How do you write a novel when you feel like you have too many options and you don’t know which direction to take?

Julia posted this question on my “Ask A Question For My Blog” page:

Hey Randy, thanks a lot for the Snowflake Method, you are an angel sent from above! I have finally understood the importance of story structure and am eager to apply it to my WIP. However, I’ve been having a lot of trouble with stage 2 because to sumarize the main events in 5 sentences I first need to know what those events are. And unfortunally I suffer from a terrible issue called too many options. I think I might have writer’s commitment issues. I found this is a common trait in my writing, even my undergraduate thesis suffered from it (thankfully I managed to finish that!). Have you got any advice for that? It would save my life.

Randy sez: Thanks, Julia, I’m not often called an angel, and have sometimes been called the opposite, so I appreciate that.

The problem you’re having is a good problem to have—too many options. It means you’ve got a lot of creativity going, and now you’re having trouble settling down and making a decision.

A Review of Three-Act Structure

And you’re stuck on Step 2 of the Snowflake Method. Let’s review that step, just to bring all my blog readers onto the same page. The Snowflake Method is a 10-step method for getting your first draft down on paper. Step 1 is to write a single sentence that summarizes your story.

Step 2 is to expand that sentence out to a full paragraph with five sentences that sketch out the Three-Act Structure of your story, as follows:

• Sentence 1 gives a high-level overview of your lead character and your story world.
• Sentence 2 tells what happens in your first act, ending with a major disaster that will force your lead character to commmit to the story.
• Sentence 3 tells what happens in the first half of the second act, ending with a second major disaster that forces your lead character to completely rethink their approach.
• Sentence 4 tells what happens in the second half of the second act, ending with a third major disaster that forces your lead character to commit to ending the story.
• Sentence 5 tells what happens in the third act—there will be a final showdown and either a victory or a defeat for the lead character.

That’s a lot to expect of one paragraph! It’ll be a long paragraph, for sure, and bristling with ideas.

Breaking The Logjam of Too Many Options

Julia, your problem is that you’ve got too many ideas to get them all into a single paragraph.

That’s OK, really. I generally say that this paragraph should take about one hour to write. So what I’d recommend is that you just write up several paragraphs, each with one possibility for your Three-Act Structure. None of these are etched in stone. They’re just possibilities. You can make up as many as you want. Five or ten, if you’ve got that many possibilities in your head. The first one might take an hour, but after that, the others will probably take ten minutes.

Once you’ve got them all down on paper, let them stew in your mind for a bit. Give yourself a day or two to think about them.

Then choose one to take to the next step in the Snowflake Method. This is not a forever commitment, so choose the one that you think is strongest and run with it for a couple of more steps to see how it flies. If it flies well, then you’re on your way.

If it doesn’t fly so well, you can always come back to Step 2 and pick another path.

The beauty of this approach is that you might waste a few hours going down a wrong path, but you won’t waste five hundred hours writing the full manuscript for a story you’re eventually going to reject.

And also you won’t waste days and days staring at the blank screen, paralyzed by indecision. The Snowflake Method gives you the freedom to try things quickly and fail quickly.

How It Worked Out

I emailed the above suggestion to Julia awhile back. She emailed back not long after to say that she spent a few days and broke the logjam by doing the following:

• She wrote down a long list of all the events she thought should happen in the story. (This is Step 8 in the Snowflake Method).
• Then she pulled out the most important of these events (about 20) and wrote them on Post-It notes.
• Finally, she put the Post-It notes all on a big sheet of paper with three acts marked on it and moved them around until the story seemed right.

That works. And that’s the right way to do it for Julia. Different people have different ways of solving the problem. Whatever works for you is whatever works for you.

As you can see, Julia didn’t actually use my suggestion. She took my core idea (get something down on paper) and riffed in a different direction. And that got her to the solution. Yay!

The important thing is to keep moving forward and to get things down on paper. Once it’s on paper, you have a permanent record. And you can make a copy and revise it. You can do that as many times as you want until you get it the way you want it. That’s what the Snowflake Method is all about.

If you’ve got a question you’d like me to answer in public on this blog, hop on over to my “Ask A Question For My Blog” page and submit your question. I’ll answer the ones I can, but no guarantees. There are only so many hours in the day.

