About "Quiet"
Nail Your Novel: Bring Characters to Life
By Roz Morris
Coming this month
By Roz Morris
Coming this month
Plotting - the Mamma Mia lessons
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Here's the text of Roz's video:
Read any article about the musical Mamma Mia, and somebody will say: ‘Abba’s songs fit so well it’s as though they were written especially for the story’.
I’m preparing to plot a new book and I’m feeling a bit like the writers of Mamma Mia. Instead of the Abba back catalogue I’ve got showdowns, character bits, mood scenes, back story and twists - and I’ve got to make them into something coherent and thrilling.
But plotting is as much about discarding as including. There are hours of Abba songs that didn’t make the final libretto, and quite right too. Not just because it would have been Mamma Mia, the Marathon, but because they weren’t needed. They didn’t fit.
This is really important. I see a lot of novels that could do with a Mamma Mia strip-down.
Some of the Mamma Mia rejects seem such natural contenders. Why not include When I Kissed the Teacher? After all, there’s a daughter growing up and turning into a precocious little miss. The Day Before You Came is ideal for a life-changing love. Angeleyes must surely have been on the shortlist. What a way to introduce a character. None of them were needed, though.
So this is Mamma Mia lesson 1: Sometimes plot elements deviate from the mood you want, or bog down the pace – and they have to go.
Some of the rejects would have been fun to include but would have duplicated elements that were already there. No need for Summer Night City if you’ve got Voulez Vous - and Voulez Vous probably has the edge.
Mamma Mia lesson 2: Sometimes you have to lose something perfectly good because you’ve got something else that does the same job. Even if the words and tune are different – or the characters, dialogue and action – think about what their overall purpose is.
And then there must have been the favourites that people wanted to get in, by hook or by crook. Where was Fernando? A darling firelit ballad, but how would you make it fit? You couldn’t; the story didn’t need a couple of war veterans reminiscing over a battle. Or Eagle? Perhaps somebody could be yearning for freedom from their troubles, it’s all in the lyrics if you look…. No, more likely it would look false and contrived. What about Tiger, it’s so retro, and quite a good tune too. A tiger on a Greek island? It worked recently on a boat. Hmmm.
Mamma Mia lesson 3: In every plot there are certain scenes or characters that you love but just will not fit. No matter how hard you try. Please, no Fernandos, Eagles or Tigers if they don’t belong. Save them, if you adore them so much, for another book.
Mamma Mia lesson 4: It’s hard to believe it, but Knowing Me, Knowing You wasn’t in Mamma Mia. That’s ruthless story editing.
Here's the text of Roz's video:
Read any article about the musical Mamma Mia, and somebody will say: ‘Abba’s songs fit so well it’s as though they were written especially for the story’.
I’m preparing to plot a new book and I’m feeling a bit like the writers of Mamma Mia. Instead of the Abba back catalogue I’ve got showdowns, character bits, mood scenes, back story and twists - and I’ve got to make them into something coherent and thrilling.
But plotting is as much about discarding as including. There are hours of Abba songs that didn’t make the final libretto, and quite right too. Not just because it would have been Mamma Mia, the Marathon, but because they weren’t needed. They didn’t fit.
This is really important. I see a lot of novels that could do with a Mamma Mia strip-down.
Some of the Mamma Mia rejects seem such natural contenders. Why not include When I Kissed the Teacher? After all, there’s a daughter growing up and turning into a precocious little miss. The Day Before You Came is ideal for a life-changing love. Angeleyes must surely have been on the shortlist. What a way to introduce a character. None of them were needed, though.
So this is Mamma Mia lesson 1: Sometimes plot elements deviate from the mood you want, or bog down the pace – and they have to go.
Some of the rejects would have been fun to include but would have duplicated elements that were already there. No need for Summer Night City if you’ve got Voulez Vous - and Voulez Vous probably has the edge.
Mamma Mia lesson 2: Sometimes you have to lose something perfectly good because you’ve got something else that does the same job. Even if the words and tune are different – or the characters, dialogue and action – think about what their overall purpose is.
And then there must have been the favourites that people wanted to get in, by hook or by crook. Where was Fernando? A darling firelit ballad, but how would you make it fit? You couldn’t; the story didn’t need a couple of war veterans reminiscing over a battle. Or Eagle? Perhaps somebody could be yearning for freedom from their troubles, it’s all in the lyrics if you look…. No, more likely it would look false and contrived. What about Tiger, it’s so retro, and quite a good tune too. A tiger on a Greek island? It worked recently on a boat. Hmmm.
Mamma Mia lesson 3: In every plot there are certain scenes or characters that you love but just will not fit. No matter how hard you try. Please, no Fernandos, Eagles or Tigers if they don’t belong. Save them, if you adore them so much, for another book.
Mamma Mia lesson 4: It’s hard to believe it, but Knowing Me, Knowing You wasn’t in Mamma Mia. That’s ruthless story editing.
Roz Morris is a bestselling ghostwriter and book doctor. She blogs at Nail Your Novel and has a double life on Twitter; for writing advice follow her as@dirtywhitecandy, for more normal chit-chat try her on@ByRozMorris. Her books are Nail Your Novel: Why Writers Abandon Books And How You Can Draft, Fix and Finish With Confidence, available in print and on Kindle She also has a novel, My Memories of a Future Life available on Kindle (US and UK) and also in print. You can also listen to or download a free audio of the first 4 chapters right here.
The Long and the Short of Writing Novels
If you can't access the player above, please use this link. And turn up the volume; Roz is soft spoken.
Each novel takes many years. Of making notes, of leaving a hundred ideas to steep, of examining the sediment, of shutting it away until it’s a blur, of rediscovering it. Until quite surprisingly, it says ‘I’m ready’.
Each novel takes less time, because you understand your creative apparatus. It’s not like anyone else’s. You had to guess what limbers it up, how to keep it at the desk, how to make lightning.
Each novel takes longer because to keep your muse amused you need to be more ambitious. If you can’t keep yourself guessing, you’re in a rut.
Each novel takes less time because your craft becomes ingrained. You take the rules and make them fit you better. You enlarge your repertoire. (You learned it through pain the last time through.)
Each novel takes longer because it carries more ballast. All the other fiction you’ve read and need to live up to. The films you’ve been needled by and the extra episodes of life you’ve lead.
Each novel takes less time because you know what you don’t want, which is how you find your way to what you do.
When you’ve finished, the manuscript is short and you have reams of material you chopped out. At last you love your characters, but it’s time to leave. You long for a reprieve.
Each novel takes many years. Of making notes, of leaving a hundred ideas to steep, of examining the sediment, of shutting it away until it’s a blur, of rediscovering it. Until quite surprisingly, it says ‘I’m ready’.
Each novel takes less time, because you understand your creative apparatus. It’s not like anyone else’s. You had to guess what limbers it up, how to keep it at the desk, how to make lightning.
Each novel takes longer because to keep your muse amused you need to be more ambitious. If you can’t keep yourself guessing, you’re in a rut.
Each novel takes less time because your craft becomes ingrained. You take the rules and make them fit you better. You enlarge your repertoire. (You learned it through pain the last time through.)
Each novel takes longer because it carries more ballast. All the other fiction you’ve read and need to live up to. The films you’ve been needled by and the extra episodes of life you’ve lead.
Each novel takes less time because you know what you don’t want, which is how you find your way to what you do.
When you’ve finished, the manuscript is short and you have reams of material you chopped out. At last you love your characters, but it’s time to leave. You long for a reprieve.
