Daughter of Mystery: 6 figures
Margerit has just had a religious experience reminiscent of a bad acid trip and I have just topped 100,000 words. One of the really delightful experiences of my "writing process experiment" is that way that plot needs seem to just naturally work themselves out from seeds I planted earlier without having any idea what they'd bloom into. Take, for example, the problem of just how Margerit and Barbara are going to disprove the treason charge and turn the tables on their accuser and enemy, Esteven. Especially given that he seems to have done the nasty business behind the scenes and through others -- but others who will be loyal to him in a pinch. And I didn't really worry too much about the details because I knew the shape of how it had to come out but hadn't needed to pin down the specifics yet. For a little while it looked like his mother was going to have to squeal on him -- which was a pity because while she was a strait-laced old battleaxe, the same sense of honor that would have compelled her to nark on her own son would have compelled her to commit suicide after his execution. And besides which, that option left me with one motivation too many involved with an earlier event. Ah, but then certain magical consequences of Margerit's efforts to counteract her accidental treason turned out to rebound on Esteven's primary crony -- quite accidentally! She was trying to avoid anyone getting hurt. But she turns out to be the only one who can reverse the effects and he will feel honor-bound to give true testimony about the plot against her in return. (He will avoid execution but will be exiled.) It would, of course, have been more dramatic to stick to our heroines' Plan A which was for Barbara to challenge Esteven to a duel of honor ... problem was, she wasn't entirely certain she'd win, even if he didn't call in a ringer to answer the challenge for him.
At any rate, the point being that this is only one of a number of times when, by the time I get to the plot twist I haven't worked out yet, I realize that the answer is already sitting there in throw-away details I'd been inserting all along. It's sort of the flip side of that problem I was describing about the "limited fractility buffer" where I can only hold a certain fixed number of not-yet-written details in my imagination. So on the one hand, the writing process is like moving over a detailed map with a magnifying glass: only the spot immediately under the glass has the level of detail necessary for the writing process. But conversely, the path ahead can be there in broad strokes, but when the glass gets to that point, I find the detail as if it were there all along.
I think, at this point, there are no longer any plot unknowns. There are a couple of points where the precise order of events isn't certain, and a few not-yet-entirely-elaborated scenes, but the what, who, and why have all settled into their final places.
On the other hand, dammit, the contents of the notebook I left in the coffee shop haven't yet arrived in the mail. I feel really weird about phoning them again and asking about it because, after all, I'm asking them to do a favor. But it would be nice to know if I should just go ahead and reconstruct that chapter or whether I still have a hope of getting the draft back.
At any rate, the point being that this is only one of a number of times when, by the time I get to the plot twist I haven't worked out yet, I realize that the answer is already sitting there in throw-away details I'd been inserting all along. It's sort of the flip side of that problem I was describing about the "limited fractility buffer" where I can only hold a certain fixed number of not-yet-written details in my imagination. So on the one hand, the writing process is like moving over a detailed map with a magnifying glass: only the spot immediately under the glass has the level of detail necessary for the writing process. But conversely, the path ahead can be there in broad strokes, but when the glass gets to that point, I find the detail as if it were there all along.
I think, at this point, there are no longer any plot unknowns. There are a couple of points where the precise order of events isn't certain, and a few not-yet-entirely-elaborated scenes, but the what, who, and why have all settled into their final places.
On the other hand, dammit, the contents of the notebook I left in the coffee shop haven't yet arrived in the mail. I feel really weird about phoning them again and asking about it because, after all, I'm asking them to do a favor. But it would be nice to know if I should just go ahead and reconstruct that chapter or whether I still have a hope of getting the draft back.