Why Writing a Novel Isn't That Different From Going to Space

When I was a child, the dream of becoming a published - to say nothing of famous - author was like going to the moon. Sure, I'd seen the moon, and I knew about rockets, and I'd seen pictures of people on the moon, but when I really thought about going there there were a gazillion miles of space in between me and the moon that I couldn't get across. Even now, having lived to the once impossibly old age of fifteen, the fantasy of going to space is just that - a fantasy.

And in the same way, writing a book can seem like an impossible possible task, whether or not you want to do it. You've read books, you've heard of, maybe even met authors, even thought of cool premises, but read as you might, you can't see yourself crossing the journey that is a gazillion words, all about the same story.

I know I definitely couldn't.

Before I start talking about novel writing, I should establish something: Everyone does it differently. Some sit and churn out 4000 words a day (I can do 1000 words an hour if I know what I'm going to write, but I've never written for more than 3 hours), others write 5 words and edit 7. Similarly, some have notebooks or word documents stuffed with planning (the plotters), while others just sit and let it fly (the pantsers). What's important is getting to the end. I don't think speed matters much, but the plotter vs. pantser thing is actually pretty interesting. I generally think of there being a spectrum that most writers fall on that looks something like this:

These are things people actually do or claim to do. There are people who will tell you that they aren't in charge; their characters tell them what to write and they write it. There are people who prefer to just do it. There are people who know exactly how the story's going to end before they begin. There are people who love outlines.

Before I put a finger to keyboard, I made a list of chapters and wrote a short description of every scene that happened in that chapter and made up the fictional civilization's language. On my spectrum, I fall about here:

You might look at this and conclude, "She's a control freak." And maybe I am, especially plot-wise, though my characters will never do anything it doesn't suit them to do, even if I'd like them to. But I plot so heavily because I would not be able to write otherwise. I see the beginning, I see the end, and I see a whole bunch of nothing in the middle, and my reaction to that is the fill every little step in between so that I have something.

Believe me, there's plenty of room for writer's block while writing the scenes.

Once I begin writing, there's a lot that's set. My plot lines are nice and developed, so to change one point would be to change the entire line. My characters know who they are and even where they're going. Most importantly, the thing I'm trying to express is set. I don't really know what it is until I write, but it's there and I find it as I write.

That's not to say that things don't change, of course. I literally flipped the ending of my book midway through it. I added characters and tweaked characterizations during my editing process. But my final destination - the thing I was trying to say - didn't change. And so, for me, going to the moon isn't a bad metaphor for writing a book. I make my rocket - my characters, the world. I chart out my course, plotting each point. When I actually write, the planning ends, and I shoot out at 1000 words an hour, but if I encounter trouble, I'll simply change my course. My engines even detach, because once not finishing my book becomes a physical impossibility, I don't need as much motivation anymore.

Many writers are not at all like that, and some of them probably would very heavily disagree with my nice analogy (it still makes a decent hook). But no matter what end of the spectrum writers are on, there's something that (in my experience, at least) they all have in common: They're thinking about their story even when they aren't writing it.

And this is key, especially for people with busy lives, because let's face it: You're not going to be able to write every day, no matter how dedicated. You're definitely not always going to be sailing smoothly. You most adamantly don't have free time sitting there, just waiting to be used. If you're anything like me, you have school, and on top of that you have three clubs, at least one instrument, a sport, and some more. You might even have friends. Your day is jammed full, scheduled to the minute, and you have more stuff you could be doing (like actually practicing that instrument). Why are you even trying to write? Why not wait?

If you think like that, you won't finish. If you think you can do it in summer...there are probably a few people who would, but I've never met any of them.

So what can you do? First of all, take advantage of the fact that writing is portable. Get a notebook (whether paper or electronic) and write in class, on the bus, while waiting in that impossibly slow lunch line or for a teacher to come or for your lotion to sink in or whatever it is you do, whenever you can find scraps of time. Then, when you really just can't be writing, like before bed or when the teacher wants you to actually pay attention (but it really doesn't matter), think about what you're writing so that you're more productive when you actually are writing, or just so that you get into the habit.

Now, I've found that it's actually pretty hard to stop writing after you reach the point when you live, think, and breathe your book, but before you get to that point there's a gravitational field of self-doubt and homework and things you want to be doing and the fact that you aren't that obsessed pulling you down. So how do you get out of that? How do you get obsessed?

