Plotting AND Pantsing my way to a Novel (or Two)

 

Plotter and Pantser are just labels, and I don’t fall wholly into either category. I am currently writing two different novels (crazy, right?), each using a completely different approach. Actually, both of these novels have been on the back burner for some time, but I am looking to begin working on them again.


The historical fiction novel I am working on has been a little more to the plotting side of things. I determined a basic course of action for my character before I ever sat down to write, and I have jumped around very little, writing mostly from the beginning through to the end. With the exception being, I do have a rough sketch of the middle finished after reading “Write Your Novel from the Middle” by James Scott Bell.

I have my plot points outlined in my head (probably on paper too if I could find the right notebook). I have differed very little from my original outline, other than to add something I originally considered backstory. I decided to make it the event that gets my characters “up a tree.” I love the direction this book is headed, and I enjoy the way that I am writing it.

　

On the pantsing side of things, is my speculative fiction novel. First of all, I never planned to write speculative fiction—ever. I still don’t see myself as a spec-fiction writer. I began this book with a bit of flash fiction in response to a photo prompt on Flash Friday.

I wrote the one little scene and then put it down, but I couldn’t get the characters out of my head. They wouldn’t let me be, but when I sat down to try to outline, I got nothing. The characters wouldn’t speak to me. So, I decided to try a different approach.

The next time Flash Friday rolled around, I took my characters and placed them in the picture prompt. Suddenly, my characters were speaking to me again, and I was able to get another scene down on paper.

Most Fridays, I could add to my growing stack of scenes. Though they are just little tidbits, when I flesh them out, I think I will have a pretty decent start on a novel.

Unfortunately, Flash Friday has since ceased to provide picture prompts, so I will need to prompt myself to finish this one.

　

Speaking of prompts, I plan to post a prompt to this blog, (in the form of a picture, bit of dialogue, word, or phrase) each Wednesday throughout the summer. (This was originally requested by a student in the Creative Writing class I teach for my local homeschool co-op, but everyone is welcome to play along.)

Are you a plotter, pantser, or somewhere in between? I’d love to hear more about your writing process. Leave me a comment!

Just for Fun (Song title/lyric mash-up)

Where you from?

Well, Sister Christian, it’s a long story. I was born a Coal Miner’s Daughter. Daddy left home when I was three, but he told me All You Need is Love, Eight Days a Week. He and Mama got a D-I-V-O-R-C-E and he and His Cheatin’ Heart left in his Little Red Rodeo with Bobbie McGee. Mama said “You Can’t Hurry Love girl.”

I met a man, Bojangles, while Walking after Midnight. He told me I was “Hotter than a $2 pistol” and he’d make me the Queen of his Double Wide trailer. We got married in a fever, and I was the Happiest Girl in the Whole USA.

He went to visit Auntie Grizelda, but I caught him at Hotel California drinking Strawberry Wine with Eleanor Rigby. I talked to Big Bad John about some Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap—Next thing I know, my husband was Shot Through the Heart.

That Night the Lights went out in Georgia, and the next day I left Tulsa in a Chevy in a Hurry in the Pouring Down Rain. I was in Amarillo by Morning, and paid the Witchita Lineman for a Ride on the Jamestown Ferry….and I got off on the Dark Side of the Moon.

 

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The story above was shared at Flash! Friday . Below, I have added some that did not make the cut, but certainly would have been worked into my story had I been allowed more words. :)

 

That man wasn’t Nothing but a Hound Dog, but he told me his Love was Deeper than the Holler and we’d be together Forever and Ever Amen. He couldn’t hide his Lyin’ Eyes though, and he got on the Fightin’ Side of Me more than once.

When I booked my flight they asked me “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” I told them how much “I Love a Rainy Night,” but they said I’d be wondering “Who’ll Stop the Rain,” before too long. Well, atleast I won’t be “Driving My Life Away” “Working Nine to Five.”

(I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.)

Let me know what you think in the comments. Do you have a favorite song/artist represented here?

The Harplyrist -Flash Fiction

I wrote this piece for Warm-Up Wednesday over on Flash! Friday. Come check out what we are writing, and add your own story on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Harp. PD photo by Skitterphoto.

The Harplyrist
By Charity Paschall

You walk by without seeing me. Just a harplyrist. I’m here every day—nothing unusual. Unless you stayed to watch me, you would never know. I don’t sleep, though I am tired. I don’t eat, though I hunger. I am here; alive yet not; I hunger for life before. Before the deal. I was naïve; and all too vain. I needed to be the best, so I asked. He kept his bargain, but in exchange, I must play for him always–until death; so I wait—for a death that will never come. Because I made a deal with the devil.

Flash Friday Entry "Gampa" 2-6-15

I wrote this piece for Flash Friday. Head over to Flash Friday to read the other entries or enter your own. The prompts this week include the picture below and a fleeting moment.

Rain (Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica). CC2.0 photo by NannyDaddy.

Gampa
By Charity Paschall

I come here often. Every time it rains, in fact, you may find me here. I walk the paths we walked, still holding the umbrella slightly to one side—more to her side than mine—protecting her as I did once, from the raindrops.

