FDA Writing Update

I’ve been listening to Writing Excuses by Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, and Dan Wells. I always knew about it, but I'm not sure why I didn’t listen to it sooner. It started around 2008, but the stuff they were saying back then still applies to today. Right now they are currently on season ten. I have a lot of catching up to do…

And listening to it, I had an epiphany of sorts.

The final deciding factor for me to listen to the podcast was after my SDCC trip where I was able to talk to Brandon. Usually, if I happen to meet an author (and those very few times, a celebrity), all I would do is smile and stare (“Hi Kevin (Bacon),” I say in a Spongebob-like voice. I’m kidding. ) Sometimes I’ll think of something witty to say. Sometimes I’ll have some semblance of a “good” question about their stories. Mostly, I never talk to an author about the art of writing because I felt I was inadequate, but during Comic-Con, I was able to think of some questions to ask Brandon and he helpfully answered; then he recommended that I should listen to WE, and the people in line behind me, eager to talk to him as well, agreed, advocating the same thing.

So I listened to it. And I realized what was wrong with my writing—well, truthfully, I knew, but I needed to hear the problem reiterated by someone else.

Episode 17: This Sucks and I’m a Horrible Writer - The problem for me is that I’m a person who constantly edits. I can’t get any work finished because I’m perpetually stuck on chapter one—I’m probably still trying to figure out if I mastered Trixie’s characterization or if I got the dialogue right between Rarity or Applejack, or if I really want a pony to listen to the radio before or after going to the pizza parlor. I edit. Then I continue with a paragraph or two. The next day, I reread what I wrote, become unhappy with it, and I start editing it again. And that’s why I can’t finish anything!

Twilight is tired of my editing.

The longest piece I'd ever written was back when I was twelve, up to chapter twenty-six. My singular audience, continually praising it, was probably in love with one of the characters, and I suppose I was writing to try and please the both us…as well as have a bit of fun poking around with her feelings (the character she was in love fell off a cliff and she thought he was dead, but it was later revealed that, yes, he wasn’t dead.) The story itself was horrible, but it was the farthest I had ever gotten (as a chronological, novel-length whole).

In my lifetime I know I’ve written over a million words. But they are scraps and lone excerpts and a whole bunch of randomness. Most of it is out of chronology. Most of it is probably dialogue and taglines. This probably doesn’t include what I call my “psychology documents” where I stream-of-consciousness style try to figure out where the story is going and why the characters act the way they do and why, I, the author, am stuck.

Actually, as I look through all my documents, I found myself breaking 300,000 words a year quite easily. When my university years came around, my biggest document barely broke 30,000 words. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? After university, my word count was basically nonexistent… But then I was able to find my writing vision again before moving onto the ponies. The ponies have given me a wordy mess of around 100k.

Recently, I watched Quill Scratch attempt to write 50,000 words in 24 hours for charity (he’s still accepting donations). He didn’t make 50k, but starting the contest sleep deprived, he still managed to write nearly 30k. He wrote and wrote and wrote and it was amazing. Here it is in all its unedited glory. I get antsy around 300 words; I have this unquenchable need to go back, read what I wrote, and see if it needs editing. Sometimes, I’ll be able to write the whole thing through. Take Robin Hoof and Her Merry Mares for instance. That was finished in a little over half an hour because I was really “into” the story. Only afterward did I go and edit it.

I can create stories, but putting those stories to paper… But, well, I’m sure everyone says that.

Sometimes I think I’m just better at systematically building the ideas and not actually writing them. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better in marketing, perhaps a copywriter. But then watching something like AMC’s “The Pitch” makes me rethink that.

So, with this not so newfound information about my writing style, what am I going to do? The answer is the same, always obviously simple: Just keep writing. And WE gave an amazing (at least to me and my uncontrollable need to edit) rule: Don’t edit until after you’re done writing the next chapter.

And that seems quite brilliant, honestly.

So what I am attempting, like Brandon Sanderson did, is to try to write (a) novel/s as fast as I can, at least 2000 words a day (500 each for four different projects). Currently, I’m attempting to novelize Derp 2. I name all of my pony stories “Derp Something.” Derp 2 is an alternate universe Twixie novel-length story I nearly abandoned. I stopped writing because
1) I couldn’t figure out how to portray the the year of flashbacks and
2) I created a conspiracy/ies? that I didn’t know how to solve. I do however have an outline and even though I still don’t have the answers to any of things, I’ll still need to press on. It still doesn’t change the fact that it’s a horrible mess.

