• Drafting - Outlining - Worldbuilding

    The Rules of Realms (or: The Pitfalls of World-Building)

    September 21, 2021 • By  • 5 Min Read
    Realms! Worldbuilding is intricate.

    As you may already know from the book one synopsis, the Realm Riders Series follows multiple storylines that take place in various, overlapping realms of existence. Characters called Exchangers can traverse between these realms to collect and exchange information. And despite where this entire project started a decade ago, the addition of the Exchange storyline has morphed the tale into something far grander and more complex than I ever expected.

    In short: I have not made this easy on myself.

    Forever, I’ve enjoyed tales of time travel, reveling equally in the stories and the seemingly unavoidable holes in their approaches. Still, given that I haven’t come across one time-travel tale that successfully addresses all the inherent issues, I specifically vowed not to write a “time-travel” story myself. And so far, steadfast gal that I am, I’ve kept my oath to me.

    Instead, I created other, similar issues that branch both unidirectional time and interdimensional space. Because chronicling the far-reaching implications of screwing around with history is a super daunting scenario. But chronicling screwing around with inconsistent time and the overlapping space of multiple realms? That’s another bough on the madness-tree with a different name than “time travel.”

    So, I opted for that.

    While this seemed like a fun and intriguing idea when I first dreamed about it (literally), it turns out that the mechanics behind it are rather complex. (Who knew?)

    For those of you familiar with the genre, you’re likely already aware that at least two types of fantasy readers exist: escapists, who read for the pure fun of it, and nerds, who tend to be rather scrupulous (read: borderline pedantic) analysts.

    Look, I’m a nerd. And, as a finicky Virgo to boot, I use the word “pedantic” in the best sense (or I’d be a first-rate hypocrite). Those fastidious readers hold the bar high for authors, demanding forethought and thorough consideration of all aspects of a work to avoid any retroactive continuity edits that detract from the original world-building in a story.

    They’re hardcore. And I like that about them. Even though they’re occasionally scary.

    It also means that, as the author, if you screw something up, those readers will rip you a new one in a realming online forum that will haunt you for eternity like a notorious ghost…. Possibly even a poltergeist of infamy, if their stinging blows can be so anthropomorphized.

    To this point, while my editor polishes book one, I’ve been working on book two, tightening up the storyline to verify that the seminal work in the series provides a good foundation for the books that will follow. While my beta readers helped me work out most of the bugs in An Heir of Realms, a couple technical issues showed themselves in book two and required correction in both books to maintain continuity. While the edits were relatively minor and wouldn’t have raised their glaring heads until a meticulous reader inevitably returned to book one to analyze it for flaws, I’m glad to have caught them now while I could still fix them.

    Of course, I report all of this with mild trepidation.

    Mostly because, as I am repeatedly told by those around me, who roll their eyes rather frequently: I am human and as prone to mistakes as anyone else. Certainly, back in my days of teaching at a local community college, I’d pore over my syllabi until I was confident that I’d outlined rules for my class with an iron fist… only to realize that metal hands don’t hold the sand of loopholes terribly well. How to describe the incomparable experience of watching my students poke holes in my plans within seconds of reading them…?! Perhaps I can best liken it to the hectic deflation of an untied helium balloon that careens around the room before finally landing in a pathetic and floppy heap on the podium at the front.

    So, maybe for obvious reasons, it occurred to me at one time to write the entire series before the first book’s publication. And I did write the whole story over the course of the last ten years—well, in one realm at least.

    When the Exchange became a part of the tale, it meant finding new breaks in the action in D’Erenelle and weaving the storylines together. It also meant doubling my character roster and building out their individual stories in an almost biographical sense.

    I’ve written about my obsession with outlines before, and to tell you that I have twice as many supplemental documents as the trifecta of outlines described in that blog entry would be a bold-faced lie. I must have at least twice again that many.

