The Gift of Deadlines
I’ve been feverishly working on the novel, and while that’s my inclination anyway, there’s a certain heightened state of energy and attention I only get when I’m under a deadline. I’m enjoying such a heightened state right now: the first section of this new book is due to my critique group on Monday.
Part of using deadlines to best effect is to have your prep work done. My prep has been doing something Robert McKee recommends in Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. Since I’m eager to get back to the novel, I’m not going to spend the next half hour digging for the quote (though I’ll share it sometime after Monday…). Here’s the essence:
McKee suggests writing down questions about your characters, then writing down answers. But the key part of his strategy is not settling for the first answer you come up with. Write down at least 20, he says, and you’ll finally be getting somewhere interesting. Sometimes, he admits, you’ll come back to one of the earlier ones, but it won’t be as often as you think, and if you do, you’ll have a good reason to.
I’ve hit pay dirt with this strategy. Things I didn’t initially expect, but which make perfect sense for both plot and theme, emerge in this process. And elements I’ve wanted to include but couldn’t justify have, during this exercise, metamorphosed into integrated elements of the novel.
The process is almost catechetical: Why does X want Y? In my experience, the most obvious/banal answers come forward immediately: Because X is neurotic. Because X is an orphan. Because X was abused as a child. These are followed by the most absurd: Because there’s a hidden treasure. Because X has amnesia. And then, interesting, viable ideas begin to emerge: Because X is an art collector. Because X preserves the only orchard of Swan apple trees in existence, hybridized by his great-grandfather on the farm that’s now hers.
The last, best ones always come with remarkable detail, and have a metaphorical layer that is integral to the plot. And you realize you’ve struck on something good because the last one, the one with the alchemy that melds plot and theme into something greater than the sum of its parts, leads to the next questions.
If you’re stuck in a novel already underway, or beginning a new one, I highly recommend looking at McKee’s book and trying his strategies.
But back to deadlines: The work I just described has been going on all summer, interspersed with attempts at scene treatments and scenes. The preparation has set me up to successfully meet the deadline I face on Monday. In fact, I’ve got extra pages to send. And it’s only Friday.
I doubt I’d realize how much the prep described above has helped me if it weren’t for the deadline. Deadlines are clarifying. They require a focused effort in a restricted amount of time. And they tend to bring work in progress to a kind of fruition that could be postponed, accidentally or via procrastination, if not for a date certain.
Deadlines are a gift.