If I had to do a self-critique of my writing, I’d say that plots are not my strong point. Anything I’ve written of any length tends to meander. It’s like I kind of know where I want to go, but I’m in no hurry and so I’ll take the scenic route. In my case the scenic route usually involves lots of conversations with lots of punchlines that don’t really do anything for the story, and long observations that are supposed to let the readers get to know the characters but are mostly there to show off the shit that I’ve noticed in my lifetime. This can be a problem with my shorter works too, but usually I don’t have enough space in those to show off my lack of plotting skills.

The thing about writing a 50,000-word novel in a month is that you’re not supposed to have too much time to devote to these kinds of diversions. Somehow I found a way, though, the last two times I won this NaNoWriMo thing. The first time, I offered so many small, pointless diversions that I had to leave out huge swaths of what the story was supposed to be about in the first place. And I still needed 84,000 words to do it! The second time, I wrote way more than 50,000 words that month but was unable to actually get to the end of the story. Still haven’t.

And so, plot. What you’re supposed to be doing when writing a novel in a month is, I think, do everything you can to move the plot forward. You’ll push and shove and poke that plot forward if it kills you. Even if moving the plot forward is a lot like trying to help a fat man climb a fence, you’ll prop yourself at the bottom and shove that fat ass up and up and up every day. Plot is king when you’re in a hurry. You forget that at your peril.

This year’s novel is different from my last two in that the basic plot presented itself to me by the time I’d finished my first 2,000 words. And every night as I’ve sat down to type, I’ve kept that plot focused and I’ve shoved that fat ass for all it’s worth. Snappy dialogue? Only if the snappiness contributes in some way to the plot. Observation on the lonely life in this world? Maybe only a little, again only if the character needs that lonely observation to push that plot over the fence today. I have no illusions that I’ve turned myself into a lean, mean plotting machine, but I’m trying.

Which brings me to tonight’s batch of words. A few days ago I realized that the nature of my story, a light science fiction tale that really only asks you, dear reader, to accept one out-of-the ordinary situation while everything else remains grounded in reality, allowed for the possibility of a major mind-fuck somewhere near the midway point. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to execute the mind-fuck, or if I’d be able to pull it off, but it was in the back of my head as a possibility. And as I continued to write and continued to shove that fat ass over the fence, I realized that whether I should have or not, whether I could keep the mind-fuck from totally derailing the book, I wanted to try it. Hell, I needed to try it. The only problem was, I didn’t know how.

You see, my main character refused to accept the mind-fuck gracefully. He was all for it if I could make it happen organically in the plot, but I couldn’t. For the last 2 days my writing slowed to a crawl while I danced around the scene that would lead to the mind-fuck. There was no way I could think of to get my character to do the one thing he needed to do to get me there. This was dragging me down and making it harder to write. My mood wasn’t helped by some of the antics at work, where everyone I work with seems determined to make me hate them all by Friday. Things got so bad that by about 5PM today I figured I’d get home so pissed off and burned out and exhausted that I’d get no writing done, and maybe it would make more sense to just give up on this 50,000 word plan.

And before I could even complete the thought, I figured out the one way to get my character to do what I needed him to do. The plot and its fat ass was shoved over the fence for another day. And tonight, I got home pissed off and burned out and exhausted, but eventually I put my ass in the seat and executed the hell out of that mind-fuck. I’ve got no idea where to go next, but I like my chances of figuring something out tomorrow.

So, remember, plot good. Mopey emo observations about the world, bad. And, if I learned any lesson today, it’s that one should never underestimate the things a redheaded woman, even a fictional one, can get a man to do when she sets her mind to it.

Today’s musical inspiration (while working, not writing since I’m still going music-free once I sit down at the keayboard) comes from Nick Lowe’s All Men Are Liars: