The Story Behind the Story: Hitting the Wall

by Sandra Parshall

Second in a series of occasional posts about writing Book 6.

I know it will happen every time, I know the point at which it will happen, yet I always feel blindsided when I hit that first wall in the first draft of a new book.

While I do as much preparation as I can before I begin a novel, I’m not a writer who can produce a detailed outline and stick to it meticulously all the way to the end. I decide what the story is. I collect the most important characters (knowing others will show up as I go along). I know the identity of the villain(s) and the motive for the murder(s). I know where I’m going without being sure of every step along the way.

When I have a first scene in mind, I start writing.

You may sneer at “the mystery formula” if you like, but I’m comfortable with beginning each book in a roughly similar way, counting on circumstances and characters to make it fresh every time. The dramatic inciting event – a murder or the discovery of a body – comes in the first chapter. This is what I look for when reading crime fiction too. I want to know quickly what the story is going to be about. By chapter two, we begin to understand who is affected by the crime. From  chapter three through the middle of the book, the story opens up, it expands to include subplots and unexpected threads.

And that’s where I always hit a wall.

I question the premise itself: Can I really make a good story out of this material? Do I have enough material here for the kind of complex story I enjoy telling? I doubt my ability to pull it off. (That doubt will linger until the book is finished.)

Once those doubts set in, it’s awfully easy to let them expand into overwhelming angst. Does it matter whether I write this book? Who will care if I don’t finish it? I consider destroying my computer. And so on. When I find myself at the edge of a sheer drop into a black chasm, it’s time to pull back, refocus, and move on.

That's where I am right now.

I will do more outlining. The middle of a crime novel should be bursting with suddenly exposed secrets, rivalries, and unsuspected relationships. But before I can write all that, I need to give the characters more thought. The hidden story – what really happened – matters most, because it drives the actions of the characters. If I don’t thoroughly understand the hidden story, I’ll get to the end of the book and have trouble justifying what the characters have been doing for the last 300 pages.

Eventually, I’ll regain my confidence and plow back into the writing. I don’t worry about writing well at this stage. I’m not concerned with pace or continuity. I don’t include much description. I don’t go into a lot of detail about anything – except what the characters are saying. I let them talk as much as they want to, and if they’re new to me and I’m not sure who and what they are, they will reveal themselves and their lives in their own words. I can shape the dialog in the next draft.

Many writers say they love the first draft and hate rewriting, but I’m the opposite. The first draft is torture for me. But I have to produce that big, messy lump of story before I feel safe, before I can breathe a sigh of relief and think, Yes, I’m going to make a book out of this.

Rewriting – shaping the story, finding the right pace, filling out the characters – is what I love. Rewriting is the prize at the end of the first draft, the goal line I’m running toward. It looks a long way off right now, but I know I’ll get there if I keep coming to the computer every day and letting my characters talk.

The Value of the Writing Group

by Julia Buckley















I doubt I would ever have been published if it weren't for my writing group. We met in a writing class--several women who were serious about writing for publication. We were led by a professor of writing from Columbia University in Chicago. After that we kept meeting in members' homes to critique one another's work and to discuss the craft of writing. We've been together since 2000, although the group's numbers have ebbed and flowed with the various commitments of its members.

I joined the group because, although I was entirely willing to revise, I wasn't always certain what TO revise, and this, I felt, was a significant flaw. My fellow writers quickly made me aware that there are always things to tighten, to eliminate, to say more concisely or, sometimes, in more detail. The great thing about working with a group is that I have started to know, as I write, what the individual group members will say. "Martha will think this is too sentimental," I think as I write something. I realize that she would be right, and I take it out. Another time I'll think, "Cynthia will think my character is too self-aware, that she is showing off." So I'll tone the character's dialogue down. "Elizabeth will say this line is melodramatic, and that it interrupts the pacing of the story." Usually she's right, too.

The value of the group, aside from the friendships that have been a byproduct of our monthly meetings, is that I have now started to revise my work before the group even sees it. They've given me a valuable assessment tool that isn't only my interior monologue--which ceases to be reliable once I've read a book ten times and can no longer be objective--it's the voices of several experienced critics who stay with me and shape my decisions.

As a result of the group meetings, I feel more confident about my own writing, especially because my fellow writers can trace its growth. "Your writing is so much more assured now," Cynthia wrote on a recent manuscript.

This Friday I must face the group with a brand new manuscript. While I can sometimes predict their comments about details or style, I am never quite sure what they'll think of the overall product. I've been pleasantly surprised in some cases, bitterly disappointed in others. The disappointments are better learning opportunities, however. I'd much rather have the book torn to shreds by the group than have it rejected by a publisher, especially if there's a problem that is easily fixed.

The manuscripts have been delivered for reading, so there's no going back now. I await their critiques, and I am grateful for them.