    So, while I know where the story is going, it turns out there is a lot more of it to be written, and as I’ve told you before, sometimes writing takes unexpected twists. There is a philosophy in the writer’s world that the purpose of the first book is simply to be published. Given that foreseeing everything is about as possible as general human omnipotence (and I need to loosen my grip a little for my own “sanity”), I’m trying to go with that. 

    The complexities of this story are actually what make writing it so rewarding. And while I don’t profess genius-level intelligence (as even when typing that, I lost track of what I was writing and briefly forgot the word intelligence), I hope that when the most assiduous readers tear apart my series, the escapists will still enjoy what I, of modest intellect, have tried to cobble together for them.

    And let’s face it: fingers crossed that I didn’t realm this up too badly.

    -HA

    How’s your worldbuilding going? Any tips for the greater collective?

  • Character Building - Pre-Publication - Publishing

    Why Heather Ashle?

    August 17, 2021 • By  • 5 Min Read
    I wish my signature looked this good...!

    Back in college, when I was flirting with the idea of being a writer and genuinely making an ass of myself in numerous composition classes, I daydreamed about my pen name. (Now, I just daydream about plot points and character exposition, but I wasn’t writing an all-consuming series then.)

    I probably should have been focusing on more important things—like how to be a better writer—but (if meditation has taught me nothing else) the mind goes where it will. Back then, I aspired to a loving marriage, a successful career, and financial freedom. All these things shaped my daydreams. 

    Then, the 2008 housing crash decimated our economy just before my graduation from Oakland University. There were no jobs, even in the fields of writing and editing. So, there went the springboard-into-a-successful-career idea. And I had just broken up with my college boyfriend, so there went the plan for wedded bliss. I wasn’t finding work, and I wasn’t changing my last name, so I stayed in school.

    I knew going in that a degree in English was generally viewed as useless. But as a wide-eyed college freshman—fists on my hips, turned toward the wind, hair flaring out like a cape—I decided to use my education to overcome the stigmas! So, four years later, when I couldn’t do that right away…

    I doubled down and got another English degree.

    After graduation (the last one), I came up with an idea for the Realm Riders Series. If you’ve seen my timeline of its evolution, you know that a lot of life and a lot of years transpired between the birth of the series and today. And while my name still hasn’t changed, and my career has taken a different path than expected, those life experiences taught me invaluable lessons about our world and the people in it. Since my jobless wake-up call of 2009, I weeded out many unrealistic goals and dreams. But my aspirations of becoming a writer remained. My hands were still on my hips. I was squinting into the wind. But… I was also wearing glasses, an oversized sweater, and the freshman fifteen that finally caught up with me after college.

    Once I had a good portion of the story written, I knew I had some decisions to make. Finally, I needed a pseudonym.

    • Not because my status as “hopeless romantic” had been reduced to a passing appreciation for chick flicks and fairy tales—
    • Not because I wanted a name that would stick with me, regardless of how many failed marriages littered my past—
    • Not because of the middle-school monikers that developed from my surname (all of which made up for their lack of wit with their excessive obviousness)—

    —but because I was going to do something with my work.

    I needed a pen name to build a separate me who could live her truth as an author, free of the burdens of daily life, which normal-me would handle for her. Cuz I’m that kind of gal.

    Additionally, normal-me didn’t care much for her given name.

    My surname—to put it simply—is not fodder for the genre of fantasy. It might work for careers in football or engineering, but it lacks the ethereal quality one wants on the cover of her novel. (Sorry, Dad.)

    And my middle name never rang true for me either. I’ve met some delightful and not-so-delightful Ashleys in my time, but I don’t feel like an Ashley, even on a secondary, middle-name basis.

    I grew to like my forename over time…. You know, once I got past my hang-up that people only ever use it to get my attention or inform me that I’m in trouble (“LUUUUCYYYYY!”). And sure, countless others can’t remember my name is Heather because it “doesn’t suit my face”—whatever that means (no complexes here!). But it’s the name to which my ears have quirked up for three (plus) decades. I can barely break habits I’ve nurtured for less than a third of that time. I knew then, as I know now: Heather would have to stay.

