Getting unstuck on a plot point when you don’t plot ahead of time…butter cookies and excess
Note: I’m going to start putting more info in subject lines, because I can’t find my own freaking essays when I want them!!!!
…
Side quest (Aug 17)
I figured out later I was documenting how I handle plot problems when I don’t plot things out ahead of time. Most people (and mostly I used to do this, too) will have some kind of idea what they’re going to write in a scene before they get there: “This is the scene where xxx happens.”
I’ve been working on not letting events drive the story, but the characters’ thoughts, emotions, and reactions drive the story. I’ve been getting better at going into a scene with just the following pieces of information:
-Who is the POV?
-Where is the POV? What is the setting?
-What are they dealing with right now?
People who recognize the Budrys seven-point plot outline will recognize character, setting, and problem—but the “problem” that I’m addressing isn’t the external situation so much as it is the characters reaction to it. So below is me working out what Mr. Assassin’s internal state clearly enough that I can proceed forward with the story.
I’ve written the scene now; Mr. Assassin spends most of the scene coping with his internal state but not talking about it all that much; he mostly watches some kids playing on a pair of baseball diamonds. The scene is interrupted by another character bringing him something he needed but didn’t know how to get.
…
Brain both wants to untangle mental things AND write fiction first today.
I have a scene focusing on Mr. Assassin next. Aside from what he needs to do, plot-wise, I know he needs to answer a question, not on a plot level but on a story level, for the reader. For me too? Probably.
Okay, Imma do a minor mental sorting here, to see if I can knock loose a few things:
–He got triggered and ran. It’s been a stressful few days and it was right after something huge.
–But the thing that set him off, while important, wasn’t the main thing, just the straw that broke the camel’s back.
–I know how the other characters would sort this out.
–I know how he USED to sort things out.
–But he crossed a major threshold recently so he won’t sort things out the same in this scene, even though his initial reaction was the same: trigger and run, or trigger and shut down.
–He doesn’t have a lot of control at this point; he’s not used to being out of control and doesn’t have a lot of access to who he is, when he’s not supervising himself.
(Rereading this before I hit “post,” my creative brain decided to comment: People who are used to being out of control, make art.)
–Mr. Assassin’s strength is in his gut reactions, but he doesn’t like them, because he feels like he’s being carried along with something too big to control.
–I connect to that feeling, naturally enough; I made all the main characters such that I could explore exactly these things: gut, heart, mind. Mr. Assassin, Goth Girl, the Goob.
–So: my creative brain wants to tap into that somehow, the various feelings of what it feels like to be doing something that feels out of control, yet is under control. Which is why that stuff has been coming up in conversations with other people.
–I don’t need to know how Mr. Assassin will act. I will–ugh, this is annoying, I’ve been fighting it for so long–trust the process here and just channel it, knowing that my creative brain is going to draw on shit that is uncomfortable for me, deliberately.
–So really writing this is just my creative brain going, “Heads up, Buttercup.”
Yeah, that all sounds about right.
Onward.
After making fun of Funko Pops for years, I finally got one. I suspect that someday we’re going to be able to see how people remember things they’re particularly fond of, and our memories will be distorted in some kind of Super-Deformed fashion like this: baby-fied. My dad used to call me “Pixie Poo.”
…
Side Quest (Aug 19)
So I’ve been buying these tins of Danish butter cookies at Aldi’s, the kind you find sewing supplies in, week after week after week. I rarely don’t eat all, or most of, a tin of cookies.
I made a point of not telling myself “no” on these cookies. I only go to Aldi’s once a week, so the total calorie count is 1700 calories. If I eat an entire tin of these things once a week, it’s not a huge deal. I am physically active and burn a lot of energy dancing.
The goal: to eat so many of these cookies that I get tired of them.
They were “important” cookies when I was growing up. I never got them. They were always “special.” Or for someone else. And they’re rich with butter, so they’re “bad for you,” in my mom’s mind, because in many ways she never moved past what she was taught in the 70s about cooking. And because she’s who she is, anything that *seems* good must necessarily be bad for you on some level, and only she got to decide what “badness” was acceptable, and when.
Last week I also bought a package of fudge striped cookies. I haven’t finished them yet. I’m on week 2 of this tin of butter cookies. This morning I looked at them and went, “Hmm…maybe gingersnaps instead next time; it’s coming on autumn.”
I don’t think it was *just* this particular experiment that changed things; I’ve been doing a lot of work on myself and getting my head on straight. But it’s very cool to watch myself not going, “I HAVE TO SAVE THESE BECAUSE I’LL NEVER GET THEM AGAINNNNNN.”
Midjourney’s idea of cute monster cookies <3