Well, you need some pretty big engines. Fortunately, you probably have some idea of what motivates you. But, if you'd like ideas, here are some things that seem are have been helpful:

• Starting out small, with the part of writing that holds your interest the best - develop a character, main or not, figure out how to make dragons scientifically feasible, explore your world's power dynamics, etc. I started out with two names and a scene, and everything else grew around that.
• Telling people you're writing a book, so they can hold you accountable
• Committing in some other public way
• Doing lots of world-building or character-building until you are one with the story
• Keeping track of your word count (if it's November, you can do National Novel Writing Month - NaNoWriMo, which is a challenge to write 50,000 words in a month that got me onto writing)
• Writing almost every day, so it becomes a habit
• Writing whenever you're bored and can't do anything else, for various reasons (yes, I'm encouraging you to write when you should be listening to the teacher. Just don't blame me if your grades drop.)
• Having a parent tell you you can't

Now stop reading this and go write.

Unless, that is, you have short story ideas for me, things you'd like me to post about, or general comments, because if so, please leave them in the comment box or email me at emmajin08@gmial.com.

A Thinker's Sandbox

“You still have that old simulation?”

Kenan tore his gaze off the computer-generated model of a “universe”, the black expanse sparse except for a few lights and a solar system, planets shooting around the fake sun. Currently, it was zoomed in on one particular planet – a blue sphere with white clouds whipping across its surface.

“I got attached,” he shrugged. “It’s a bit silly, I know, since I can do so much better now – all I did was model it off how our world developed – but I suppose you never forget your first.”

Inon laughed, walking over to crouch with him by the simulation. “I know what you mean. Some things just can’t be thrown away. Well, we’re sentimental beings. How long has it been?”

“Since I first made this? Let’s see…this was my fourth science fair project, so it’s been a good twenty hundred years, I think.”

“How’s the time scaled now?” Inon asked curiously. “You were doing ten thousand years there to a second in the real world for a time, I remember.”

“It took that long for life to start getting interesting,” Kenan replied defensively. “Besides, I was a kid. Did you expect me to care about unicellular organisms? I was dreaming of civilizations!”

They both laughed reminiscently. “I change it a bit now and then, but I’ve slowed it down considerably since then – a year takes a minute to pass, now.”

“A year to a minute?” Inon said. “What, don’t want to miss anything? I’m sure it’s simply riveting.”

“Well, my eyes aren’t exactly glued to it, and – would you believe it? – if I didn’t I’d miss something important. It’s rather incredible how much faster everything started progressing after they civilized.”

“The whole thing’s rather incredible, I think,” Inon said. “All you did was make some laws and patterns of development, throw some elements in, and it just self-perpetuated to – well, what it is now.”

“It’s still a far cry from us,” he pointed out.

“But you did it for your fourth science fair project.”

He nodded. “True. You know, they’re starting to be advanced enough scientifically that they’re discovering some of what makes the world tick. I wonder when they’ll realize the truth – if ever. The current civilized species tends to be a bit short-sighted about things.”

“Like you, you mean.”

He narrowed her eyes at her, receiving an unrepentant smile. “Makes sense, I suppose,” she continued blithely. “After all, they are in your simulation. So it really can’t be helped.”

“Inon! I’m nothing as bad as them!”

Her calm dissolved into laughter, laughter he did not echo. “Didn’t you have an error – well, not an error, just a limitation – where you only had so fast a processing speed? Have they discovered that?”

“Oh, that,” Kenan accepted the subject change. “Funny thing – I made light the fastest thing that can move, so now they say that nothing can move faster than the speed of light. They have a whole formula for it, too. I’m actually really glad that happened, though. You know how I only bothered to make a single solar system and then just sort of faked stars and planets? Well, they want to travel to those stars. Fortunately, with the speed limitation, that won’t be a problem. Oh, and I love the explanation they’ve come up for stuff – they talk about the ‘space-time fabric of the universe’, when everyone knows that time is independent. But I suppose it’s hard for them, since they only have three dimensions, to imagine that the universe is simply four-dimensional, full stop.”

“What would you do if they ever realized they were a simulation?” Inon asked seriously.

Kenan shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It might be amusing, because I bet they’d try to get out.” A sudden idea lit his face. “Maybe I could talk to them. They’d probably hate me, but it’s not like they could do anything.”

