December is upon us. Family life has kicked into gear, and the season of parties has begun. I carve out my writing time in the early morning and sometimes in the evening. Sometimes, the writing flows well, and other times—
Not.
We who write fantasy invent people and give them lives in invented worlds. Their stories involve them doing invented things. Unfortunately, there are times when we realize we have written ourselves into a corner, and there is no graceful way out.
This happened to me in 2019 and has happened to me once again. In 2019, I took one of my works in progress back from 90,000 words to 12,000. Now, I am setting the work I have to this point aside and doing something entirely different for a while. I could scrap what I’ve written but might need it later, so I never delete anything.
Once again, I am at the point where I am fighting the story, forcing it onto paper. It feels like admitting defeat to confess that my story has taken a wrong turn so early on, and I hate that feeling. Nevertheless, I knew by the 40,000-word point that this story arc had gone so far off the rails that there was no rescuing it.
But I’m no quitter. In 2019, I spent weeks writing more words and refusing to admit the story was no longer enjoyable. Fortunately, much of what I had written could be recycled into a different project.
In 2019, I had accomplished many important things with the 3 months of work I had cut from that novel. The world was solidly built, so the first part of the rewrite went quickly. The characters were firmly in my head, so their interactions made sense in the new context.
Some sections that had been cut were recycled back into the new version.
Writing the outtakes of that novel wasn’t a waste, just a detour. And now, I’m faced with it again. This sort of thing is why it takes me so long to write a book.
So, now I need to take a month or so away from this project. When I return to it, I’ll need to spend several days visualizing the goal, the final scene, mind-wandering on paper until I have a concrete objective for my characters. Beginning this novel with only half an outline is how I lost my way.
In January, I will write a final chapter. Once I know what happened and how it all ended, I will want to write the events that led to that point.
So, in 2019, I realized the novel I was writing is actually two books worth of story. The first half is the protagonist’s personal quest and is finished. The second half resolves the unfinished thread of what happened to the antagonist. Both halves of the story have finite endings, so the best choice is to break it into two novels.
This year, I was only halfway finished with the novel when I began hating the plot’s direction, but I made it to the 20th before that happened.
This seems to be a pattern for me, as 2019 was not the only time things went off the rails. In 2020, I was only 4 days into NaNoWriMo when things got ugly. If you are a regular visitor here, you know what happened. In trying to resolve a twist of logic, I accidentally wrote an entirely different novel with a completely different cast of characters and plot. That manuscript is in the final stages of prepublication.
For those of you who are curious—I have 4 novels in progress set in that world at different eras of the 3000-year timeline.
And a “passel” of short stories and novellas.
(Sighing is an unbecoming habit, and I can’t seem to stop doing it.)
Writing is work. Sometimes, we must accept that we are forcing something and it’s not succeeding. It’s best to face the misery and take the storyline back to where it got out of hand.
The sections you cut might be the seeds of a short story or a novella.
I believe in the joy of writing, in the joy of creating something powerful. If you lose your fire for a story because another has captured your imagination, set the first one aside and go for it.
We who are indies have the freedom to write what we have a passion for and take as long as we need to do it. True inspiration is not an everlasting firehose of ideas. Sometimes, we experience dry spells. Perhaps when I come back to the original work, I’ll see it with fresh eyes, and the passion will be reignited.
I think of Patrick Rothfuss and his struggle to write the books in his series, the Kingkiller Chronicle. The first two books, The Name of the Wind (2007) and The Wise Man’s Fear (2011), have sold over 10 million copies.
Rothfuss’ work is original and powerful, but though it is highly regarded, he struggles to put it on paper just as the rest of us do. Despite a decade having passed, the third novel titled The Doors of Stone has not yet been released, and some fans are highly critical of him for that. They don’t understand how creativity works—all they know is they want that story, and they want it now.
The first two books in that series are work I consider genius, and I am willing to wait for him to be satisfied with his work.
Patrick Rothfuss’ struggle to write the book he believes in gives me permission to keep at it, to NOT just push out a novel that is a shadow of what I wanted to write.
And Patrick, if you’re listening, write the way you write, you wonderful human being, and I’ll wait as long as I must.
TITLE: African Violet Skies
When I can’t write anymore, I eat chocolate and read trashy romance novels about vampires.
I need to spend several days visualizing the goal, picturing each event, and mind-wandering on paper until I have concrete scenes. I need to write a few paragraphs that will become the final chapters.