    So, I searched for a new surname. It needed to feel like a part of me. It had to make my given name(s) truly mine. And it required at least a hint of fantasy-genre flare.

    Ashle.

    • Same middle name I was born with (well, most of it).
    • New, potentially unpronounceable spelling that is rampant in my genre (even if it runs contrary to the articles that advise against names no one can figure out).
    • A retelling.

    Ashle spun my given name into something new without divorcing me from my old identity. Hands on hips, facing the wind, and buttoning up my sweater (because I’m no longer a coatless child who refuses to recognize cold as a legitimate temperature). Heather Ashle. Still feels like me—but more mine.

    Retellings don’t always have to be dramatic. Sometimes, they just need to put a fresh spin on an old classic to breathe new life into a tale.

    Amazing what dropping a sometimes-vowel from your name can do, eh? 

    -H.A.

    Are you already writing under a pseudonym or considering one? Why did you choose it?

  • Maps - Worldbuilding

    If at First You Don’t Succeed, Do Something Else (The Map Fiasco)

    August 1, 2021 • By  • 4 Min Read
    This process--occassionally--made me QUITE grumpy.

    Let me explain. 

    My mother espoused a much more common version of this a-typical mantra when I was growing up. I’d become frustrated by a project, and she would counsel me to “take a break.” (Not to quit—I have a fantastic mom.) Obligingly, I would work on something else for a while and return to the vexing chore with a refreshed perspective (or so was the intention). Her method usually got me over the hump… or taught me my limitations.

    Until recently, I believed—with little evidence to the contrary—that cartography was beyond my capabilities. And in general, I am not wrong about that. 

    Mad skills, these.

    But when things fell through with the artist I’d commissioned to turn this outline into a cartographic masterpiece, I needed a fallback plan. And who is always there to fall back on… besides my mother… and father… and family and friends? (Yes, okay, I’m very fortunate!)

    Me. Because this is my problem, and it’s my responsibility to fix it. (Hear the tantrum? Time to take a break….)

    After scowling for a bit (a cathartic part of my ritual, thank you), I re-examined an online cartography program discovered by my publishing adviser, Robin Praytor. (She also saves my butt on the regular.) For a mere $25, I could make maps until they came out of my ears—I could make maps OF my ears! The sky was the limit.

    Well, I was the limit. It was up to me to push past my authorial comfort zone (if there is such a thing) and become *insert a flourish of trumpets here* The Cartographer.

    I tried. 

    And I made a sand-colored blob on a blueish background.

    Woot.

    So, I took a break… and watched online tutorials to learn how to make my map less blobby and more mappy. Oh, yes. Mappy. Because that’s what you get when you put a desperate double-English major with little artistic talent on realm-map duty: you get “mappy.”

    And then, you get creative. (What choice do you have?)

    I started with a color retouch.

    Okay, the color scheme is more how I envisioned it.

    Then, I moved on to mountains because you can’t build castles on those, and this is about helping readers understand the lay of the land.

    Not gonna lie: I’m proud of these ranges (pun!).

    There are forests in my story, and some of them have specific locations, like around major structures. So, I situated the castles and started layering in trees…

    I think I hate my trees.

    …and kinda hated them. Although I followed an excellent example, I think I did a poor job of executing my forests. The trees seemed too concentrated at the edges—as if every forest in D’Erenelle were a shapely nature preserve that remained after a great, manual deforestation. But when I added thinner patches of trees around the edges of my congested groves, it just looked like green dandruff. Sonofa…!

    On the bright side, this program allows you to select and manipulate distinct features alone or in groups, so I should be able to weed out (pun!) the ones I like or kibosh them altogether without losing other components. (It almost sounds like I know what I’m talking about, doesn’t it?)

    (I don’t.)

