Making the Cut and Fictional Hormesis

Book lengths, who doesn't complain about them? I sure do. Sometimes they're too short, but I mostly find myself labeling them as too long. How useful and valid are such statements?

I thought of addressing this topic when I came across this statement in a two-star review of the Mistborn trilogy by Brandon Sanderson:

At around 700 pages per book, Sanderson (or his editors) got really bad at separating what's necessary for storytelling from pointless drivel. In book 2, for example, the first 500 pages could be summed up as city under siege, Eland is a philosopher and not a ruler, gets overthrown.

First off, I'm always interested in reading the contrary side of things. If I liked a book, it helps me understand people better by learning why they didn't. Same for any political of religious issue. I think a certain way, so what is it that convinces you to think otherwise? But sentence 2 quoted above clearly shows the reviewer's lack of understanding of prose.

You see, every single book that you read can be summarized. But that's not the point. No one doing leisure reading just wants the summary. It's all about engrossing yourself in the plot and going through experiences with the characters. When I read the line city under siege, I really don't give a hoot about it. But when I read the book and I know the characters, it comes alive and I feel a portion of what they (theoretically) went through. That's the power of prose.

But certainly there's a point where it becomes too much. I found myself thinking this as I read Name of the Wind by Partick Rothfuss. I definitely enjoyed the book, but I felt as if a little too much time was spent on unnecessary description. I think I would have enjoyed the book a fair amount more had it been 100 or so pages shorter. It would still be over 600 pages long, but the story would move just a bit faster.

In the end, it's up to the writer to decide when the story is far too pregnant or barren. That's a good way to think of it. I've read some stories that were so pregnant I got morning sickness. I'm just sitting there thinking give birth already! But at the same time, you can strip any story down until it's just a plot summary. There are things that I write that don't straightway contribute to the plot, but they contribute to the overall experience. A good author knows when the threshold is crossed where these ancillary anecdotes start detracting. This is called hormesis, or the too much of a good thing model. Figure out how it works.

Word Count Creep

Writing a book can be is a daunting task. Depending on your goal, you have anywhere between 50,000 to 400,000 words to type when crossing the threshold of your journey (hopefully you have the decency to constrain your prose to a length not too much higher than that). It's easy at any step in the process to lose momentum and become swamped. I want to talk about some of the writing cairns and how to get past them.

Initial Word Count Goal

I'm a numbers-oriented person. I like to have a goal in mind when embarking on most any endeavor. I think it's important for any writer to have a ballpark on their total word count. Some people may find this irrelevant and take care of it in editing, but I often prefer pre-editing over post-editing. Anything I can do to reduce work on the tail end is beneficial.

The way that I got a ballpark for my first book was precisely by looking up word counts of novels that I had read. Out of interest, here's a list of some popular book word counts. Another thing I took into account was the industry recommendations. Here's a page with a good meter.

Important also is whether you are debuting or returning to the scene. When people pick up a Dan Brown book they think, "I've read/heard of his books. I'll give this one a shot." When people see a Benny Hinrichs novel they think, "Cover's not terrible. I wonder if he's related to Jimmy Hendrix." Two different reactions. Reading a novel takes time (probably at least 10 hours). You have to convince people that your words are worth that time investment, and most people will shy away from a thick, bludgeoning tome from an unknown author.

Of interest: I wanted my first book to be somewhere between 90,000 to 105,000 words long. It turned out to be 101,000. I only achieved that by outlining and estimating.

Progress Spurs Progress

Another driving principle is that progress inspires progress. It takes hundreds of small victories to write 100,000 words. I keep a spreadsheet of my chapter word count. Every time I finish a chapter, I note the date and length along with a running total. Here's the spreadsheet of my word counts for Schools of Thought. The first time you hit 1,000 words, you think, "Wow, that wasn't all that bad. I can do that a few more times." Pretty soon you've laid out 5,000. Then 10, 20, 50, 100. Knowing that you've already accomplished something will drive you to accomplish something else.

You should find a progress monitoring method that jives with you. I do word count by chapters. Another idea is progress by event or scene (like you're shooting a movie). For that you need to have a pretty good outline.

Working Word Count Goal

Another trick of the trade that helps me immensely is a working word quota. That is, in x amount of time I will produce y number of words. My current working word quota is 2500/week. I like to use the week increment rather than day or month because it gives me enough time to do it without giving me too much time to do it.

