My Work in Progress looks like the before version of an IKEA dresser. I bring home a flat box of ideas because they were on sale. I unpack it certain that this will be easy. But instead, am faced with a pile of plots, blocks of text, dozens of twisted characters that popped from their packaging and are now rolling across the floor, and one fragile Allen wrench: Me – the author in charge of assembly.
Some authors read the included instructions from beginning to the end, only skipping the pages in French, German and Kanji.
Some authors sort and organize all the pieces first, carefully placing likes with likes – each set of bolts and screws into their own labeled tray. They store the extra shelf in the closet for another project and keep the those five superferlolus bolts for emergency repairs.
These experienced authors have taken the online seminars, and own notebooks filled with completed character sketches for each and every character including the police officer who is a walk on part.
These authors have set out everything in order and proceed to assemble their novel assembly line efficency.
Some authors misplace the instructions seconds after opening the box.
They begin with the first item they see: pick up a shelf and begin attaching it before they realize the shelf was step 6. They lose the allen wrench and so they decide to attached the door hinges even though they haven’t identified the doors and the whole assembly is upside down.
But at least they LOOK busy. Yet the book case, or maybe it was a dresser, emerges as wobbly and incomplete as a child’s drawing.
To work, the dodgy desser must be disassembled. After watching a couple of You Tube instructional videos, we are ready to begin again. But even then, even after searching for an finding the original instructions (under the packing material). Even after all that – there are still nuts and bolts left over.
Sound like your first draft? It certainly is mine.
I’m not advocating or excusing my own chaotic process, and yes, if you don’t assemble a new dresser the right way the first time, the job may be taken away and given over to your ten year old who does follow directions. And you won’t need to ever assemble furniture again.
Bu unlike an IKEA box, you don’t always need to know where all the parts of your book belong during the first assembly round. There may be a decision to install three shelves instead of four. Half way through the assembly process you may realize the bookcase is really a dresser. You may aburptly NEED a dresser. Make a dresser.
I store all the parts in my plot box into Scrivener. All the loose screws, all the plywood shelves, all the hinges, they all land scene by scene into the program. As I store, I write up the instructions. It looks like I’m flinging random parts into the center of the room.
And after I have enough to build something, I finally I review all the parts and determine if I have a couch, a chair or a stool. Once I figure that out, then I’m prepared with my electric Allen wrench and we are ready to create.
What inspired this metaphor was a term my book club uses: bolted on. Some novels contain stories or scenes that don’t enhance the plot at all, or even relate to the narrative, it’s just there, bolted on as if the author finished the dresser and was left with an extra door and five screws – they needed to use all the parts in the box, and the living room needed to be cleared for tonight’s company. So onto the dresser it went. We do not need to do that.
With help, our IKEA furniture does get built, and there are always left over bolts and screws. admire what you made, scoop up the extra and use them for another novel.
The one that is shipping to you even as we speak.
