Stories in progress and Legos
There is a connection here, and it's not entirely of plastic
For at least the last month, I’ve been sorting the household Legos. I say “household” because many are from my childhood, probably an equal amount belong to my kids, and yes, some of them are mine from recent years—only the extra pieces, though; anything I’ve built has stayed that way. The kids’ stuff? Not so much.
Other than one to-be-sorted bin, this is most of the loose stuff:
It’s been a slog, but the unexpected revelation from this task is that it’s so mindless that it actually makes it easier for me to focus during well-attended Zoom meetings—you know, the kind where there are anywhere from ten to seventy other leaders in them, and it’s ok to turn your camera off and sort. I’m not ashamed to admit this; I even told my boss as much. She’s cooler than your boss, so I didn’t even hesitate to do so. After all, the point is I can pay attention better when I’m sorting Legos. It’s true, I swear.
These Legos might not look sorted, but they are. I’ve gone mostly by size and shape, but some bins contain things like any piece with hinges/moving parts or anything that is structural in nature, regardless of shape. I’ve learned a few things along the way, too:
Always trust Clyde. The kid never lies and rarely misreads a situation. I’ve learned this lesson so many times, and still, I forget it. This time, he told me it was a bad idea to combine minifigs with their accessories. I did it anyway, and now, one heaping bin later, I realize Clyde was right again. Somehow, I convinced him to re-sort this amalgamous bin for me anyway.
Some things seem to make sense in one bin but later end up making more sense elsewhere. Unlike Hogwarts, there will be a sorting round two.
Brown Legos suck. They are brittle and frequently break when you try to separate them. Clyde told me this, too, and I said it was confirmation bias. There was simply no way, I said, that brown Legos break more than others. He told me I was wrong. I said that the ones that broke were probably from the same faulty set. Again, I was the wrong one. I really need to cut this shit out.
We have a lot of fucking Legos.
So, what is the point of sorting Legos? Well, we have a massive drawer full of instruction booklets, some delightfully retro (like me?), that would love to lend their creations to the physical world again. Up until now, that would have been such a pain that it wasn’t worth it. Now, it will be significantly easier. All three of us Thomas boys are excited about that.
Do I really think these Legos will stay sorted? Clyde says yes, and…I reluctantly believe him. Archie will be another story, but we’ve got a plan. The drawers of the Lego table that once sagged with pieces are now empty. Do your building on the table, boys, and any discarded pieces go into those drawers and nowhere else. Then, once every few weeks or so, we can simply sort the drawers out into their respective bins. Honestly, it’s sheer Lego genius.
Enough about Legos, let’s talk about writing. Last week, I posted a poll to see what you all wanted to hear about. I didn’t realize it was a single-option poll until afterward, and I had no ability to change it. As such, I know it’s not entirely accurate, but out of the whopping five votes I received, 60% (a.k.a three) said they wanted to hear about “Honest life/writing stuff.” Ok, that’s probably where I feel most comfortable anyway, so thanks for the minuscule validation. Before I continue, here is where things are at in the writing world:
The Wheel - This novella is done, as far as I’m concerned. An editor might say otherwise, but that is what they are for. Stephen King (again) says that every writer or maybe every story has an “Ideal Reader.” His “IR” is his wife Tabby, and it’s the cutest damned thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t know who mine is exactly, but I know The Wheel’s is Aaron Howard. He finally read it, cried at the end, and if nobody ever reads this story again, I’ll be happy.
Eulogy - This short story is signed, sealed, delivered. The Atlantic didn’t bite (yet…play big or go home, Uncle Tim), but I’ve got it out to another website now. I probably should submit to more places, but I’m horribly linear and still trying to get over that.
The Water Tower - I’m looking at the dang thing right now, but the short story itself is aging in the digital iCloud barrel. I’m dying to get it out for revisions so I can start submitting it, but something tells me to keep going on my current project.
