My Writing Process: Reaching Critical Mass

It's happened with every book I've written, and now that I'm working on number four, I feel like I can say every book. I'm beyond a trilogy into a series. But what am I talking about? Reaching critical mass.

What is critical mass? According to dictionary.com, the term has its origins in physics: the amount of a given fissionable material necessary to sustain a chain reaction at a constant rate. In other words, once you reach critical mass, the reaction is self-sustaining. It doesn't need any more fuel. It basically runs on its own without any outside interference.

Books reach critical mass. Books I'm reading and books I'm writing. Or at least I hope a book I'm reading does. I've read stories that ran out of gas partway there. I usually finished them anyway because, well, that's what I do. But a great book has a point at which something happens. An event, a change, a major revelation--something. At that point, the reaction between reader and book is self-sustaining and I better hope I don't have any pressing engagements because I'm going to jettison everything I can in order to keep reading until the end.

I've found that the same thing happens as a writer. It's not always at the same point in the story, but somewhere along the lines, I get captured in the interplay of the characters and the ball starts rolling toward the conclusion and I neither can nor want to stop it. I'm at that point in my new Shalan adventure. I'd been tinkering with it and making some small progress in figuring out the arc to the finish. But something just seemed to be missing.

Then a couple days ago, I went back and looked for what it was that was off. I realized there was a gaping hole in the plot that made Harry's journey back to wholeness ring false. It was too easy. He was broken and then, almost overnight, he was better. It just didn't feel right. So I set about filling the hole. In the process I created a new character who will help lead him out of his personal abyss. This new relationship will add a depth of resonance to the story that just wasn't there. It makes all the difference.  

Now that this plot element is clearing up, I'm ready to finish the book. I now have all the players in place. As a result, as opposed to how it is before I reach this point in the writing and sometimes have to talk myself into sitting down to write, now I look at my daily schedule as things I have to get out of the way (kind of like this blog post) in order to have time to write. And that's how I'll be until I get the rough draft finished, at which point I'll be able to take a few days to step away before going back to work on draft #2.

But until then, if you're my friend in real life, just be prepared for me to be making excuses when you invite me to do something. I'm sorry, but I can't--I'm busy writing.

The Power of Storytelling

During the Anglo-Saxon Period, before England was even Angleland yet or even one unified country--that wouldn't happen until 1066 when the Normans invaded (sorry--English teacher coming out), there were, at least according to tradition, storytellers called scops. They were wandering oral poets, but they didn't come into town to recite some sonnets (those hadn't been invented yet either). No, they were there to trade a place in the mead hall or around the fire and temporary room and board for a ripping yarn of monsters and heroes and the ordinary people who were caught up in the struggle between them. They told, in rhymed, rhythmic form, stories like the battle between Beowulf and Grendel and Beowulf and Grendel's mom (Sadly, even then, women were seen as second-class citizens--she was never given a name, simply being defined by her role in life. But that's another entry) and finally between Beowulf and the dragon.

Times change and technology moves on, so how the stories get told varies, but the storyteller is still central to our existence. Instead of the fire in the mead hall, we gather around the TV or movie screen. Sitting in the dark, mesmerized by the flickering light and the edge-of-your-seat-scared-for-the-hero-even-though-we-know-he'll-win story isn't a whole lot different from the days of the wandering storyeller. Stories of those fictional monsters seem to help us forget the real monsters out there. It's hard-wired in us by our maker to need to tell and listen to stories. It's not a matter of choice or even of taste. It's part of us. We, as a race, could no more stop telling stories than we could sprout wings and fly or learn to breathe through our navels. It's central to our being.

I would argue that one of the greatest things that ever happened to the art of storytelling was the invention of written language and, eventually, the onset of movable type. When that happened, stories weren't limited to the campfire. They could travel vast miles over land and sea to audiences even on different continents.

Or even into space. I recently read The Martian by Andy Weir (you can read my review of that book on ClutchMOV sometime in the next month). It's set in a future time when the United States is regularly sending human expeditions to Mars. In one particular mission, a storm so huge that it threatens to topple the escape rocket hits. Long story short, one guy doesn't make it to the rocket. And he's trapped on Mars, maybe forever. How does he stay sane? By doing four things, three of which involve the power of story. First, he keeps a running narrative of his time trapped far from other humans. He says he's doing it for posterity, but we all know it's because he's human and he has to tell his story. And what a story it is. He also watches all the movies and TV shows that he and his fellow crew members had taken with them to pass the time. Finally, he reads all the books that had been brought on the trip. Though he doesn't think of it in those terms specifically, he's escaping from his predicament for a short while every time he watches or reads a story. Yes, the indomitable human spirit, the yearning to live, to survive, is a large part of it, but that's just one more element in the story, isn't it?

I'm proud to be a part of that tradition. In a sense, I'm a modern-day scop, coming into your home and asking to be a member of your household, at least for a short while. In a way you even provide me room and board when you pay me for my stories. And have you ever thought about the fact that the universal image of the perfect place to read a book is curled up beside a fireplace? Pretty sure that's not coincidence.


So I hope you have a chance to curl up in a warm chair beside a blazing fire this weekend and help to continue that thousands-of-years-long tradition of storytelling. I'd love it if the story is mine, but even if it's not, I'm glad you're inviting some nomadic bard to take a seat by the fire with you. Offer him a cup of coffee for me.