    I needed a break from the trees. Edrugress (the demon of editing during writing) was lurking, and I did not want to get trapped in a digital woodland of personal inadequacy. Shoo, Edrugress! This isn’t even your field of critique!

    Instead, I put in all the labels, just so I could see what a finished product might resemble! Take that, Eddie!

    Not bad for a first attempt, though, right?

    It’s probably not the $500 map I was going to commission, but I think I can make this work. What’s more, it’ll be printed in the book in black and white (can’t be helped), so some details will soften. That just means I have to work on contrast and features (read: trees).

    Note: I haven’t added the compass yet, as it is still with my artist.

    Thank the realm this is just a first draft. What do you think needs the most work? Is something missing? Could I execute anything more artfully (*cough* trees *cough*)? Please join the discussion here or on Facebook or Twitter. Honestly, I need all the help I can get!

    A huge thank-you in advance.

    -H.A.

    Have you tried your hand at map-making? You can commiserate on that process here, too. The support group meets on Thursdays…. 

  • Drafting - Editing - Writing

    My Affair with Brevity (and the Battle with Edrugress)

    July 12, 2021 • By  • 5 Min Read
    ...Edrugress?

    I have a sort of friends-with-benefits relationship with brevity. It’s a tenuous bond that has never quite worked in my human associations, but with this stylistic choice, I find it’s best to leave the emotion out of it and keep things light. Sometimes, you want to dress up your writing in a frilly-cuffed tux and tails, and brevity only wears bespoke cardigans and slacks.

    I love to read flowery descriptions that hoist the English language onto a pedestal like a breeder with a rare show dog. English has a surplus of synonyms, antonyms, euphemisms, aphorisms—its creative pedigree is unparalleled (in my rather limited opinion, having only dabbled in German for several years).

    A well-chosen word can disperse meaning better than an air freshener in a well-ventilated room. Of course, this can also lead to a necessary discussion of meaning (or meanings) to gain clarity, and that promptly pummels brevity into a curt and straightforward ball in the corner.

    I write in a genre that is home to some of the most loquacious authors of our time, and I enjoy their well-turned (if not well-trimmed) phrase. I fully support a broad array of instances where brevity would have stunted the mood of a scene or dialogue. (Is there a color-coded wristband for that?)

    Still, I have killed my share of “darlings” during my own editorial crusades. Sometimes, I’ll tuck them into a “deleted sections” document to make myself feel better about their passing, but while they live on as ghosts in that file, they are rarely resurrected. If they reincarnate in something else that I write, it is often by happenstance rather than a deliberate, sought-out revival.

    And so, complications arise when I am simultaneously processing corrections from Darren Todd, my talented editor, and writing book two of the Realm Riders Series. I am learning how Darren’s work reshapes mine, and I’m starting to employ his teachings (in small ways) as I write. This certainly saves a little effort down the road (although, I’m sure he’ll find plenty of work to keep him busy on the next book). However, it also summons a demon that I battled for years and thought I’d smitten long ago.

    This demon can spell the death of the written word. Writers who lose the war against this wretch find themselves in an endless loop of self-correction that precludes any real creativity and progress. Perhaps you already know which demon I’m referencing:

    The demon of editing while you write.

    I wish I had a name for the fiend. Something that combines editing, destruction, and retrogression… Edrugress.

    Yeah.

    Edrugress and I go way back. I’m a Virgo with a non-religiously motivated guilt complex and a penchant for self-deprecation. I’ve toiled over those traits for many years now, and I won’t say I’m Master-Class material, but I could do a guest lecture or two.

    Edrugress feeds on that pervasive, urgent, gotta-fix-it mentality. He knows that if he wriggles in and plants a seed of red ink in your psyche, you will hit the backspace key until your entire work is sabotaged into a blank page of unachievable promise.

    Bastard.