What reading level should you shoot for in your novel? Twelfth grade? Second year of college? Fourth year of college?

I am paraphrasing a question that I saw posted recently on a writing site. Never mind where, because I’m sure it’s been asked a million times.

It’s a good question and deserves a good answer.

But First, A Little Story

When I was in high school, I used to read a magazine aimed at high-school students.

I remember one writer in particular who wrote often for this magazine.

This writer never used a short word when a long one would do. Never.

I got the feeling that he wrote his stories first in normal English. Then he hit the thesaurus to “raise the reading level.”

I never could figure out why he chose to inflate his words. It didn’t make the story better. It made it worse.

It was awful. I got to hate that writer’s work.

And I came to believe three things about writing:

1. Short words are better than long ones.
2. Short sentences are better than long ones.
3. Short paragraphs are better than long ones.

Then I Went to Grad School

Eventually I graduated from high school and went to college and majored in math and physics. Then I went to grad school at UC Berkeley and got my PhD in physics. Along the way, I read a ton of journal articles and technical papers.

Here’s what I learned.

Smart people know how to make hard things simple. Part of the genius of Einstein was that he could take a hard problem and make it simple. Same with Richard Feynman, one of the great physicists of the twentieth century. Ditto for Ed Witten, who may be the smartest theoretical physicist of all time. These guys tackled hard problems. Using simple words.

I realized that any fool can solve a hard problem the hard way. It takes a genius to make a hard problem simple.

Your Mission in Writing Fiction

Your mission in writing fiction is to give your reader a powerful emotional experience. Period. If you also want to make your reader think, learn, reason, or fall into a deep pit of existential despair, feel free to try.

You have a better chance of doing that if your reader actually finishes your novel. Which they will do if you give them a powerful emotional experience.

You don’t need big words to be deep. To be deep, all you need is to have deep ideas. Almost always, short words are better than long ones. And short sentences are better than long ones. And short paragraphs are better than long ones.

So What is the Best Reading Level For Your Novel?

Now we can get back to the main question. What reading level should you shoot for in your novel?

The answer is simple: As low as possible, while still being able to tell your story.

I’ve heard that James Patterson writes his novels at the fifth grade level. You may have heard of him. He’s been the best-selling writer of fiction in the English language so far this century.

I’m currently writing a series of novels that my editors tell me is the best stuff I’ve written yet. They say it’s deeper than I’ve gone before. I’m glad they think so, and I hope the books do well in the market.

I got curious yesterday and ran a few of my recent scenes through an online analyzer that tells you what grade level you’re writing at. I was hoping it would say at most grade 6. Even better if  I could get it down to grade 5.

The first scene I tested came in with a grade level of 3.2. I thought that might be just a lucky fluke, so I tried the scene just before it. That had a grade level of 1.7. Then I tried the scene before that. It had a grade level of 3.1.

I wrote another scene yesterday, and I ran that just now. The level was 3.3.

I’m seeing a trend here. My new series looks like it’ll have about a third grade reading level.

Sounds good to me.

Isn’t That Just Dumbing Your Story Down?

You may be thinking that I’m telling you to “dumb things down.”

No, not at all.

There is a huge, huge, HUGE difference between “simple” and “stupid.”

I believe it takes a lot more brains to write “simple” than to write “complicated.” If you don’t believe me, go find one of Albert Einstein’s books and read it. You’ll find it’s clear and simple and definitely not stupid.

I just now ran this blog post through the analyzer. The reading grade level for this post is 3.7. I blame it on the existential despair thing.

How do you know when to start a new scene in your story? And how do you know when to end it? What’s the reasoning you use?

Yvonne posted this question on my “Ask A Question For My Blog” page:

when writing a scene in fiction, how do you know when to move to a new scene? Time, place, pov, deleted or added characters, and what, are the reasons for a scene change?

Randy sez: This is a question that vexes most beginning writers, and rightly so, because it’s a hard question.

The key thing is to understand what a scene is, and what a scene is supposed to do.