Parkinson's law states that work will expand to fill time available for its completion. If I saw that I'll do 2500 words in a week, I may do all those on Saturday, but it gets done. If I say I'm going to do 500 words a day, I have a higher possibility of missing that goal due to other obligations. That will lead to writing depression and will encourage me to miss future goals. If I say I'm going to do 12,000 words a month, I'll inevitably go a whole week or two without writing anything. Suddenly I have to write 6,000 words a week  for two weeks straight. It's too onerous. Just as progress incites further progress, failure incites further failure. Thus my 2500/week.

Conclusion

Small victories win large wars. Set realistic goals and meet them! I'd like to add here that outlining will help everything. Maybe I say this because I'm not as much of a discovery writer, but I truly believe it. If I already know what's going to happen in a chapter, it's so much easier to write. Same holds true for a book. If you know where you're going, it'll be easier to get there.

The Final Fluff Fight

First, welcome to the place I've deigned to deposit my ruminations upon such possible topics as writing, music, physics, religion, et cetera. Now you know. And since this post is about burning fluff...

Fluff. It's an essential part of every story. Without it the result is bone grinding on bone. Fluff is like the cartilage of literature. But imagine trying to walk with 5 inches of gristle between your femur and tibia. Your locomotion would be extremely unconventional. The same holds for writing. 

A good story can be drowned in excessive fluff. It can also get dehydrated from lack thereof. Our job as writers is to find that golden meridian and promenade down it. To illustrate, we generally type ourselves into one of the following situations:

1. Alright, Tyson is in the cave and now he needs to get the dagger. Run Tyson. Grab. Good. Stab troglodytes. Escape. Hey look, Tyson got out safely! Done.
2. Well, I've led Tyson to the mouth of the mountain and now he needs to swipe the dagger. But how are my readers going to know that this is a cave unless I sequence the molecular bonds on every stalactite and guano streak? And what about the several drippings? They must know how the stalagmites formed over the past million years! How else are they going to appreciate that the troglodytes are hiding behind them? AND THE TROGLODYTES! The readers must become familiar with their hygiene, temperament, and breeding habits in order to truly understand the danger Tyson's in.

I'll stop there. You've probably been in one of these two boats if you've ever written a scene. 1) I know what happens next and it shall occur immediately; or 2) the details are churning inside me like a gallon of ingested phlegm and must be vomited out extensively. Ooh, is that a thorn-encrusted salamancer?

Before the inventions of the television, computer, and internet, authors tended much more toward the second inclination. That's why the average survival rate of works such as War and Peace is only 15%. Even some of the more streamlined classics can get their drag on. Fast forward to TV and the internet. The average citizen thinks: I award my full attention to everything in the world. I'm not going to dedicate my time to a novel unless it gives me as much enjoyment as the Youtubes. That requires us as authors to change our game.

Introducing: show, don't tell. I quote Orson Scott Card on exposition:

"When science fiction was just beginning, it was common for writers to stop the action in order to explain the cool new science or technology that they were introducing in the tale. It was not until Robert Heinlein that science fiction writers began to weave their exposition more subtly into the action of the story. The classic example is when, in telling of a character leaving a room, Heinlein wrote, "The door dilated." No explanation of the nifty technology behind dilating doors -- just a simple statement that seems to take the new technology for granted. This was a great step forward, allowing science fiction writers to introduce a vast amount of novelty into a story without stopping the forward movement of the plot in order to explain it."

One method of fluff reduction as shown here, is to replace a description with a verb. It's highly effective. Also, it doesn't deplete the richness of the narrative. Look for opportunities to explain the backstory during the nowstory, but don't impede the nowstory in order to do so. Slip it in. Gentle accents.

Good fluff. But sometimes you want to include something that's non-essential to the plot, yet still entertaining. Feel free! Just don't drown yourself in such excursions. An author I think does this quite well is Obert Skye. Here's an excerpt from the fifth Leven Thumps that I remember even though I read it 4 or 5 years ago.

Leven shrugged. "That's not important; we should find Tim."
"I would have mentioned them leaving," Clover said. "But Tim was pretty insistent about me staying quiet. He said they were taking Azure because he promised to show them the way."
"So you saw them go?" Winter asked incredulously.
"I was writing in my dream journal," Clover said defensively.
"At two in the morning?" Leven asked. "Why didn't you tell us they had left?"
"I had an interesting dream," Clover insisted. "What does it mean when you dream about barns?"
Leven and Winter just stared at him.

Alright, so it's not the fluffliest bit of fluff, but it works. Skye could have just explained that they woke up and saw that Tim was gone, so they started following him. Instead, he created a situation that became a memory for at least one reader. That's good fluff.

At the end of the day, your readers want a ravishing tale with some spicy details, not a spicy mess with little substance. Give them what they want, or they will punish you.