    Fixating on brevity can often have the same effect. I think it’s a lesser demon torn between good and evil, like one of Edrugress’ disciples that just wasn’t malicious enough to ascend through the ranks of hell. Deep down, he’s an okay guy, and I think it’s that bad-boy nature that keeps us coming back for more (or me; “us” just makes me feel better).

    Brevity is important. But concision is not the only key, it turns out. Maybe in AP, but journalists live by a different set of rules. I’ll be the first to swipe through an entire line of fluff with red ink (okay, purple—it’s less threatening and stereotypical), but there are places where I like the extra words. It’s a delicate balance.

    It’s also part of the process. If I’m honest, Edrugress never really went away. I’ve self-edited during the writing process for years—often because my mind and fingers work at different speeds and reliving my thoughts as they appear on the screen helps me develop improvements. But what I cannot allow Edrugress is a seat at my table. He’s welcome to stay when I get to the editing-only stage, but of course, he won’t come to dinner when he’s invited.

    Again, bastard.

    So, for those of you writing and editing your works, thrust in the war between the gods of verbosity and the demons of the succinct, just remember: you’ll have plenty of time to fix it later. Just get it out. And it’s not a sin if you incorporate a thing or two from your editor. Realm it, I adore and appreciate Darren’s work! But I cannot let that determine how I write or rewrite book two. He’ll get his chance when it’s done, anyway.

    – H.A.

    Find yourself prematurely editing your work, too? Feel free to name your self-censorship demons here. It’s a safe space.

  • Drafting - Editing - Pre-Publication - Writing

    The Dreaded Beta Read (and Other Criticisms)

    February 21, 2021 • By  • 6 Min Read
    Beta.

    I remember ENG 216 and 383 with alarming clarity. At least, I think those were the numbers—that’s not the part I remember. I remember making an ass of myself in my creative writing workshops. 

    I have had experiences through the years that were life-changing, exhilarating, and downright side-splitting. Yet, all I can ever seem to remember, detail for detail, are the ones that were excruciating, debilitating, and agonizingly embarrassing. Especially that last one. I could be sitting stock still, happy, content, and a memory of a time when I was a complete ass will flash across my mind, and I’ll cringe—outwardly. 

    It may be the reason people give me strange looks. 

    A good number of those cringeworthy moments came right out of those classes, and each spasm has reminded me of the kinds of choices I would rather make and the kind of writer (and let’s face it, human) I would rather be. I may never stop wincing during quiet, pensive moments, but at least I won’t forget the lessons I learned from my own stupidity and others’ brilliance.

    But this is not a coming-of-age story. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t know what age you come to when you come of age. If someone has the answer, please let me know. But do it gently; I may not be old enough to understand.

    Picture this:

    You’ve worked on a project that is an extension of your heart and soul—possibly for enough years that they can be grouped together with shorthand: a dozen, a decade, half a century, what have you. Or perhaps it’s only been a few days or weeks, but this passionate outpouring has come from a place so deep within yourself that you didn’t even know it existed until it manifested in your work.

    (If you’ve never done this, you should try it.)

    Then, throw some cute little overalls and booties on that baby of yours, slather it in au jus, and abandon it in a forest of three-day-starved wolves.

    Now, lean back and watch what happens.

    Do you sit still?

    Do you poise a delicate, fruity martini in your fingers, cross one leg over the other, and lightly bounce your foot by the warm glow of a cozy fire?

    You damn well better believe you don’t.

    You grab a bottle of tonic, a tankard of gin, a bushel of limes, and you stop getting dressed, stop brushing your hair, manacle your feet to the chair legs, and sweat like a dog beside that roaring flame.

    So goes it with beta reads, as well.

    Beta readers are generous, selfless people, preferably who are well read, at least in your genre or one tangential to it, who are willing to read through a copy of your book that you wouldn’t release on an internet blog with privacy settings that don’t extend past your inner circle of closest friends.

    And then, those kind, haggard souls tell you what they think.

