enough to stock Friday evening, Saturday mid-day, and Saturday evening, and still have a few left by Sunday. Next time, figure on making ~18 of each shape; that's enough to cover breakage and a few to share pre-con, and still have a dozen+ for the consuite. Which actually is enough, if you're making enough shapes to use up 3 batches of dough.

Drive there was good; the threatened thunderstorms didn't materialize, and I actually took breaks when I was getting dozey, and pulled over for the night when I was tired but not exhausted. Only trouble was that there still isn't a sign for a Caribou/Starbucks/etc. for about three hours past the point where I need one, so I once again arrived at my traditional gas-and-lunch stop rather desperate for coffee. But still overall a nice trip.

The car turned 200,000 on the way, which was cool.

Drive home was much the same; I turned the need to stall for a while to avoid Madison rush hour into a nice long lunch break, and pulled over for a walk and cold beverages when it seemed like a good idea but not yet a dire necessity. Got home around 2am, tired but still functional.

The cats were happy to see me. :-)

And now it's time to get back to normal, although I'm hoping to reboot "normal" to a slightly more satisfactory version. One that involves more sleep, writing, and exercise, and less unrelenting to-do list.

I am packed enough that I feel like I should be leaving today, because that would mean I had just enough time to do the last few things in a mad, frantic scramble before leaving only an hour or two later than planned.

In fact, I'm leaving tomorrow, and I have enough time to do the last few things in a sane and reasonable manner, provided I don't dawdle. This is confusing the hell out of me.

The housemate will be home with the cats, so I only feel mildly guilty about going at all. The biggest challenge at this point is trying to coordinate my departure time with the weather; my ideal schedule, cunningly devised to avoid all rush hours at all major metropolitan areas I pass, threatens to put me in the path of some very nasty forecasted weather at some very inconvenient points. I'm considering leaving rather earlier and sitting out the storms at various points as needed.

Ever wondered what 4th Street Fantasy is like? Imagine a three-day version of this Jo Walton article crossed with a really raucous game of Cards Against Humanity, with occasional breaks for very good food.

In my ongoing quest to make cookies for 4th Street without frying myself to a crisp, a note to self: Three batches of dough yields more cookies than you have cooling racks for, which leads to a frustrating and time-consuming shell game trying to get some of them done/set aside/boxed to make room to decorate more. (Especially if you don't burn any beyond usability, which I miraculously didn't this year.) Next time, two batches of dough. Two will be plenty, really.

However, this year's cookie horde is finally done. And I got to go to bed last night, instead of staying up until nearly dawn/dawn/well past dawn spreading colored sugar over small baked shapes.

I finished the cookies for 4th Street Sunday. Well, Monday, technically, after a 10-hour overnight marathon. For my own future reference, total time (I tracked it this time) was 44.25 hours, of which 2.5 was making dough, 4.5 was making & baking cookies, and a whopping 37.25 hours was decorating. Photography is included in decorating time; I took pictures as I finished 'em, rather than saving it all up for a massive photo shoot at the end, which was definitely a good idea.

That was 3 batches of dough (about 2.5 batches of actual cookies, after the rejects were culled -- I had the damnedest time getting things out of the oven on cue this time), and 5 batches of icing.

I'm glad I did them this year, especially since I managed to finish up a few days before launch, but next year I've got to do something less time-intensive. Perhaps some nice simple chocolate chip cookies, and maybe a batch of my infamous blueberry cookies (which are tetchy, but at least not a massive time sink).

Now to see if my cunning packing scheme (sandwich baggies for do-it-yourself air packs, anyone?) will get them there in one piece. I don't hold out much hope for the unicorns, even with cardboard layering, but we'll see.

Addendum to Day 1: I forgot the puppet theater! In addition to filking and foam swords Friday night, Mary Robinette Kowal brought out her portable shadow-puppet theater and did a condensed version of a classic puppet story (The Broken Bridge?) for us. Nifty!

Sunday: Morning came early enough that I was glad I was used to a different time zone. Forgot my morning Red Bull and had to go back up to the room for it, which enabled me to cope with coffee.

