I confess to being the type of writer that sits at the keyboard with only the barest wisp of an idea before plunging ahead.  The voices in my head tell me what to do next.  Wait.  That didn’t sound right.  My story characters’ voices in my head tell me what to do next.  Better.

My attempts at outlines feel like Doctor Frankenstein’s creation but not as handsome or talented at tap-dancing.  I’ve tried to create outlines.  Really.  Many times.  In different mediums and multiple colors. I’ve built my skeletons, even grown some flesh on them.  But what comes shambling out is not what I intended at all

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And they all want to eat my brain.

Okay, maybe it just feels like they want to chomp on my grey matter.  The theory of outlining a story is a solid one; it makes perfect sense, and seems like an exceedingly logical way to proceed.  The problem is that, like zombies, outlines are scary partially-formed things chasing after you with serious noshing on their minds or stomachs, whatever.  The thought of writing to an outline is like that of a zombie eagerly sucking brains through a straw sticking out of a hole in my head – akin to a coconut husk cocktail on Tiki night at the Luau.

So why do something if it doesn’t work for me?  I have a guilty little squirmy feeling that I haven’t really given outlining a chance.  And I might be missing out on a really good thing.  The zombie might not be unredeemable.  Like the zombie guy in Warm Bodies, there might be a heartbeat under the disintegrating skin of its chest.  So, I want to believe.  I want to believe that the magical properties of outlining will be able to transform the zombie into a hot guy, uh, I mean, into a useful member of society (no, I really meant hot guy).  I’m going to try it one more time.  Maybe more than once.  And if I have any brain matter left after that, I’ll call it a success and be enlightened to the joys of structure.  Unfortunately, just typing that last sentence made something dribble out of my ear.  Well, let’s see what happens.

Editing

There once was a lady from Nantucket…oops wrong limerick.  That’s the problem with editing, it sends my mind wandering off task.  Re-reading some of the steamy passages of my new novel made my mind wander to, uh, um, Nantucket.  Must be a great place

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I’m going through ANGEL OF SYN to make sure I vary my sentence lengths.  A member of one of my writing groups pointed out that I tend to write sentences in a certain way.  I looked, and by golly, she was right.  We writers have our own styles of writing, it goes along with our writer’s Voice.  But when it’s too much of the same thing, that style can either get boringly monotonous or throw the reader out of the story because, yes, they too have noticed your odd writerly quirk of putting three commas in every sentence.  Variety is the spice of life and of a story.  Vary the length of sentences and make the length part of the story (for instance short sentences for action, longer sentences for slower passages).  Okay, got to go now.  Editing.

1. Prologue

Is your prologue really, really necessary? (Remember the Honest pledge?) Or can you get rid of it? Although some authors, famous ones at that, can get away with having prologues, it’s generally seen as an outdated literary ploy to make up for a slow first chapter.

2. Action

Your opening pages must grab or hook the reader by focusing on an intense and important moment. It doesn’t have to be a save-the-cheerleader/save-the world kind of action, but it could.  Or it could be a smaller moment such as your protagonist deciding if she should talk to that handsome stranger sitting on the park bench reading Proust, in French.  What’s important is that you invest that moment with significance.  The character might be on the brink of change, or making a decision that will affect the people in his/her life. Whatever you open with, show that it’s important to the plot to come.

3. Characters

Naturally, whatever character you opt to focus on should be intriguing.  Show the reader right away why it’s worth spending time with the character. Is she brave, courageous, and selfless? Wonderful. Readers want to spend time with heroes and heroines they admire. Is he devious and sinister and complex? Super.  We love villains who are multidimensional, villains who believe they’re doing right—or who can’t stop themselves from being evil or using clichéd shellfish metaphores (“…wah ha ha the world is my oyster!”).   Interesting characters will pull the reader in.  Use only one character as the hook, then add more later.

4. Setting

Spark interest by selecting an exotic, fascinating, unique, larger-than-life, setting for your opening pages. Render the setting in surprising and distinct detail to lure the reader into your world.   Even if you have an opening scene in a familiar landscape—say, the park again—it’s how you render the scene that can make it amazing and fascinating

. Offer details that the reader may have taken for granted, details that are quietly astounding.

5. Pace

The pace or momentum of your first scene will be the force that leads readers into the next page, and the next, and the next. You opening pages should NOT be answering questions about your characters’ quest or your characters’ past. The opening should be asking them. So don’t offer everything you’ve got in your first pages. Tempt the reader to read on to find the answers.