    When I was in my creative writing courses, I bit my tongue a whole lot more than the above might make you believe, but boy, did I have an astonishing lack of control when it came to my facial muscles and vocal cords.

    I don’t remember being cruel or growling at people. I do remember furrowed eyebrows and a voice colder than the Titanic’s bathwater as I asked questions to clarify the respondent’s commentary. And I would take notes, faithfully jotting down their ideas in the margins of my works, secretly wondering if they were right.

    And frankly, I don’t remember if they were. Probably. But they weren’t critiquing anything that had come from the true depths of my soul. I wasn’t mature enough to handle their responses with grace, and I wasn’t in-tune enough to produce works of passion that deserved their scrutiny.

    So, when I handed book one of my Realm Riders series to my beta readers, I aspired to do better this time. I simply sat with my nausea and cultivated a pearl of an ulcer in silence.

    Until they returned their critiques to me.

    I would read them, and my first response was usually, “I have to rewrite this whole thing. It’ll take a year to fix—at least!” And then, after my—now relatively private—temper tantrum, I would read them again and begin my list of questions.

    Some I asked of the respondent. Others I asked of myself. Still more I asked of the other beta readers in true cross-examination fashion. But I still had to be my own warden.

    “You have to fix it,” bad-cop me would say. “Because this is your passion. It’s worth getting right.”

    And finally, after years of recoiling at my own feral reactions to critics, good-cop me would say, “You’re absolutely right.”

    Selecting your beta readers is almost as agonizing a process as receiving their responses. But even if you came across one who forgot he or she was critiquing a part of your soul and came out with the long, metallic claws of a comic book character, you can find the value in his or her opinions.

    And you can find the worth in the shreds of your work that he or she has left behind, too.

    Remember, these folks only wanted to help you. They weren’t randomly stuck with your arrogant ass in a class they took under the auspices of self-improvement (it’s why you took it, too, remember?). They offered to rip your work a new asshole. For me, it’s penance. But for others, it will be soul-crushing. If you can, shift it to penance. Writers thrive on self-loathing anyway, and it’ll give you a leg up.

    Still, I recommend you do it. Get yourself a beta reader or three. If your work has been many years in the making, you’re probably too subjective to see what a new set of eyes will, and you will be astonished at what you can miss, even after a hundred drafts. It’s okay. You’re human. You’re gonna miss stuff. And you can only find it if you know it’s missing. 

    It’s nice to have that fresh perspective, even if it mugs you on the street. You’ll heal. And if you’re smart, you’ll make sure you watch your six a little more carefully. Your work deserves it.

    A HUGE thank-you to my several beta readers—you know who you are. But for your sake, in case you don’t end up liking the finished product, I’ll keep you anonymous here. Thanks. 

    -H.A.

    Ever worked with a beta reader? Be brave! Share your experiences of some of the best and worst responses you’ve received.

  • Character Building - Drafting - Writing

    What Lurks Beneath: Notes on Character Building

    August 7, 2020 • By  • 5 Min Read
    Just TRY to tell me this guy isn't interesting.

    I don’t remember where I learned this—and it may have come from more than one source—but I was told that as an author, I should know which cereal my characters eat for breakfast. (Many of my characters are more the Danish-and-eggs type, but the idea still stands.)

    Since I began writing the Realm Riders Series, characters have presented themselves to me—sometimes, out of nowhere—at my times of need. Some help me get through a moment, like a waiter at a restaurant. Others pop up and demand a lasting presence in the story. Those who prove they can do more than deliver a banana split must have some kind of motivation, or they won’t survive long-term. (Worse yet, they’ll look like some kind of inorganic plot device.) So, after they’ve introduced themselves, I like to find out a little more about them.

    Along with my multitudinous outlines, lists, maps, and other documents that help me keep track of things, I have a Character Background document. (And yes, it’s formatted like an outline, but I’ll spare you another tangent on my love of bulleted lists.)

