It’s going to be one of those Sundays where I have to remind myself that finding solutions to old problems does not mean that I have to scrap an entire project. But it may involve a moment or two of consternation and the flipping of tables.
Metaphorical tables, I should clarify. I have several physical ones at hand, but I’d get scolded by my family.
I was looking over my story notes for Peregrine and readying the next chapter when I couldn’t help but notice: I was missing a connection in the plot. This is my attempt at writing one of the old-school, large-setting, multi-person point of view stories; I needed to make sure that each disparate element tied into the overall story arc. For the most part, I’ve done so and enjoyed crafting all of the necessary parts to make the story whole, up until I noticed two holes in the outline.
I knew Points A to Z, except for C and G.
I mulled it over and over, considering each option and character and discarding them as they came. I already had so many people in the story, but they each had a job to do already. I decided to take on a light physical chore (my doctor would kill me if I did anything over-the-top while letting pulled muscles recover) and let my mind wander.
That, of course, did the trick: the connections didn’t exist yet. Those plot points relied on levers that didn’t have their fulcrums in place. The thing that would move the story forward and make people make their tough decisions needed to make the difficult choice itself to inform those whose personal power could make even greater decisions.
I needed another protagonist: a Nobody.
From my limited education in creative writing, a Nobody Protagonist is a character you use when you want an ‘everyman’ to have an effect on the story. They’re nothing special, but their decisions and actions can alter the course of histories. They’re my favorite kind of protagonist, in fact. They’re an element that all of you and I can relate to, can understand, and even root for, while the Big Damn Heroes are showing up and kicking down the door.
And I never thought to include one in this story.
Flipping metaphorical tables ensues.
So, I need to go through the outline and see where and how to shoehorn this (placecard) person will fit. I also have to create this individual and give them the bits of information they need in their background. Who are they? Where will they be that makes them make their decisions? When will they be put in the inevitable position of making history? Why are they where they will be? What is going to drive them to step away from their ‘nothing’ existence? How are they going to be one of the fulcrums in this story?
That’s my job to figure out and though it reads like I’m complaining, I know I’m going to love every second of the process. It’ll be like meeting an old friend for the first time. Just roll with it, you’ll understand what I mean eventually.
Since I’m going to have to take a step back and craft a whole person into mental existence, I think I’ll keep whittling away at the short story rewrite. There’s a concern that it still wouldn’t be accepted as its own premise would call for additional stories (you don’t write about just one Tall Tale even if it’s a retelling), but there’s always a chance of publishing it through a company as a standalone story within a series. What I’d love to do is to write individual short stories for each and then write a whole novel with all of them involved.
Yes, I have ideas for several Tall Tales in that sci-fi setting. Johhny Appleseed is probably one of my favorites, though it has a bittersweet ending.
But before that, I have to get this story accepted. By thunder, William the Pecostian will lasso a black hole.
If you want to know how, either hope it gets published or buy it when I break down and go to some place like Amazon.
I have some 2,000 words to get through today, so it’s off to the same keyboard I’m in front of, right now!
Stay safe out there, folks.
-JB Swift
Swift's Corner 