My heroes and villains all see themselves as the stars and winners in this fantasy rumble. They intend to prevail at any cost. What is the final hurdle, and what will they lose in the process? Is the price physical suffering or emotional? Or both?
My mental rambling is accomplishing something. My characters are all getting their acts together. They are finding ways to resolve the conflict and are ready to commence the fourth act, where they will embark on the final battle.
I still had no idea there was a wider community of writers in my area, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have felt worthy of gate-crashing one of their meetings.
The next book I bought was in 2002: 
Finishing off the resources from the official NaNoWriMo store is Grant Falkner’s handbook, 
Damn Fine Story
Many local libraries offer a service where one can submit a question and have it answered by email. If that isn’t an option and we’re feeling ambitious, you can check out eBooks on any subject.
Here is a link to the great Neil Gaiman’s absolutely wonderful, infinitely comforting, yet utterly challenging advice for writers: 
In 2010, I gained a wonderful local group through attending write-ins for NaNoWriMo. Nowadays, we meet weekly via Zoom, as some members are now living far away from Olympia. My fellow writers are a never-ending source of support and information about both the craft and the industry. We write in various genres and gladly help each other bring new books into the world. But more than that, we are good, close friends.
Narrative essays are drawn directly from real life, but they are fictionalized accounts. They detail an incident or event and talk about how the experience affected the author on a personal level.
Wallace went to the fair thinking it would be a boring event featuring farm animals, which might be beneath him. But it was his first official assignment for Harpers, and he didn’t want to screw it up. What he found there, the people he met, their various crafts, and how they loved their lives profoundly affected him, altering his view of himself and his values.
Literary magazines want well-written essays on a wide range of topics and life experiences presented with a fresh point of view. Some publications will pay well for first rights.
Don’t be afraid to write with a wide vocabulary, as people who read these publications have a broad command of language.
If the editor wants changes, they will make clear what they want you to do. Editors know what their intended audience wants. Trust that the editor knows their business.
Knowing my intended word count helps me create a story, from drabbles to novels. For me, it works in stories with a traditional arc as well as those with a circular arc.
In a circular narrative, the story begins at point A, takes the protagonist through life-changing events, and brings them home, ending where it started. The starting and ending points are the same, and the characters return home, but they are fundamentally changed by the story’s events.
At this point, our first protagonist knows that he must resolve the problem and protect his people, which he does. There is more to his side of the story, of course. But this is a story with two sides. Aeddan’s point of view is not the entire story.
Word choices are essential in showing a world and creating a believable atmosphere when limited to only a small word count. I had challenged myself to write a story that told both sides of a frightening encounter in 1000 words, give or take a few. I wanted to expand on the theme of dragons and use it to show two aspects of a place whose national symbol is the Red Dragon (Welsh: Y Ddraig Goch).
Artist: Jacob van Ruisdael (1628/1629–1682)
We all know the best stories have an arc of rising action flowing smoothly from scene to scene. Those changes are called transitions and are little connecting scenes. Conversations and indirect speech (thoughts, ruminations, contemplations) often make good transitions when a hard break, such as a new chapter, doesn’t feel right.
We know dialogue must have a purpose and move toward a conclusion of some sort. This means conversations or ruminations should provide a sense of moving the story forward. These are moments of regrouping and processing what has just occurred. Dialogue and introspection are also where the protagonist and the reader learn more about the mysterious backstory.
So now that we know what must be conveyed and why, we find ourselves walking through the Minefield of Too Much Exposition.
When I began writing seriously, I was in the habit of using italicized thoughts and characters talking to themselves to express what was happening inside them.
If you aren’t careful, you can slip into “head-hopping,” which is incredibly confusing for the reader. First, you’re in one person’s thoughts, and then another—like watching a tennis match.
Crockpot soups are high on the menu here at Casa del Jasperson. I do most of the work for dinner in the morning and get it out of the way along with the other housework, and then I can write and whine about writing.
The work inspired by a visual prompt often has nothing to do with the image. But it has everything to do with the nature of storytelling. The ability to explain the world through stories and allegory emerges strongly in artists of all mediums—painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, and dancers.
These jolly rogues have such vivid personalities that the viewer immediately feels a kinship. Who were they? Did they keep their day jobs? Or were they charming moochers living off the kindness of friends?
And what other symbolism was incorporated in this painting that art patrons in the 17th century would know but we who view it through 21st-century eyes wouldn’t? Eelko Kappe’s article on this painting, 
Life in the Realm of Fantasy 
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