NaNoWriMo - Nine Days In

I’m ‘nano-ing’ this year, or supposed to be. So far, and despite many hours of plotting and planning, I’ve written an unimpressive 4000 words and have come up with new and inspiring ways to procrastinate. I should forget novels and write a book on new avoidance tactics. Here’s an example of Monday’s frivolous antics:

“I wander lonely in a shroud
Floating high, my shroud has frills
When all at once I hear a sound
Bang bang they go, the daffodils
Beside the lake beneath the trees
I fluff my frills in the cold breeze”

I know. By Tuesday I was thinking of admitting myself somewhere, especially after I’d compiled the second verse. You ready?

“Continuous as the stars that shine
My billowing shroud wants its say
It stretches towards an alpine pine
While all the time the daffs they pray
Their sound it puts me in a trance
I join their chant and start to dance”

What can I say, except maybe apologise to Mr Wordsworth, whose work I revered until this week. As well as poetry desecration, I found myself putting on unnecessary clothes washes, trying to come up with new Christmas recipes, shopping online, facebook-ing, emailing, and yes, I could even be found loitering with intent on Twitter...

This is all because I’m forcing myself to write a story that I’m not sure I want to write. Has anyone else had this problem? I keep telling myself to keep calm and carry on, that it’s only one month and it might actually take a turn somewhere in the process that could lead to an interesting lead at least. I’ve done ‘Nano’ before and I’m a HUGE fan but right now, I fear for the poets. I really do.

On a serious note, all the faffing around has actually helped me clarify that I should be brave and try another idea for another novel. It’s only the 9th today and since this one just isn’t coming out the way I want it to, I actually feel that the rest of November would be wasted if I continue. I simply can't keep writing just for writing's sake. I have to want to tell the story. The characters have to be demanding to be heard, and they're not. They're giving me time off to write rubbish poetry. (Rod, your crown is safe...)

Rest easy poets of the world... I have a new plan and not having had time to plot, well let the pantsing begin.

Postman Pat and Plotting

British 1980s children's TV is the focus of much drunken nostalgia among my generation, but I have to say that when I saw an old episode of Postman Pat recently, it was pretty boring. Pat did sod all except drive around the countryside and chat to Mrs Goggins.

My son is nearly three and, although we don't have a telly, he watches DVDs of the all-new Postman Pat: Special Delivery Service series on my laptop. Pat's 21st-century incarnation is brilliant – each episode is action-packed, with a race against time, a heart-warmingly positive message, and a catchy soundtrack.

For those unfamiliar with Postman Pat: SDS, a quick description of the average episode might be in order. Pat is talking to his son Julian, when his mobile phone rings and poor Julian faces the potentially life-scarring knowledge that his dad's job is more important than he is. The caller is always Pat's boss, Ben, asking him to do a Special Delivery – and this one's urgent! All deliveries are somewhere within a one-mile radius of the mail centre, so Pat and his black and white cat, Jess (still sprightly after nearly 30 years), set off in one of their vehicles – van, motorbike or even helicopter. A variety of mishaps conspires to stop Pat reaching his destination (more often than not, involving a certain amount of incompetence on his part) but the Special Delivery Service ALWAYS gets through. Pat delivers the parcel with seconds to spare, and is everybody's hero.

So what does this have to do with writing?

The episodes aren't realistic – as far as I know, small Cumbrian towns don't have Flying Machine competitions involving a rocket that can be accidentally launched by a sheep, and if real postmen got into half the scrapes Pat lands in, they'd get the sack – but the stories work within their own logic. The plots are well thought out and even the unrealistic events are believable because they are set up well in advance – something I believe is vitally important in a novel.

When Pat needs a fishing rod to rescue a lost teddy bear from the river, you can be sure that a few scenes earlier we'll have seen Ted Glen fishing further along the bank. When a magpie needs to be tempted with food, there will already have been a character munching on a sandwich. Such tiny details appear insignificant while they're happening – but then they suddenly have a bearing on the plot. When they're needed, they are in place – we don't get jolted out of the story by Pat announcing that he just conveniently happens to have a fishing line in the van.

The world of a novel doesn't have to be realistic either, and it could be argued that it shouldn't be. Real life, after all, doesn't have a plot – it's just one damn thing after another. Fiction is different. It needs a greater intricacy, and part of that intricacy involves making the reader look back and think – 'of course! That's the parcel that was on the sideboard in the first chapter!'

I find even unexpected events more satisfying if they evolve from what has gone before and aren't just parachuted in from nowhere. A surprise can be even more of a surprise if the reader is given a clue but doesn't pick up on it at the time. Children's TV writers know this, and there's a lot we can learn from them.

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With thanks to RottenLittlePony on Flickr for the image, reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.