Expect the Unexpected

Okay, as advice goes, let’s face it, that’s pretty sucky. How can you prepare yourself for the unforeseeable? If we knew when the unexpected would be putting in an appearance, we wouldn’t have an insurance industry.

However, “expect the unexpected” is the unofficial motto of us writers who consider ourselves pantsers. When we sit our butts down in front of the keyboard, half the time we don’t know what the hell’s going to happen. We’re a mass of literary Flying Wallendas, inching our way across a vast chasm on a slender wire buffeted by wind gusts and hoping like hell we make it to the other side intact. Plotters stop and build a bridge, but that approach won’t work for us. We’re constantly flinging ourselves into the abyss in the hopes there’ll be a net down there when we hit the bottom. We also mix our metaphors a lot.

This often results in a lot of abandoned stories, as that rich vein of imagination that looked so promising peters out after a couple of chapters and leaves us staring at the bare rock of a blank page. (I did warn you about the metaphors.) On the other hand, we suffer less from boredom because, like the reader, we have no idea what’s coming up, and won’t know what happens until we get there.

This is why I write: to find out what happens. A lot of times I know what happens, but not how the story gets from Point A to Point B. That’s the unexpected part.

Case in point: I’m fiddling around with that “slave romance” I started a couple weeks back. At the time I figured it would be a romp, a comedy involving a sexy, rich, but shrewd woman and the “slaves” she buys striving to outwit each other while enjoying frequent, steamy sex. Then the unexpected reared its unforeseen head, in the form of a bad guy, a would-be suiter after the woman’s money. He’s going to cause horrendous problems for our heroine, and her devoted boys will have to rescue her. Assuming she doesn’t rescue herself; her personality’s already shaping up that way. Meanwhile, not only is one of the male characters going off in an entirely different direction, but I think he may be black, or at least dark-skinned. I don’t know where the hell that came from. Call it my efforts at unplanned diversity.

This has happened before. I grew up white, female, and middle class, so when I write that’s my default position. In my mind, my characters are white. Except when they’re not. Let me revise that. My characters start out white. They may not stay that way. Another story I was fiddling around with involved a M/M/M ménage. I was fairly sure all three men were Caucasian. One’s a blue-eyed blond, for God’s sake. Then I read over a description I’d written and realized one of them was black. Oops. Fortunately, both of these stories are science fiction and set on alien worlds, so my glaring lack of knowledge about the black experience won’t be a hindrance. I can write them as people, which is what we’re supposed to do with our characters, though sometimes political correctness gets in the way.

I hadn’t meant to put that lesbian raccoon shifter into the one story either. Her large family came as a double surprise. As far as I know, the rest of them are straight. Although I could be wrong.

So many times the “unexpected” turns out to be sequels. One thing leads to another and another and before I know it, my short story has turned into a generational family saga. This is one unexpected consequence I’ve actually come to expect because I know how my brain works. It runs to sequels and spinoffs. In fact, I’m more surprised when my stories don’t lead to a series. I really should be writing screenplays.

And now here we are at the end of the blog. I’m sure you were expecting it, just not quite so soon. Surprise!

Project Pantser

Yes, it’s true. I watch reality TV. I have a weakness for the competition shows, like Project Runway and Top Chef. I love watching raw creativity on display, especially when I have no talent in those areas. Make a wearable dress out of Twizzlers? Whip up a gourmet meal from the crap found in a snack machine? I couldn’t do that to save my life, but I love watching those who can. I doubt if any of them could write a readable novel. Things even out.

Even the contestants aren't always good at all aspects of their crafts. On the recent Project Runway All-Stars, the judges wanted to see the contestants’ prelim sketches for their garments. One of them, Mondo, had nothing to show. Mondo doesn’t sketch. Mondo doesn’t know how to sketch. He goes to the fabric store and buys whatever “inspires” him, then brings it back to the workroom and hopes the ideas start flowing. Somehow, week after week, he managed to create a unique piece in the time allotted and, more often than not, won the evening.

Watching the episode where he admitted he couldn’t sketch and basically worked on the fly, it hit me: Mondo is a pantser.

Hooray! It’s not just writers! Other creative types find the planning stage a waste and sew, or cook, or paint, or whatever, by the seat of their pants. Somehow it works out for them. It makes me feel less alone.

It also makes for great TV. Watching the little dude sweat through creative blockage made me squirm in sympathy. I know the feeling, brother. I go through it every time I pick up a pen and paper or sit in front of a keyboard and watch the cursor blink. I’ve got a vague idea of how I want my “creation” to look, or read, when it’s done. I’ve picked out the fabrics of character, plot, POV and maybe a couple of scenes. Now I just have to cut, stitch and hem, and hope the reader can wear it when I send it out on the runway.

A lot of times the fit’s not perfect. The pattern I picked out starts changing the more I put the story together. Maybe I had a straightforward plot in mind when I started, but a colorful mosaic of subplots is working out better. I intended to write a short story and it’s turned into a novella. I tried to dress it up with a couple flashy scenes that in retrospect should be cut out. Don’t want the poor reader tripping over an unwieldy train of thought.

The designers on the show have the added pressure of short deadlines. Two days to create a dress? I don’t think even Isaac Asimov could have written a book in two days. A long novella, maybe. Of course, with no deadline, I have the leisure to let my ideas sprawl all over the page, or the hard drive. It results in a lot of extra work that could probably be eliminated if I did an outline first. But where’s the fun in that?

Eventually I get the fabrics cut and basted up together so all the seams don’t show. The end result’s as much a surprise to me as I hope it’ll be to the readers. All I can do now is send it out into the world and let the readers try it on. They’ll let me know if it’s too long, too short, too tight, too baggy, or if I got the fit just right.

I’m sure I could save a lot of time and energy by sketching/outlining first. I’m also sure I’d take that extra time and watch TV with it. Might as well stick to what works.

For the record, Mondo won the competition. But then, he’s a creative genius. I don’t have that to fall back on and will have to rely on hard work, sweat, and gallons of caffeine to see me over the rough patches. At least there’s a bunch of fast-food joints in my neighborhood, so I don’t have to cook. Next up: The Amazing Race.