Gull Island - This one is also aging in ye ole virtual desk drawer, and for once, I find myself hesitant to pull a story out for closer inspection. This one is comprised of horribly disparate ideas, and I’m not sure what the end product is going to feel like. I think there are some moments of beauty in there, but it’s also an absolute mess because I had no idea where I was going with it at first. I’m convinced it will be fun when I get to it, but at this point, I have no interest in that sort of “fun.” Oh, and I don’t know what it is: novel, novella, novelette? It’s 60,000 words right now, so I guess we will know the answer to that question after Draft 1.5.1
Rue - This is the big one. It was about 96,000 words when I started work on the second draft, but it is now over 104,000. Stephen King (AGAIN) says to cut 10% in your second draft, but golly, Sai King, I’m just not as long-winded as you are, ok? I also don’t really know what I’m doing yet, so adding seems to make a lot more sense than deleting at this point (not that both aren’t happening).
Grammar - If you know your stuff, you might be finding major issues with my posts. I’m using Grammarly, but I’m convinced that some serious technical schmutz is still sneaking by it anyway. I’m taking grammar courses on LinkedIn Learning, reading a book on copyediting, and even bought a grammar workbook. My teenage self would never have believed I would one day say this, but it’s actually fun.
Like I said, Rue is the big one. I’m currently 58.82% through the second draft revision (yes, I just did the math), and I can’t believe I still have 41.18% of the book left to get through. This is coming from the guy who both wrote and read this thing once each. The thing is, stories really get out beyond you and exist on their own, even if you are their originator. At some point, the characters begin to exist for you, and if they exist for you, why not for everyone else? Sometimes I wonder what Jack Colby and his son, Justin, are up to. Is Patrick Doyle still teaching college classes? Did Dave Bolton and redacted ever redacted? Does June (last name TBD) feel good about what she did? Is she sufficiently “unpredictable” now? Gosh, I wish you could have all of them right now. I know these people, and I like them a lot. I think you would too.
As such, the revision process can get a little weird. For instance, David Bolton was once the Chief of Police of “whatever town” but is now a simple Detective of Bellhaven, Missouri. (Don’t google it; it doesn’t exist for anyone by me.) He’s not having a hard time with this change in title—he’s perfectly comfortable with it, in fact—but I am. I liked him as the big man in charge, but it just didn’t work, and my buddy, who has his own share of law enforcement experience, told me so. I appreciate that feedback so much but still struggle with it, even if Bolton himself doesn’t care so much. These days, he doesn’t want that much responsibility; doesn’t think he can handle it, actually, but I think he can. Maybe in another universe where a girl named Rue and a guy named Patrick Doyle don’t exist, the Chief of Police he will be.
That’s where I’m at with the story right now. I’ve been revising nearly every morning before work and most nights after Better Call Saul and Ted Lasso. I’ve almost sorted out Dave Bolton’s shift from Chief to Detective, but that reminds me that I’ve got some serious medical stuff coming up (in the story…I’m fine), and I need to figure out how to get some informed opinions on that STAT because I know nearly nothing about it.
Research continues to be frustrating and entertaining in how varied it is, but I’ve got my characters, and they are bringing me along for the ride: Rue, Scott Dean, Pat and Sandra Doyle, Dave and Lucy Bolton, their son Marty, John and Melinda Poole, and, most recently, Jeff “Big Mac” McDonald. Some of you have met these people already, but I hope even more of you can soon.
The thing about David Bolton, though, is that he found himself in the “Chief” bin not that long ago but has since been tossed in the “Detective” bin. Sometimes, I still glance back at him and think: “Does he belong there?” He does—I’m convinced now—but he was in the Chief bin for a good long while, and that will always make it weird for me.
What’s not weird are the words. They can move from one bin to the next easily, and no one will know the difference. I struggle with decisions, I struggle with setting things in stone, but with words, I feel like there are endless possibilities. Music is a different story. Once I play a guitar solo, it’s out there whether it sucks or not. It will go in one ear, be thoroughly analyzed by a brain (or, more than likely, not), and then shot out the other. Recorded music falls into the earlier, more agonizing category. Words on the page, though, are always ready to be improved. Move them around, “Write a line, erase a line,” as Colin Meloy sings, there is always something that can be done in the name of improvement. I’ve found that I love nearly every aspect of writing the first draft, 1.5, 2nd, 3rd, however many. When writing a story, I have control over each and every word in a way that is uniquely comfortable for me.
I wouldn’t say it’s mindless, but it’s almost like sorting Legos.
Like what you’ve read so far? Leave a comment or donation below. Thank you!
No, not Draft 2. Draft 1.5 is what I call it when I fix the glaring crap—and only that—before sending a story off to my trusted beta readers.