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I'd like to present the second installment in the "Capturing The Elusive Novel" series. Last week, Joshua Palmatier had a go with the first installment of this, telling us how he approached the writing of a long work of fiction. This week, it's David B. Coe.
For those of you who don't know David (and if you don't, why not?), he is a fantasy writer, author of the LonTobyn Chronicle, the Winds of the Forelands series, and most recently the first two books of the Blood of the Southlands series, The Sorcerer's Plague and The Horsemen's Gambit. I'm a fan of David's work, and of David, who I'm pleased to call a friend. I strongly suggest that if you haven't read his work, you ought to treat yourself and pick up one of his books...
I asked David the same basic question I asked of Joshua: "Do you have a consistent approach to writing your novels, and if so, what is it and why do you feel it works best for you?" Now now I'll get out of the way and let David take over... Oh, and if you want to ask questions of David after reading this, I'm sure he'll be happy to reply in the comments. Right, David?
****************
Hi. I’m David B. Coe. I want to thank Steve for inviting me to guest blog here today.
A bit about me first: I’m the author of ten published fantasy novels including the LonTobyn Chronicle, Winds of the Forelands, and Blood of the Southlands. My most recent novel, The Horsemen’s Gambit, the second book in my Southlands trilogy, came out in January. The final Southlands book, The Dark-Eyes’ War, will be out early next year. You can find sample chapters of all my books, as well as contests, world maps, and other information at my website, www.DavidBCoe.com.
Steve asked me to write about my creative process, which is always a dangerous thing to do. Ask a writer a process question, and you’re bound to get a complicated answer. I liken my creative process to parenting. When my wife and I had our second child, we had some idea of what to expect. We’d been parents for nearly four years already. We knew what babies were like in their various stages of development. We knew the mechanics -- how to change diapers, when to start the kid on solid foods, when to expect her to roll over and crawl and start breaking our most prized possessions.
But though we were prepared for A baby, we weren’t -- we couldn’t possibly be -- prepared for THIS baby. Because while she did some things that all kids do, she was also a unique individual, with her own quirks and charms.
Novels are much the same. As I begin each new book, I know that there are certain things I’m going to have to face at specific points along the way. But I also know that every novel is different; that each one presents unique challenges and opportunities. And so, if I try to be too consistent in my approach, if I try too hard to impose old lessons on my newest creative endeavor, I’m going to smother it, just as I would my younger child if I tried to raise her exactly the way I have my older one.
So what does this mean in practical terms? Well for one thing, I like to outline my books roughly before I begin. The level of detail in my outlines has evolved somewhat over time. When I began my career, I felt more comfortable knowing what would happen in every section of every chapter. My outlines consisted of maybe three or four sentences per chapter -- “Character X meets character Y at Bilbo’s Ice Cream Joint. They learn of the worldwide slushy conspiracy. A fight breaks out and Y is mortally wounded before he can tell X where the magical snowcone is located.”
On it would go through the entire book, providing me with a fairly clear roadmap to the end of my story. Once I began to write, I’d usually stray from the prescribed route a bit for subplots and unexpected narrative twists, but that’s the advantage of having a good map: it’s easier to take those scenic detours. As time passed and I grew more comfortable with my narrative voice and my ability to plot on the fly, my outlines became less detailed. Today, I write maybe a sentence per chapter -- just enough to tell me which main characters are driving the action, and which plot points they’ll be hitting: “Character X at Ice Cream Joint with Y, who is killed in fight.”
Now let me clarify: The chapter I would have written a dozen years ago based on the three sentence description is not the same chapter I’d write today based on that single sentence. I’m a better writer now for one thing. But more to the point, by outlining less, I think I actually give my characters more room to develop, my plot more opportunity to become something more than a sequence of scripted events. One might expect that with this evolution my books would tend to ramble more as I outline less. The opposite is true. Perhaps this is unrelated -- it might have more to do with the fact that I’ve matured as a storyteller. But I don’t think so. I think that by imposing less direction on my story from the beginning and allowing that character growth and plot definition to happen more organically, I actually get a better flow in my writing. The result is leaner and more muscular.
This is not to say that I’m ready to become a purely seat-of-the-pants writer. I like to have some direction as I begin. But I’ve found that outlining as little as possible actually helps me. Which is good, because the truth is I really hate writing outlines . . .
I should also give the usual caveats here: What works for me might not work for anyone else. There is no right way to do any of this. If you find that outlines don’t add anything to your writing, by all means don’t outline. If you find on the other hand that you need three paragraphs for each chapter before you can sit down and start a book, then by all means outline to your heart’s content. Whatever works for you.
Other ways in which my approach may or may not vary from book to book: Like Joshua Palmatier, who guest blogged here last week, I keep notes on paper when I write. I use a notebook for worldbuilding and index cards for character descriptions. That never varies. But with my earlier books I used multiple points of view to tell my story. I’d write one chapter from character A’s perspective, and then the next from character B’s, and still another from character C’s. I wound up with complex, multistrand plots which were great fun to write.
But after writing many books that way, I decided that I wanted to try something new. So I’ve just finished a book written entirely from a single character’s viewpoint. This created a whole new set of challenges for me, while at the same time allowing me to delve deep, deep, deep into that character’s psyche. It was different and difficult, but it also felt fresh and exciting. And maybe that’s the other reason why my approach to writing doesn’t remain completely consistent from novel to novel. Change is good; change keeps me interested. I’d hate to write the same book time after time. Yes, this is my profession, and I take it quite seriously. But I do it because I love it, and I want to keep on loving it for as long as I can sit at a desk and type. So I think it’s a good idea to step out of my comfort zone periodically and shake up my process a bit. It forces me to stretch as an artist and, more important, it’s a lot of fun.
