Matthew Bin

After finishing the science fiction novel last week, I went back to the “suburban satire” I had been working on. Back to writing longhand, back to the — relatively — real world of 1986.

I have complained often and at length about finding space to work in the afternoon; when I don’t take time for lunch (or sometimes while I’m eating lunch), I tend to sit and write. My place of choice was a Starbucks for a while, but they removed about a third of their seating and suddenly I was unlikely to find a seat there, no matter when I went over there.

I moved over to the Second Cup; it’s quieter, the staff are nicer, and there is almost always seating available. I find the counter by the window to be very conducive to writing — the seats are comfortable and the world passing by is just the right amount of distraction for me. Starbucks has one of these counters too, but it is more cramped and less comfortable. I hate sitting there at Starbucks, while I prefer sitting at the counter at Second Cup. Ah, the whims of the spirit.

Yesterday, though: thwarted. One of the rules of a modern urban society is — or ought to be — that bags and coats do not merit a seat. At the Second Cup yesterday, three people and their accoutrements had taken up the five seats at the counter. If there isn’t a law, there oughta be.

I have learned, though, not to be shy in these places. I think it is entirely permissible to share tables and ask people to move their things and so on. “Oh — is anyone sitting here? Do you mind if I –” is usually enough. I have yet to find someone who isn’t willing to share, or to make a big show of moving their bags (probably to cover up the embarrassment of being called out for taking up too much space).

The Second Cup was too busy, though, and the line was moving too slowly, so I tried Starbucks. Success: a table. I was even asked to share it, which I gladly did.

All this to say, I wrote six hundred words yesterday. Writing longhand is extremely slow, I’ve found. And I can’t find my good fountain pen, so it isn’t even enjoyable. But I’ll finish this novel, eventually, and somehow.

Share on Facebook

So on Monday I finished my latest novel. Brendan’s Way is a science fiction book set on a colonial space ship travelling to a newly-settled world, about two or three centuries in the future.

Brendan is a young, idealistic farmer turned colonist, recruited to take the trip by a shadowy group of revolutionaries and dissidents. He is travelling with Neala, one of the revolutionaries, who is posing as Brendan’s wife. But Brendan doesn’t know until they are hurtling through space that Neala is hiding much more than her identity.

So I’m still working on the pitch, obviously, but that’s a good start.

I did two new things when I wrote this novel. One was writing it on a keyboard instead of writing it longhand. In the past, I found that writing on the keyboard was difficult; I stalled easily and the words refused to flow consistently. This time, though, not only did they flow easily, I wrote at an unbelievable pace. Longhand I average 500 words per hour; on the keyboard I was up to 1500 words per hour. I was shocked at how quickly it all came out.

It might have something to do with the other change I made in my process: I wrote a detailed outline for the whole book. It was about 10,000 words long itself, and had roughly one paragraph per chapter. I stayed very faithful to the outline until the very end — only the last two chapters were not worth keeping from the outline and it took a little effort to rethink the ending.

Although the book came out much more quickly, I found that I lost something in the process too. It’s hard to define exactly what; I think it’s most accurate to say my style is just weaker. Again and again I’d finish a sentence and think, well, I hope I remember to improve that when I edit this thing.

The speed tradeoff is significant though. I went from nothing to outline in two days, and from outline to completed draft in five months. Considering it took over a year to write On the Heat, it’s quite amazing.

Of course it’s just a first draft, and there is lots of work yet to do. But the first draft is the biggest milestone there is, and I’m happy to have passed it so soon.

Share on Facebook

I was reading a thread on reddit today where someone was talking about their inner critic and how they found it so hard to even get started. Paralyzed by fear and all that. Nothing new there, and nothing that most of us haven’t dealt with at one time or another.

One response that I really liked, though, was from another writer who had been through the same thing recently. His solution was to decide to write a hundred stories. His plan was to show them to no one, just write them to get the words flowing.

He wasn’t done the hundred stories — he’s still working on them, in fact — when he started some new writing projects. He’s obviously excited, and obviously past that hump. And he did it by giving himself an utterly irresponsible and unrealistic goal and trying to achieve it.