I can still feel her tiny hand in mine—still see her smiling up at me—so beautiful, so perfect.

I see her tiny yellow raincoat and cap, tiny black galoshes as she splashes through the puddles. “Hurry up, Gampa,” she says. My beautiful granddaughter, bald beneath her raincap—she enjoys these walks to the bakery for our special treat—rainy day cupcakes.

Now her joy has been stolen—replaced by pain. Her cancer came back, throwing her out of remission and into the hospital. Three months now, she has been there, her body in the grip of the cancer; doctor’s and drugs doing all they can to save my special girl.

I leave her side only when it rains. I’ll bring her back a rainy day cupcake. I know she can’t eat it, but sometimes her eyes flutter open and she smiles a sad smile for me. I smile back at her as my tears echo her pain.

I hope you enjoyed this story. I would love to hear from you in the comment section!

Flash Friday - Willow's Wrath

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

 

Bell Tower of Guadalest, Costa Blanca, Spain. CC photo by Anguskirk.

 

 

 

Willow's Wrath

 



 

Willow sprinted through the old forest, flames licking her heels. This was her final race--the bell tower, her goal.

Tears streamed down her face--she cried for the trees, for the animals, and for the spirits.

She stumbled up the stone steps towards the tower. At their summit, she summoned the last of her strength to ring the bell. Its peals echoed through the hills--a warning of approaching danger.

Willow murmured a final prayer for her people and flung herself from the tower. Eyes closed, she welcomed death.

Her eyes opened in the spirit world--but nothing had changed. She rode the wind, untouched by the fire as it consumed the forest.

As her village came into view, she willed the wind to turn south--it hesitated, unaccustomed to following orders. She strengthened her resolve and commanded the wind to change direction.

Seeing her village was unharmed, she searched for the pale faces--they would not escape their carelessness, nor her wrath.

 

 

As a bonus, here are two more bits of flash I wrote recently which I didn't blog.

 

 

Earth goddess. Imaginary Worlds exhibit, Atlanta Botanical Garden. Photo by C. Joey Ivansco.

 

 

 



Fountain of Beauty

In a fit of jealous rage, she trapped me here--turned me into an earthen statue, living but dead. It was not my fault Zeus loved me, I did nothing to entice him--but Hera is a jealous woman.

I do not create the water, but it flows from my hand. I can influence it, poison it, imbue the drinker with special qualities. Now...what would infuriate Hera?

Each maiden who drinks from my pool will be given a double portion of my beauty. The nymphs who make their home in my waters will be second in beauty only to Aphrodite herself.

Zeus will be filled with all-consuming lust for these, my daughters. Hera will have no choice but to release me from my prison. But in case she gets any ideas to partake of my nectar herself, my spell will work in reverse on any immortal who drinks.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.



Chia Goddess

“Earth Goddess” my sign reads but the flowers here have given me another name.

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-chia!” they call.

“In a few days you will be nothing but a grass-covered hill,” laughs the Peony.

“You look like an overgrown Chia pet,” chortles the Dahlia.

As the seeds begin to grow, I fear they are right—their taunts weaken me, and even my Chia grass withers. I will be but a barren hilltop—not even fit to grow grass.

Deep inside, something stirs. Their barbed words no longer bind.

I set my mind to my task. I enrich my soil daily. I drink in the water, the sun, and the nutrients available. More plants inhabit my soil—only a little Chia grass remains.

When the botanical garden opens, people hurry past the Roses, Irises and Dahlias. The Lilies are admired but a moment.

At my exhibit, people linger; they gaze on me with wonderment. I am now worthy of the name Earth Goddess.

 

 

 

I welcome your comments. Which story is your favorite? Why?

Flash Friday 5-16-2014 -- Independence Day

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Emil Jannings in Berlin. Creative Commons photo Bundesarchiv, Bild 102-07770.

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Independence Day 

(140 Words)

 

Oh, the celebration!

America’s most recent purchase from France has arrived and all the world has turned out to see. Dignitaries from across the globe have front-row seats for this momentous occasion. The Queen of England with her entourage sits next to the Prime Minister of India with his.

 

The crowd cheers as the president is led to the platform. For all he has done for America, our esteemed president will be the first.

 

Everything is in place, the tracks are greased, blade sharpened, equipment tested, only the basket is missing.

The crowd grows silent in anticipation of the release.

 

Whoosh…Thud!

The president’s head rolls at my blood-spattered feet as the crowd thunders.

 

“Best seats in the house.” I wink at my husband as more politicians are brought to join the growing line.

America has declared her independence once again.

Your comments are welcome, but please be nice. This is a work of fiction and is not meant to be representative of any specific person. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.

Flash Friday 5-9-14

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Past and Present No 2, by Augustust Leopold Egg, 1858. Public domain photo.

The Strong One

I heard Mama scream and ran into the bedroom. I watched her lift his lifeless body. She held him for several long minutes. I broke the silence. “Mama…” She looked toward me and then blankly past me. Absently, she passed baby Jonah to me and stumbled across the floor to her rocker.

