How Not To Write A Novel

Everything including the kitchen sink

It isn’t as though it caught us by surprise. We planned this, welcomed this, and I thought I’d prepared. After twenty-eight years in our house, we decided to remodel the upstairs bathrooms and our kitchen.

The 1980s were alive and well there. The casts of Charlie’s Angels, Cagney & Lacey, Cheers and The Cosby Show could have looked natural having coffee together in between shoots in my kitchen, except that by 2013 it was beat.

The finish on the hardwood floors had turned to gum—the sticky finish attracted dirt and looked dirty all by itself. The worn finish around the cabinets’ handles revealed the years of use. All of my appliances needed to be laid to rest. (Try estimating the age of your appliances. Check your receipts. Did you have to double your estimate? I did.)

When I started my new WIP the third week in January, I foresaw having interruptions, knew there would be inconveniences and anticipated temporary adjustments. I planned the new kitchen layout and bought the new cabinets in January knowing there would be a month lead-time. By the second week in February (and in my second chapter) the cabinets arrived, new tile was delivered, and contractors were notified. This week (my third chapter), the contractors descended.

The refrigerator looms at my side.

When my husband started his business in 1986, I did the paperwork on a card table in the basement. Ten years ago, we took our useless dining room and converted it into our office. He has one side, I have the other.

We moved a makeshift kitchen into our office, placing the microwave adjacent to my PC. (He has the toaster oven and coffee maker). The refrigerator loomed on my side. I wrote in the morning before they arrived at 7 a.m.

                                

The carpenter used his drill with screwdriver attachment to unscrew cabinets. When some of the larger cabinets posed a problem, he took his reciprocating saw to them, making a magician sawing a lady in half—child’s play. They went into the dumpster, conveniently placed on my driveway—yes by our prescription.

Once the cabinets were gone and the space stripped to studs, the electrician drilled auger-size holes in the studs and floor through which he pulled new wire. With a hole attachment on his drill, my drywall ceiling became a polka dot mosaic for recessed lighting.

Coiled and ready to deafen

The plumber scared me, cutting off the water supply, hacking pipes and welding new ones to accommodate the new kitchen layout.

 Every workman left debris. Our shop vac monster took care of the mess, but it further deafened me.  

The floor refinisher…Pounding pummeled my brain. I tried to finish the third chapter. He invaded my office.

Invaded and assaulted by noise assassin

I left my main character still in a car on her way to a party where she will meet up with a murderer. I gave up, left the house and went to the gym. I will think and take notes on ideas that occur to me—at Starbucks. I will pray for silence and solitude. It’s all necessary—an idea I supported. Ah, but the agony.

The Dynamics of Tension

Writing about evil is sort of like making fudge. You can’t cook it too long or it will bind into a solid unmovable and tooth-breaking mass, but kept short and sweet, evil’s texture is irresistible. Writing evil is the beating stage of fudge. You can feel and see the deliciousness of it all and maybe understand why people indulge in evil. It’s as seductive as wanting to taste that fudge, but more, perhaps diving into the bowl and wallowing in its warmth and decadence. It’s a concept that Stephen King understands, and I’m learning.

I wrote a scene twice last month, which isn’t anything new. Sometimes I write a scene ten times until I get it right. The first time I wrote the scene in the POV of one of my perpetrators, inappropriately, since on page 240 I hadn't yet presented her POV. So, I rewrote it again from another villain’s POV. Although I had included this character in many scenes, I realized that he too was a new POV, and I couldn’t use that scene even if it would have been a good read. But— in writing through their POVs—I learned a lot about evil and my villains. They’re despicable and fun to write.

My villains just don’t give a damn. They like being bad. They like messing with moral people. They do what they want, when they want, and they wouldn’t think of considering another’s point of view or feelings. These are truly ruthless and selfish people. Villains like to use people. When they meet other villains who use them, it’s just a matter of time which one destroys the other. At a recent local SinC meeting, a DEA agent spoke confirming this notion. He said when the headlines announce violence in the Mexican drug wars that the drug suppliers were killing each other off.

Innocent people don’t expect to meet villains. It’s something we read about in the newspaper. Evil catches the innocent by surprise. But as a mother, I can easily envision my kids meeting up with evil. Being paranoid doesn’t mean you’re delusional. Duping innocents is a sickening aspect of villains that is true. Innocents are hurt. (My daughter carries pepper spray.) And yet, physical harm is only one aspect of hurting innocents.

Often that hurt shapes your main character’s emotional and mental framework. People react differently to adversity. Adversity makes them stronger or weaker. My heroes are so noble. They struggle—they try—they go beyond themselves, challenging their fears, changing and growing stronger. There is a power struggle between the main character and the villain. It is in the action and reaction between villain and protagonist, between evil and good where tension lies. When the main character acts, instead of reacts, forcing the villain to react can be a novel’s pivotal moment.

In writing from my villains POV, I’ve come to understand better the underlying dynamic of tension from which I can write my main character’s POV. Understanding the source of the tension in my novel, I hope, will sharpen my edge. Try it sometime.  It's fun and a great teacher.