Derp 2 Summary:

Twilight hasn’t exactly had an enjoyable year. According to Equestria’s ruler, King Sombra, Twilight caused the disappearance of the ex-revolutionary, Celestia, obstructed the peace of the kingdom, and disclosed secret state information to dangerous radicals. But Twilight swears she was innocent. After a rough year of demonstrating her loyalty to Equestria and trying to hide from her infamy, Twilight, broken and bitter, now wants nothing more but to spend the rest of her days in Ponyville living in peace. But after a showmare arrives at her library with an unordinary request, Twilight finds that this mare may have something to do with the mysterious disappearance of Celestia.

Rarity's mess is not dissimilar to my own. And she does think that summary is quite a mess.

The story I’m mostly working on right now (which was Derp 4, 9, and 10 combined) is named Derp 10 and it’s also a Twilight and Trixie romance story (I’m a sucker for that couple, but because of Moondancer’s appearance, I just kind of want to chuck this) and the whole thing, besides the prologue, is in Trixie’s POV. For the longest time I was trying to justify Trixie’s motivations in the story and her inner conflict. I think I have something now. Or, at least, I’ll press on even if it’s not completely correct.

But it’s not just pony stories. I need to continue writing my original fiction as well, but you’re all here for ponies, and I’m surprisingly very secretive about my original fiction, so I won’t bore you with any of the details.

Anyways, if you made it this far, thanks for reading! Here’s a first draft snippet of an upcoming slice-of-life one-shot(?), temporarily called Catlantis. Yes, you read that right.

“Catlantis, a story about Opal’s not-so-humble beginnings and how she came to find a home with Rarity. Coming soon to a Fimfic near you.”

The mouse was finally dead. It had taken a while to find the furry rodent after it had scampered behind the maze of trash bins, swerving through the back alley of the prestigious Hayburger—indeed, most days she found the restaurant held a treasure trove of delectable delicacies—but it was dead now. She was certain of that. One last squeeze, one final kick, her teeth gripping its neck as it gave its dying squeal, and she knew it had stopped moving. Just for good measure, she kicked it again.

And then she ate it.

Opal prided herself on finishing her meal with grace. It was becoming of a princess after all—a lady always finishes her enemy quickly, fiercely, and without mercy. Just like her mother before her and her mother’s mother and so on.

Opal rubbed her paw against her chin, licking here and there, making sure any trace of food left on her mouth was cleaned. Then, after one last lick of her lips, she strut home, straight to the open window of the boutique. She hopped over and found Rarity, like usual, fussing over something.

“Oh, Opal. There you are; look, this is horrible! How am I supposed to fix—Oh my stars! Look at you!” Rarity cried, and with her magic, levitated Opal off the group, turning her around, checking her tail, her paws, scrutinizing ever inch of her. Opal fidgeted and her claws came out; she hated when Rarity held her for too long. “Where did you go, you dirty kitty? Your coat is filthy.”

Opal looked at her paws. There were black specks on her nails and a bit of dirt combed into her coat. That wasn’t entirely her fault. Of course she would give chase when the rat ran—she just didn’t expect it to run through those apple fields. “We can’t possibly meet with the girls yet; I must get you cleaned up!”

Cleaned? Well, she could use a spa day. Rarity had been skimping out on Opal’s spa days and she thought it was quite unfair.

“…But Fluttershy said she had some checkups to do before the pet playdate,” she sighed. Opal thought it was faintly dramatic. “I suppose I’ll have to wash you myself. Come along, Opal.”

Wait? Herself? Rarity was going to clean Opal herself? Her tail began flicking back and forth and she watched as Rarity grabbed something from a cupboard. A bath? A bath! No, she couldn’t take a bath! Opal meowed and jumped off the table, scampering to the door.

“Opal!” Rarity was indignant. She picked Opal up again, and all the while, Opal cried and screamed and meowed away while Rarity paid no mind.

How Opal detested her!

Now to work on Telephone…or perhaps find some cat puns.

Onward!