For those of you who don't know David (and if you don't, why not?), he is a fantasy writer, author of the LonTobyn Chronicle, the Winds of the Forelands series, and most recently the first two books of the Blood of the Southlands series, The Sorcerer's Plague and The Horsemen's Gambit. I'm a fan of David's work, and of David, who I'm pleased to call a friend. I strongly suggest that if you haven't read his work, you ought to treat yourself and pick up one of his books...
I asked David the same basic question I asked of Joshua: "Do you have a consistent approach to writing your novels, and if so, what is it and why do you feel it works best for you?" Now now I'll get out of the way and let David take over... Oh, and if you want to ask questions of David after reading this, I'm sure he'll be happy to reply in the comments. Right, David?
****************
Hi. I’m David B. Coe. I want to thank Steve for inviting me to guest blog here today.
A bit about me first: I’m the author of ten published fantasy novels including the LonTobyn Chronicle, Winds of the Forelands, and Blood of the Southlands. My most recent novel, The Horsemen’s Gambit, the second book in my Southlands trilogy, came out in January. The final Southlands book, The Dark-Eyes’ War, will be out early next year. You can find sample chapters of all my books, as well as contests, world maps, and other information at my website, www.DavidBCoe.com.
Steve asked me to write about my creative process, which is always a dangerous thing to do. Ask a writer a process question, and you’re bound to get a complicated answer. I liken my creative process to parenting. When my wife and I had our second child, we had some idea of what to expect. We’d been parents for nearly four years already. We knew what babies were like in their various stages of development. We knew the mechanics -- how to change diapers, when to start the kid on solid foods, when to expect her to roll over and crawl and start breaking our most prized possessions.
But though we were prepared for A baby, we weren’t -- we couldn’t possibly be -- prepared for THIS baby. Because while she did some things that all kids do, she was also a unique individual, with her own quirks and charms.
Novels are much the same. As I begin each new book, I know that there are certain things I’m going to have to face at specific points along the way. But I also know that every novel is different; that each one presents unique challenges and opportunities. And so, if I try to be too consistent in my approach, if I try too hard to impose old lessons on my newest creative endeavor, I’m going to smother it, just as I would my younger child if I tried to raise her exactly the way I have my older one.
So what does this mean in practical terms? Well for one thing, I like to outline my books roughly before I begin. The level of detail in my outlines has evolved somewhat over time. When I began my career, I felt more comfortable knowing what would happen in every section of every chapter. My outlines consisted of maybe three or four sentences per chapter -- “Character X meets character Y at Bilbo’s Ice Cream Joint. They learn of the worldwide slushy conspiracy. A fight breaks out and Y is mortally wounded before he can tell X where the magical snowcone is located.”
On it would go through the entire book, providing me with a fairly clear roadmap to the end of my story. Once I began to write, I’d usually stray from the prescribed route a bit for subplots and unexpected narrative twists, but that’s the advantage of having a good map: it’s easier to take those scenic detours. As time passed and I grew more comfortable with my narrative voice and my ability to plot on the fly, my outlines became less detailed. Today, I write maybe a sentence per chapter -- just enough to tell me which main characters are driving the action, and which plot points they’ll be hitting: “Character X at Ice Cream Joint with Y, who is killed in fight.”
Now let me clarify: The chapter I would have written a dozen years ago based on the three sentence description is not the same chapter I’d write today based on that single sentence. I’m a better writer now for one thing. But more to the point, by outlining less, I think I actually give my characters more room to develop, my plot more opportunity to become something more than a sequence of scripted events. One might expect that with this evolution my books would tend to ramble more as I outline less. The opposite is true. Perhaps this is unrelated -- it might have more to do with the fact that I’ve matured as a storyteller. But I don’t think so. I think that by imposing less direction on my story from the beginning and allowing that character growth and plot definition to happen more organically, I actually get a better flow in my writing. The result is leaner and more muscular.
This is not to say that I’m ready to become a purely seat-of-the-pants writer. I like to have some direction as I begin. But I’ve found that outlining as little as possible actually helps me. Which is good, because the truth is I really hate writing outlines . . .
I should also give the usual caveats here: What works for me might not work for anyone else. There is no right way to do any of this. If you find that outlines don’t add anything to your writing, by all means don’t outline. If you find on the other hand that you need three paragraphs for each chapter before you can sit down and start a book, then by all means outline to your heart’s content. Whatever works for you.
Other ways in which my approach may or may not vary from book to book: Like Joshua Palmatier, who guest blogged here last week, I keep notes on paper when I write. I use a notebook for worldbuilding and index cards for character descriptions. That never varies. But with my earlier books I used multiple points of view to tell my story. I’d write one chapter from character A’s perspective, and then the next from character B’s, and still another from character C’s. I wound up with complex, multistrand plots which were great fun to write.
But after writing many books that way, I decided that I wanted to try something new. So I’ve just finished a book written entirely from a single character’s viewpoint. This created a whole new set of challenges for me, while at the same time allowing me to delve deep, deep, deep into that character’s psyche. It was different and difficult, but it also felt fresh and exciting. And maybe that’s the other reason why my approach to writing doesn’t remain completely consistent from novel to novel. Change is good; change keeps me interested. I’d hate to write the same book time after time. Yes, this is my profession, and I take it quite seriously. But I do it because I love it, and I want to keep on loving it for as long as I can sit at a desk and type. So I think it’s a good idea to step out of my comfort zone periodically and shake up my process a bit. It forces me to stretch as an artist and, more important, it’s a lot of fun.
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