It’s a fantastic technique. It’s one I use from time to time; two winters ago I set out to write 10,000 words in a single weekend, when I went away to a little hotel in a sleepy off-season town. Just last month I set a goal of 20,000 words in the first two weeks of October, when my wife was away on a trip (but while I was also working full-time). I hit both goals, albeit just barely.

There’s something about setting impossible goals that really works for some reason. Maybe it’s freeing, mentally; you wouldn’t beat yourself up for falling short, since the goals were so outrageous from the outset. So you work towards them without the same kind of pressure.

On that note, I was planning to finish the book I’m working on by the end of November. I’m pretty far behind the pace I need to get there — basically I need to write around 20,000 words in the next three weeks, and work is really busy these days. But what the hell — I’m working to hit that mark anyhow. I only started this book in July so finishing it by the end of this month would be a great achievement. If I don’t get there, well, I’ll finish it soon after.

Back to work, then.

Share on Facebook

I e-mailed my agent about a month ago, to ask for an update. I hadn’t heard from her since March, when I sent her my latest complete manuscript.

Her lack of communication was already starting to trouble me, and I had begun thinking about looking for another agent, or laying it on the line with this one.

Today she finally replied, and it wasn’t really the reply I was hoping for…

Thanks so much for your patience.  I have read On the Heat and reviewed La Famiglia.  You have a great knack for making a reader hungry and anxious.  Still and all, it is with great regret that I have decided that I simply can’t take these on.  I think you’re ready to go with the first two in a good series.  In some ways they remind me of Benny Cooperman/Howard Engle.

My difficulty is that in this tough fiction market, we’re really struggling to place our fiction. And while  I think several of the smaller Canadian publishers would jump at the chance to launch you, I know that the time and energy I have to give is severely limited–due to our work load and [some personal issues in her life, which I had not known before].

There are a number of good Canadian agents handling commercial fiction–Helen Heller has a wonderful track record, as do Beverley Slopen, Sally Harding, etc. and hundreds in the US.

With every good wish.

Share on Facebook

I realized that it might make sense to put some samples of my writing up on this site. Therefore, for the sake of sense-making, here they are.

Share on Facebook

On the writing reddit today, someone asked about prologues and epilogues:

Should a story, or even a series of stories, use prologues and epilogues. Is there a standard for using these devices? Does it only apply in certain circumstances?

How do you writers out there feel about a prologue that shows a future scene in the story, and then ‘Chapter 1′ which takes places days/weeks/months earlier?

Are they best avoided? Thoughts?

I was a bit disappointed to see that other commenters were generally in favour of prologues and epilogues, with the (arguably slight) caveat that they should “work”. That’s pretty undeniable: if something works, it works. But in general, prologues and epilogues don’t work, and I think that’s because they’re a symptom of more fundamental flaws in the story.

There are some common justifications that writers make for prologues:

• They draw the reader into the story.
  If the main story you’re writing doesn’t draw the reader in, you’ve got some serious problems that a prologue won’t solve. If a reader is drawn in by a prologue, but then reaches the main story and finds that the author is actually writing a different story, the reader is likely to be kind of annoyed. And if that different story is not as compelling as the prologue, what have you gained? You’ve delayed the reader’s disappointment, at best.
• They provide important context or background.
  If the context or background are so important that they need prime placement at the start or end of the story, then maybe they are the story. Write them instead.

With these justifications, writers are actually trying to justify not working on the real problem: their story, or at least the opening of their story doesn’t work. And if they tack a prologue on there, what’s the result? They have a prologue, and then a story that doesn’t work.

I think I have less of an issue with epilogues, although my question again is: if you’ve just given me the powerful emotional climax to your story, why are you undermining it by taking me away from the story that just concluded? Give me denouement — I love some good denouement — but don’t switch gears and take me away from the experience of the ending.

I’m trying to think of a really great piece of literature that starts with a prologue that really works well. Nothing is coming to mind, though. Suggestions welcome.

Share on Facebook

It’s pretty rare that I read anything from Time Magazine, and reading this article reminded me why that is. Not only are the irrelevant embedded links (“See pictures of Stephanie Meyer”) annoying and distracting, it’s apparently written for eight-year-olds:

>["Slash"] can be a verb, something you can do

Really? A verb, eh? Something I can do? That’s really useful information! Thanks, Time!

In other news, this isn’t as far from reality as I thought.

Share on Facebook