    So, I open this document—and my mind—to the backstory of the characters. It proceeds much like any other interview. Where do they come from? Why are they here now? Do they have a traumatic history? Or are their present life choices what make them complex? Why do they take their coffee black?

    Most of this will never showcase in the book at large but understanding a character’s eccentricities will help them develop in a genuine way. Because we all have a reason for not eating leftovers (a travesty), for brushing our teeth with our non-dominant hand (impossible), or for demanding our guests remove their shoes upon entering our home (imperative). Your characters do, too.

    I’ll give you an example. Say, a scruffy, little man in his ‘60s pops up in your story and, refusing to be silenced with a casual description, suddenly approaches your main character in a coffee shop. Let’s say this man’s name is Leo, and his opening remarks are rather coarse, like his frizzy, graying hair. You inspect him and realize he has a bit of a stoop and a Napoleon complex. It may not be immediately obvious why he has engaged with your main character or what his role will be.

    So, ask him. Center him in your mind’s eye and start with the obvious:

    Why the Napoleon complex? Was he the runt of his family? Teased as a child? Disadvantaged by his foreshortened reach on the factory line?

    What is it about your main character that prompted Leo to interrupt his coffee break? Are they related, even distantly or through an acquaintance? Did your main character do something that would inspire Leo to help him or her? Or did Leo feel goaded into confronting your main character because he or she is vertically gifted?

    Now that Leo is talking to the main character, will he help or harm? This may be answered by taking yet another step backward: what does Leo know that pertains to the main character? Will he tell the truth or lie? Why?

    Forcing your characters to do things that don’t come naturally to them will make them seem phony. Asking how Leo could help the main character’s story could stunt his growth or make him too prescriptive. Instead, allow Leo to tell you what he’s up to and why. He showed up for a reason. His answer could provide new possibilities, not only for your characters but also for the storyline. Leo may not be a liar, but he also isn’t the type of man to offer assistance without getting something in return. His approach is not based in altruism. Ask him what he wants and why it’s important to him.

    Characters will tell you everything you need to know if you listen. You might ask a leading question or two, but they’ll tell you to rein it in if you’ve overstepped the mark. Learning who they are can develop their voice, habits, gestures, personality—the very idiosyncrasies that make them more relatable. It can also uncover connections between characters or situations that you never realized were there. It may not change your storyline, but it may change how your characters react to it.

    Sometimes (often), your characters will surprise you. Give them the benefit of the doubt. If they lead you in a direction you hadn’t considered going, you may come to realize how misguided you were before they straightened you out.

    -H.A.

    Has a character ever surprised you? What was the result?

  • Drafting - Editing - Outlining - Writing

    Three Outlines Are Better than One

    July 20, 2020 • By  • 4 Min Read
    I create mine on a computer, but whatever spins your pencils.

    For those of you who spell the word “outline,” A-N-A-T-H-E-M-A, this entry may not be for you.

    But for those of you who use outlines or are open enough to consider their merit, I hope this gives you some food for thought.

    I’ve been working on the “Realm Rider” series for years, and the project has taken on several iterations in that time. It has also grown exponentially. I have over four-hundred-thousand words written, spanning two complete and at least two more incomplete books. And I still have a long way to go in the series.

    That is admittedly a lot of information to keep track of! So, I didn’t just employ one outline per book.

    I used three.

    The first one, as I mentioned in a previous post (“The Outline of a Journey”), helped me create a path of plot points to guide my tale. I free-wrote most of the outline the way one would a story, occasionally shoring up holes and rewriting ideas as issues presented themselves. When I started putting those ideas into a story, I allowed my writing to dictate which parts of the outline were worth keeping, which parts needed pitching, and several parts that I didn’t even know were supposed to be in there.

    After I had a draft well underway, I ended up needing another outline. This one was divided by chapter, and it summarized what had actually made it into the story. When your book exceeds 700 pages and you’re only writing mornings and weekends around your nine-to-five, it can be hard to locate things in the story. Keeping a second, summary outline allowed me to answer all my “Where did I put…?” and “What did I do about…?” questions. And there were many!