"Science, Technology, and Fantasy" started off with a demonstration from Klages on the wrong way to combine these ingredients: she played us all "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins" on her iPhone. This inspired S. Monette to quip, "Curse you, Leonard Nimoy, you bastard," which seems only fair. The word "technology" was first used around 1650, at which time it meant more "technique" as in art/craft/language than "machines". It was a very quotable panel, to wit: "The 19th Century is one big morass of 'holy crap!'" (Marissa), and S. Monette boiled down the scientific method to "What does that do?" "Holy crap!" Klages pointed out that the pouch (pocket, handbag) was the first human tool, vitally useful to any hunter-gatherer, and went on to define science as trying to recreate the manual that should have come with the Earth but wasn't put in the box. Other notes include that the Chin Dynasty had mass-produced crossbows with interchangeable parts circa 200 B.C., and something about memory palaces as a mnemonic technique, which I need to read up on.


I missed the last two panels and lunch because I was sitting in the con suite with Pat Wrede, talking writing and queries and synopses. Need I say more?


I did make it to the wrap-up panel, which the con board sensibly started off with the things they already had solutions for for next year. Somebody else brought up the issue of newcomers feeling excluded (I was in such a good mood by that point that I hadn't been going to bring it up, though I did chime in in support). It says something about 4th Street that not only did they take the criticism in good part, but within ten minutes there was an official Newbie Wrangler for next year along with a fistful of ideas to make new attendees both be and feel more included.

I understand the cookies got public kudos during 4th Street's version of closing ceremonies, which I was sorry I missed (although I was doing the one thing I'd rather have been doing); several people made a point of telling me later how they'd liked them. And none of them were left to take home, which is of course the ultimate compliment. (Note to self, that was three batches of dough. And put in some cardboard or other support system next time, esp. for the wands & unicorns.)

Other book recommendations include John M. Ford's The Last Hot Time (for interesting POV use) and The Scholars of Night (SF spies), Anthony Price's spy novels, and William Sleator's House of Stairs (for creepy spy stuff).

Dinner was with another group of nifty folks at the exceedingly yummy Chinese place again, where we ordered several dishes for the table and nibbled in abundance.

Then there was hanging out in the con suite until late, and eventually helping tidy and consolidate con-suite-ish stuff. And finally a quick whirl of packing up my own stuff for the next day's departure, and bed.

Friday: Started the day with a lovely long sleep, courtesy of the person who lent me binder clips to hold the light-blocking curtains together. Followed it with a bit of hanging out and chatting in the breakfast area, and then boiled myself in the hot tub for about a week. Aaaahhh.

Got to chatting with another writer who's also in query-writing hell, and it occurred to me (somewhat belatedly) that there was an opportunity here. Since schedule changes meant the con was starting a bit later than planned, they kindly let me slot an impromptu query review session into the con space. About 20 people attended, five of whom had queries -- which is pretty good turnout for something that was only added to the programming about four hours before. We ended up reading queries aloud; some read their own, some had others read, both for nerves and for the change of perspective. The feedback was quite good, and it was great to get a variety of reactions from the usual caliber of 4th Street attendees, i.e., smart thinky people who read.

I have to rewrite my bloody query again, of course. But at least now I know.

Official programming kicked off with "Story Templates and the Folk Process". The essence of the panel was kind of lost on me (mostly because I needed to decompress from the query session), but it was entertaining watching other people geek out about it.

"POV Fixes Everything" was more up my alley. Brust pointed out that POV solves description troubles, because you can talk about not what a thing looks like, but what the POV character notices about it. Beth Meacham scored a major point in my book by defending the dread "head-hopping" (a term I hate, because dammit, shifting POVs is not bad if you do it right) by saying that it can be a character duet, something that illuminates both characters simultaneously. Scott Lynch chipped in that "POV is the tool that allows you to leave a trail of clues without giving a lecture", and restated show vs. tell (speaking of terms I hate) as "providing evidence rather than assurances". There was also a lot of talk about trusting the reader to notice what they're getting and what they're not, which left me feeling rather insecure about the novel-again-in-progress as it doesn't parallel my experience with readers at all, but overall it was a fine panel.

The guerrilla auction (assorted items being auctioned in between panels) was highly entertaining, not least because of the tentacle of philanthropy.

Had a very tasty lunch with a semi-random group of nifty people; spent dinnertime in the con suite, being still full from lunch, with a smaller group of still nifty people.

Late night hanging out was outside on the patio, as that seemed to be where the conversations had migrated. (Inside was the music circle, but -- and I know this sounds un-fannish -- I'm just not that keen on filk, even when it's good filk.) Eventually outside turned into filk as well, and I turned in, which is just as well as I was getting morose about the query. (It's an annoying but necessary part of my process, best not shared.) I did get to duel Scalzi with foam swords first, though. And I never knew I needed to hear Radiohead on the ukulele until I had.