Mama was still rocking when I saw Lizzy coming up the lane from school. I wanted to keep from upsetting Mama more, so I stepped out to meet Lizzy. I explained what had happened in the best way I knew how, but I mustn’t have done a very good job, because she ran inside and buried her face in Mama’s lap.

I re-entered the house to find Mama absently smoothing Lizzy’s blond curls and felt a pang of jealousy. I wished momentarily that I was small enough to crawl into Mama’s lap and let her take away my troubles.

Now it’s my turn to be the strong one...

(The above is a (condensed) excerpt from the historical fiction novel I am writing.) 

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 Here is my second entry.

No More Secrets

Loraine’s sentient hair curled around her mother’s fingers, drawing her closer. Warmth spread through her body under Leda’s touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ve kept this secret for sixteen years. Your father doesn’t know we lived and I didn’t think you would understand.”

Loraine pulled back from the embrace. “Understand what? That my father tried to kill both of us—simply because I was going to be different than other kids?”

“He was trying to protect us both—or so I am told.”

“From what? And you don’t protect people by killing them!”

“Your father was confused and scared—he didn’t know any better way.”  

“Loraine, I want you to know; you saved both of our lives.”

“Me? How? I wasn’t even born yet.”

“I didn’t understand until later, but somehow a tendril of your hair coiled around my heart—and started it beating again. I thought I had dreamed it until you were born with these abilities.” 

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Edited to add: I won honorable mention for this second piece at #FlashFridayFic. I am truly grateful.

I'd love to know what you think--leave me a comment!

You can also follow me on social media.

Twitter: @CharityPaschal2 https://twitter.com/CharityPaschal2 

Google+: https://plus.google.com/111131437103050318091/posts/p/pub 

Flash Friday 5-2-14

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

The Sea Horse. Photo and sculpture by Jeffro Uitto

No Escape (158 words)

Loraine always enjoyed her early-morning run along the beach. She ran as her true self. Her hood fell back, allowing her black tresses to tangle in the wind. With fog thick around her, she felt safely anonymous on the deserted beach. As she ran, water droplets clung to her skin, creating iridescent arcs against silvery scales—her webbed feet left extraordinary marks in the wet sand until the tide swept them away.

Loraine’s thoughts were on her promotion. At only thirteen, she had been chosen to join the most noble of factions—during tonight’s ceremony she would become a member of the Royal Order of Protectors.

“Crack!” The sound echoed against the bluffs. Loraine whirled--every muscle tensed. Twenty yards away stood a driftwood sculpture of a wild mustang. It beckoned. She stepped closer. Her hair whipped about her shoulders—a warning!

As she dove under the waves, Loraine realized there would be no escape—she was targeted.

Thank you for reading! Let me know you enjoyed it! Leave a comment or connect with me on Twitter @CharityPaschal2.

Flash Friday 4-25-14

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Canal Workers (Suez Canal). CC Photo by Hossam el-Hamalawy.

A Daughter in Peril (158 words)

Leda donned the black hood nervously. "What if he refused to help?" She rapped on the door of the dilapidated apartment building.

“May I help you?”

Leda took a deep breath. It had been years since she had seen him.

“I need your help Beck. Your daughter is in trouble.”

“I have no daughter,” he replied wistfully. “I almost did, once.”

“Remember this picture?” She handed him the device. “Leda had just told you she was pregnant—scroll through—that’s your daughter.”

“Impossible,” Beck muttered, returning the device. “Leda is dead—I killed her.”

Leda removed her hood and stared into the eyes of her husband. “You did. Our daughter saved my life.”

“You kept her from me all these years--why?” Beck challenged. “I didn’t even know she existed.”

“You tried to kill us, remember? But now she’s in trouble and you are the only one who can help. She was taken by Morlings a week ago.”



Thanks for reading. Let me know you liked it. I love comments!

Picture Prompts: Flash Friday 4-18-2014

Flash Friday is no more, but my picture prompts were taken from http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/.

Gare du Nord, Paris. CC Photo by Elliot Gilfix.

Loraine tugged at her green hoodie. The station was crowded; people bumped and jostled her as she picked through the crowd. She had taken the norm tincture, effectively hiding her webbed fingers and scaly skin, but the hair—it could not hide her sentient hair.

She cursed silently as her hood was knocked back. She yanked it up, drawing it tighter about her face as she scanned the crowd. She had seen the amulet earlier—the one worn by the Morlings. She could not be captured.

She knew there was a Morling in the station with her. She had seen the amulet; she could smell the electrical charge of his breath.

Leaving the crowded station for the empty platform, she hurried to board. “Soon,” she thought, “only a few hours and I’ll be safely home.”

“I know who you are.” The electrical hiss in her ear rendered Loraine unconscious. She had let him get too close; now she was helpless.

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So...Whadya think? Let me know in the comments!


Wow! I won an honorable mention for this piece. Quote from the judge:

Charity Paschall, Untitled. I love flash fiction that hints at a much larger story, just as this one does. What are Morlings? Why does the Morling’s voice render Loraine unconscious? Don’t even get me started on her sentient hair! If this was an excerpt on the back cover of a book, I’d open it up to page one.

Here's the link to see the others that won.

http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/2014/04/20/flash-friday-vol-2-19-winners/