PAY DIRT!

One of the hardest things of writing is being in a rut and/or just unable to make an element of a story congeal into words. For two years I've been struggling with the primary concept of the Chosen Chronicles over arching plotline. What exactly was I trying to get it? Where was it leading? How in the hell did things get to where they were?

In the course of writing the first book, really a prequel (don't ask me, that's just how its working out), I ended up seeding it with a number of interesting people and events that as I wrote the first draft to book two I became increasingly convinced would end up being unfulfiled paradoxes or Kerensky's (what the hell is that? you have to be a recovered Battletech dweeb to get that one). Why had I put them there? To be honest, I didn't have the slightest idea then, and still didn't after I finished writing the second book and started laying the outline for a third book. This is just a trilogy about humanity kicking alien ass, was what I was telling myself.

So with book two finished I went back to reference book one while writing three. There was at least one element that needed to be closed (the prologue and epilogue, for you astute readers). I always knew what I wanted to do with this little paradox, but as I looked at it and the first draft of book two it came to me that I'd made a huge mistake. It was a good story, but not a real meal. More like a hamburger and fries (diet pepsi please, easy on the ice) as apposed to the 14 ounce merinated serlion with the salt rubbed baked potato and sauteed mushrooms on the side I really wanted to sink my teeth into. WTF happened? Don't ask me, maybe another writer can explain it. I tend to think of it as zombie writing.

Now trance writing is the ideal and where I get the most work done. I find two places the best to induce a trance state. Lunch at work, my head full of a million bullshit issues and other needly crap, emercing myself in the music of words, headphones in place, Dennis Miller or Michael Savage blabbering in my ears, and the words pour out in usually cognisant explosions of plot and color. The other time is late at night, usually after my normal bed time, and I get in 'a zone'. Just ask my wife who looks up bleary eyed at 4:30am wondering why her husband just stumbled into the bedroom, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Yeah, that's the zone. Trance writing at its best.

Zombie writing is similar, but unproductive. It results from forcing myself two write without an ANSWER! Don't worry, if you write it will come to you. Sometimes zombie state will induce trance state, but not usually. In this case the zombie never went away, it gave birth the Chronicles of the Chosen Book II, Dawn of the Living Avatar. Shit.

So a month ago I pulled the plug on it, copied the file into the scrap bin of the general file for the Chosen Chronicles, and started over. All I kept was the beginning elements, SOME of the characters, and a basic concept of where it wanted to go.

I was about 30k words into it the other day, occasional trance writing making it work well, but the previous attempt went the same too until I hit the plot wall and it collapsed into complete zombie zone. But this time something different happened. As the protagonist entered the later stages of her begining development where she is forced by situation to take leadership and struggle with her sexuality (whether she wanted to or not), I had a chance to have lunch with my wife and son. I sat there blathering that I didn't know how to move the overarching plotline along to an ended i had envisioned. How did species A get involved with species B. Why didn't anyone know species B was actually species X? And wtf is with the monks? Well, from the mouth of babes, she up and says; ..................

Holy fucking shit! It was one of those moments she is so good at creating in my stories and it all suddenly came together. So I go and start writing it all down so i remember, and that turned into another all night writing session (4k words just to explain the plotline!) BLAM! I guess it just takes another perspective, but I also don't think it is that simple. I've had lots of people suggest ways through problems like this, they never really work out. Something about Joy knows me so well that she didn't take it in a wierd direction, but just pointed out where it SHOULD go. What can I tell you, but it was a bingo.

After writing down the details I went online to do some research. I was just hoping at the least to find a few querky things to make it somehow historicaly probable. Didn't find that, instead I found some historical/religious references that fit so well it was like an episode of the X Files. I litteraly sat here with my jaw hanging open in disbelief. Was art imitating life agian, as it seems to so often happen? Maybe I'd heard some of it before and unconciously copied it. Who knows?

Regardless of the destination, the trip was worth the cab fair. I've been lost in the wilderness of the plot jungle for a while, but I'm back now. Continuous trances are coming with east, and I suspect the rewrite will be done in a few weeks now. I feel like I gave birth! Maybe it was just the kidney stones last week? Well, this too shall pass.