“And then get terribly bored and destroy the whole thing in a fit of temper?” Inon retorted drily.

“I would not. I’m past twenty five hundred years old; I don’t throw temper tantrums.”

“I don’t think age has anything to do with it. Inin’s older, and she – well, I shouldn’t speak ill of my elders.”

“You? Speak ill of your elders? Perish the thought,” Kenan snorted. “Besides, that’s your sister.”

“I’m just going to sit back and let that argument defeat itself.”

Kenan stared at her and Inon stared back, one corner of her mouth traveling up her face until Kenan blinked. “Damn. Why are you so good at that?”

Her response was a triumphant smile flashing across her face. “I wonder, do the things in your simulation ever do anything like that?”

He frowned. “I didn’t really notice, to be honest. Possibly? They have eyes, and they need to blink, so maybe. I don’t exactly follow one of the things through its life, watching for what it does. Not even the smart – relatively, of course – ones. I’m more interested in larger conflicts, such as the exchange of countries. Currently, the ‘world power’ is this new place that calls itself –” he frowned as he tried to remember the pronunciation “– Ah-mer-i-ca.”

Inon cracked up at his way of saying the strange word. “Are you quite sure that’s right?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Kenan grumbled. “They have strange methods of vocalization. I can’t be expected to recreate all their sounds perfectly. Though, when I say the country’s new, I mean its government is new. Of course, I think most of the countries are new because of that, but they haven’t changed names, even though pretty much everything else has except maybe location.”

“Well, we do that too, a bit,” Inon pointed out thoughtfully. At his frown, she said, “Oh, come on, don’t get all ruffled at the comparison just because they only have three dimensions. Look at rice, for example. We’ve modified it so much, both in ancient times when we domesticated it and through genetic modifications, that it doesn’t really resemble wild rice at all, but we still call it rice.”

“That’s not the same,” Kenan protested.

“In some ways,” Inon said, not bothering to press her point. “It’s interesting how many similarities there are, even in such a simple simulation. Did you go in and affect anything?”

“Mostly in the beginning, to make it more like our world,” Kenan admitted. “And also just whenever I felt like it. For example, there was this long period of time where there were a bunch of relatively big reptiles, and they were cool at first, but then there wasn’t really anything interesting, so I made an ‘asteroid’ hit. That stuff happened. And now and then I introduce a disease, just for fun.”

Inon tilted her head in confusion. “‘Disease’? What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s right, you never liked history. I still think that’s weird – you seem like the person who would. Anyways, there was this one guy, back when manipulating genes was a new idea. So he basically just took some nucleic acids, stuck them inside a membrane, and added a few proteins, and that was it. He made a bunch of those and then left them out. There wasn’t anything to copy the nucleic acids, so nobody thought anything of it. So what happened was – get this – the things went into cells and hijacked their reproducing mechanism. So they just went around reproducing themselves and killing cells. People’s cells. It was crazy. To this day, nobody knows if the guy meant it or not. The stuff was eventually quashed, but not before the population was decimated. Anyways, I thought it was pretty cool so I decided to put some in the simulation.”

“Things that hijack cells and use them to reproduce themselves and then kill cells,” Inon mused. “I could see how that would be appealing. I suppose they mutate?”

“Crazy mutate,” Kenan confirmed enthusiastically. “That’s the fun of it – every year’s a new strain. For the ones that mutate a lot. Some of them are more stable.”

Inon’s gaze was blank, and Kenan sighed. “Read about the First and Only Viral Panic and you’ll understand better. It’s a really weird concept, so I’m not even going to try to explain it. Just think of it like a variable population limiter.”

“Like famine?”

“Except even better,” Kenan replied. “Because manipulating weather and stuff isn’t, you know, the easiest thing to do. And it’s easy to mess stuff up. But if I just introduce a new disease, it takes the edge off population numbers, they can do work containing it for me, and if worse comes to worst, I can just stop it pretty easily.”

“You said it decimated our population,” Inon reminded him. “That’s not really ‘taking the edge off’.”

“They have defenses,” Kenan replied easily. “Since I introduced these early, they evolved defenses against them.”

“You took that risk?”

He grinned. “Yeah, it was pretty reckless, but to be fair, they’re really cool. And it was in the beginning, so I could have started over easily.”

“Ah, the days back before we could just reverse time on simulations…”

Their laughter rang.