    The third and final outline was more of a list, but I think it counts. This tool was useful when those Eureka! moments struck at inopportune times. I wasn’t always in front of my computer when the “I can’t forget to add…!” and “Did I make sure to…?” ideas came to me.

    When you take classes on writing, instructors will tell you to keep a pad of paper (or notes app) handy, so if you hear a phrase or see a situation that inspires you, you can write it down to use later in your work. You may be less aware of those magical coincidences as you move through the editing process because so much of your work is already set in stone (or, at least, thick clay).

    But your mind will continue to pore over the details of your story whether you’re actively writing or not, and those magical moments will begin to come from within instead. You’ll suddenly realize exactly what tweaks you need to make—even when you’re standing in line at the coffee shop or on hold with the insurance company. That’s why my list of things to check on, add, fix, or edit came in handy at all hours of the day… and night.

    Still, I can’t avoid admitting what will surely make the outline-haters revel: I maintained the outlines only as long as I needed to.

    The plot ideas outline outgrew its usefulness when I stopped the writing process and began editing.

    And I stopped updating the summary outline about halfway into the editing process when my plot points solidified and only minor tweaks remained. 

    The checklist has outlasted them all, and it is still relevant as I polish off another edit in my endeavor to publish.

    However many you end up needing, make sure your outline—or outlines—work for you. Otherwise, they really will be anathema to your writing process.

    -H.A.

    How many outlines do you use? If you don’t use any, what is your creative process?

  • Drafting - Outlining - Writing

    The Outline of a Journey

    July 4, 2020 • By  • 3 Min Read
    Images like these make writing look so delicious. (It is.)

    Writing has always been a passion of mine.

    Even when I wasn’t terribly good at it.

    It has taken me many years to appreciate “the journey” of writing. As a typical, goal-oriented Virgo, I am all about reaching the destination. I love crossing things off my to-do lists. And like anyone, my lists get rather long. Ticking things off can feel liberating… and a tad paltry when the list stretches all the way to the floor and unfurls itself across the room.

    So, it might surprise you to know that I, a born list-maker and taskmaster, despised outlines.

    I would free write a while, caught up in the flow of the words as my stories cascaded out of me. And then, I would run out of ideas. My plot line would dry up like a spring in the desert, and I would wade through the endless sands of writer’s block with nothing but towering dunes in my path. I thought outlines could only inhibit my creativity.

    Then, I learned how to use them.

    Bulleted lists suited my psyche better than letters or roman numerals. Their lack of determined sequence allowed their contents to be moved around with impunity. They felt less prescriptive and didn’t demand proper formatting. Just hit enter and plunk down another bullet. Indent them now or later if it soothes your neurotic, internal editor, but write. Just write.

    Outlines didn’t bereave me of the joy of free writing. I’d let plot points flow out of me, each one bulleted haphazardly beneath its sister ideas. Terrible grammar, incomplete sentences, scant punctuation—it was liberating to stop editing myself long enough to get my ideas down. And because I typed much faster (and more legibly) than I wrote, I created my outlines on a computer. This meant I could move ideas around with the click of a mouse.

    It was the best of both worlds: I could free write AND have a plan. And I wasn’t married to anything. I could change things on a whim.

    Suddenly, outlines weren’t prisons. They were paths to freedom.

    And they got me to the end of my stories. Or, at least, darn close.

    Knowing where my story was heading (and how I could get there) opened up a world of possibilities—more than if I had not had a plan and gotten stuck. Finding those possibilities as I went turned my goal of writing a story into the most fascinating journey.

    Now, I can’t function without an outline or two. I couldn’t have written the first two and a half books of the “Realm Riders” series without outlines. There is nothing like discovering the journey an outline describes. I don’t love a cliché, but this one is true: the journey really IS the destination.

    -H.A.

    Still hate an outline? What is your creative process?