How Scenes Work—A Review

A scene is the smallest unit of fiction. It’s a story in its own right. The ability to write excellent scenes is arguably your most important skill as a novelist. By that, I mean that if you can write great scenes, you can get away with a mediocre premise, a mediocre plot, a mediocre setting, and mediocre characters.

I don’t mean to say you should cut corners on premise, plot, setting, or characters. I think you should shoot for excellence in everything you do. But my experience as a reader tells me that when the scenes are really strong, I keep reading, even when other aspects of the story are flawed.

It might be helpful right now to read (or reread) my famous article “Writing the Perfect Scene” which is the second most popular article on my entire site.

Here are some of the high points of the article:

• Every scene has a “focal character,” which could be any of the characters in your story, not necessarily the “hero.”
• A scene is a small, self-contained story about that focal character, with a clearly defined beginning, middle, and end.
• In most cases, the scene is a “proactive scene” with the structure:
  • Goal
  • Conflict
  • Setback
• Occasionally, the scene is a “reactive scene” with the structure:
  • Reaction
  • Dilemma
  • Decision

Typically, a scene takes place over some smallish interval of time. Could be minutes, could be hours. Rarely will it be less than a minute. Rarely will it be more than a few hours (and the longer it is, the more narrative summary you’ll need).

However long the scene takes in story time, most authors have a certain range of word counts they like to use to tell the story for that scene. I like the range of 1000 to 2000 words, strictly for myself. I’ve gone much shorter. I’ve gone a bit longer. Generally, I’m in my 1000-2000 range. But other authors may prefer shorter or longer. This is a personal choice every author makes. It’s also something of a contract with your reader. When you establish a pattern that most of your scenes are in a certain range of word count, it sets the rhythm for your story that your reader expects. Then when you break that rhythm, it should mean something to the reader.

Deciding Where to Start and End Your Scene

Now, on to Yvonne’s question. How do you know when to begin a scene (and therefore when to end the previous one)?

The answer is that you let your scene dictate that. Here’s how:

When you start writing a proactive scene, do it at the point in your story when it’s natural to establish the focal character’s goal for that scene. Quickly establish that goal, and then spend most of the scene working through the conflict of the scene. Eventually, you’ll hit a critical point. This is usually a setback (in which the focal character fails to achieve her goal and is now worse off than before.) Occasionally, it will be a victory (in which the focal character achieves her goal and is now better off than before). Once you’ve hit that critical point, the scene is over. Start a new scene.

When you start writing a reactive scene, it should normally follow closely on the heels of a setback in a proactive scene. The point of a reactive scene is to give the focal character a chance to react emotively to the hit she’s just taken and to switch directions. Start out with that emotive reaction and let it run its course (usually a few paragraphs or a page at most). Then take your character into a dilemma—what to do next. There should be no good options. If there is a good option, it’s not a dilemma. The dilemma may take quite a while to work through. The focal character has only bad options. Explore these and reject them, one by one, until there is only one acceptable course of action. That’s your focal character’s decision and the reactive scene is now over. Start a new scene.

But What if Your Scene Doesn’t Fit the Pattern?

What if your scene is neither proactive nor reactive? What if it’s just there to “set the background” or to “show the character acting in character”?

I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if that’s all your scene is doing, it’s a bad scene. Setting the background is fine; so is showing a character acting in character. But neither of these is enough to carry a scene. If that’s all your scene does, you have two choices:

• Kill the scene
• Fix the scene so it’s either a proactive scene or a reactive scene

I’m not exaggerating here. Those are your two options. If you have a bad scene, kill it or fix it.

Beginning writers often get angry when they hear this stark choice. Getting angry at the messenger is a sign of an amateur. Professional novelists routinely kill bad scenes. Professional novelists routinely fix bad scenes. Professional novelists don’t complain that they don’t want to do what they need to do to delight their reader. Professional novelists do the hard work, over and over, until they get it right. Nothing is more important than getting your scenes right.

Circling back to Yvonne’s question, if your scene has been fixed so that it’s either a proactive scene or a reactive scene, it will be “obvious” when the scene should start and when it should end.

 

If you’ve got a question you’d like me to answer in public on this blog, hop on over to my “Ask A Question For My Blog” page and submit your question. I’ll answer the ones I can, but no guarantees. There are only so many hours in the day.