My Kingdom for a Plot!

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RHYS BOWEN:  Are you a plotter of a Pantser? This is one of the great divides of mysterydom. All writers are either one or the other. Plotters look at Pantsers in horror and disbelief. How can you write without knowing where you are headed? As a Pantser myself I realize that every writer has to decide what works for him or her. Or you can be a hybrid, like today's guest. Here's Warren Easley to tell you about it:

 My Kingdom for a Plot!

      by Warren Easley

     To paraphrase one of Shakespeare’s kings—you know, the one they found under a parking lot in Leicester a few years back—A plot, a plot!  My kingdom for a plot!  I love to write, always have.  Give me a scene, any scene, and I’ll flesh it out for you.  Give me two people caught in a face to face encounter, and I’ll capture their dialogue.  Show me a setting, and I’ll bring it alive, replete with sights, sounds, smells and touch.  But put all the elements of a novel together in a coherent, believable plot?  That’s a task that gives me pause.

     Plotting a mystery, you might argue, is easier than plotting, say, literary fiction.  After all, there are some pretty clear rules in the mystery genre.  For example, unless you’re a Louise Penny or a James Lee Burke, you had better kill someone off in the first fifty pages of your book, since the patience of your readers (and publisher) is notoriously short.  And you also need to build-in an event that signals the approaching climax, and ensure that, in fact, you end with a bang, not a whimper.  This leaves the “slushy middle”, which must never be slushy, so all manner of clever devices should be inserted to not only drive the plot but keep the pace brisk, the tone engaging. 

     Easy, you say?

     One school of thought says outlining is the answer. What we have here is a need for discipline, we’re told.  Put your mind to it, and the plot will seamlessly unfold in an orderly sequence.  This group of writers proudly refer to themselves as Outliners.  I tried outlining in my early writing without much success.  The experience was a little like driving in a dense fog.  I could see a small distance ahead and very little from side to side.  Sure, I could get something down on paper, but after a short burst of writing, the outline invariably needed rewriting.  Those pesky, unruly characters of mine kept asserting themselves in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

The other school of thought says that the plot is an organic element that must be allowed to evolve as the story progresses.  In other words, the plot builds outwardly, informed primarily by what has already been written.  Enter the Pantsers, an equally proud group that flies by the seat of its pants, metaphorically speaking.  This laissez-faire approach may sound appealing, especially to those like me who dislike planning ahead.  

But the other side of that coin is that the story can easily bob and weave itself into chaos, a kind of literary proof of the law of entropy.  And I can tell you from experience, there is nothing more painful than backing out of a corner into which you have written yourself.  It invariably involves trashing a lot of good work.

     All well and good, you say, but what drives the plot for you pantsers?  Surely there are animating forces.  

For me, two things are crucial at the outset of a new book.

  First, I need an idea or situation that seems big enough to hang 100,000 words on.  For example, in the seventh book in the series, No Way to Die, I became interested in the fact that the state of Oregon allows juveniles to be tried as adults for capital crimes.  What would happen, I asked myself, if my protagonist, Cal Claxton, agreed to help a young man serving a life prison term for having been convicted of murder at age sixteen?  After all, Cal is drawn to cases involving the most vulnerable among us.  I was at once intrigued and disturbed by this practice—a good sign that the energy would be there to write a book about it.

    
The second crucial element for me is to define the principle characters who will populate the story.  I need to know their names, what they look like, what they do, and most importantly, what motivates them.  This doesn’t come all at once, but the sooner I get a handle on these rascals, the better the story goes.  For example, in No Way to Die, I envisioned the kid, a young free spirit who loved to surf the Oregon coast, his grandmother, an indie bookstore owner and committed environmental activist, the kid’s power broker stepdad, a jailhouse snitch, and his girlfriend.  I should mention that Cal’s daughter, Claire, joins him for what I thought would be a cameo, but she insisted on staying in the book.  I didn’t realize how headstrong she was!

     So, armed with a big idea and a pantheon of characters, I let the story evolve.  Did I know at the outset how or even whether Cal would be able to help the young surfer?  I did not.  But I trusted that my characters would reveal the story to me.

    
Of course, authors should adopt a strategy for plotting a novel that works best for them.  The truth is, I land somewhere between the extremes of rigid outlining and unfettered evolution, although I admit to being a Pantser most of the time.  I didn’t plan on using a hybrid strategy.  It turned out that was the only way I could get a book written and keep my sanity.

     Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to figure out how the book I’m currently writing is going to end…

REDS: So how about you, reds and readers? Writers, which camp are you in? Readers, can you imagine writing a book--would you use an outline? Or just--go for it?

Warren C. Easley is the author of the Cal Claxton Oregon Mysteries published by Poisoned Pen Press/Sourcebooks. Coming in October is book 7, No Way to Die.

 When nothing is as it seems, can the truth survive?
Attorney Cal Claxton, now well-established in his Oregon law practice after breaking off his career as a high-powered LA prosecutor, just wants to go fishing with his daughter, Claire, and he knows the best place —the coastal area south of Coos Bay. But their vacation takes a dark turn with the discovery of a body in the river.
As an investigation is launched into the suspicious death, Cal and Claire find themselves drawn into the life of the local bookshop owner and vocal environmental activist, whose grandson was convicted for murder at age sixteen. She believes he was wrongly accused and convinces Cal to reexamine the case. Together, Cal and Claire dig deep into the secrets and crumbling alliances that form the foundation of this small coastal community, and what they find could spell doom for them both...
About the Author:
Formerly a research scientist and international business executive, WARREN C. EASLEY lives in Oregon where he writes fiction, tutors GED students, fly-fishes and skis. Easley is the author of the Cal Claxton Oregon Mysteries. He received a Kay Snow National Award for fiction in 2012 and was named the Northwest’s Up and Coming Author in 2017, both honors bestowed by Willamette Writers.

Warreneasley.com

facebook.com/WarrenCEasley

poisonedpenpress.com/WarrenCEasley

Road Tripping!

INGRID THOFT

In a few weeks, I'm packing up the car and going on a road trip.  Despite seeming like the quintessential American activity, the first recorded road trip was by Bertha Benz, wife of Karl Benz (yes, that Benz) in Germany in 1888.  The vastness of the U.S., however, lends itself to road trips, and I've had the pleasure of embarking on many during my life.

 The upcoming trip is with one of my favorite travel companions, my mom, and we're doing a quick four-night loop from Seattle to the Oregon coast and Portland and than back to Seattle.  She's not seen the stunning vistas of Cannon Beach and Haystack Rock, nor have either of us spent much time in Portland.

When booking the Portland hotel the primary requirement was proximity to Powell's bookstore.  What more do you need?  Doughnuts, according to my friend, who says I can't miss Voodoo Doughnuts, conveniently located close to Powell's.  The Dirty Old Bastard doughnut, which features chocolate frosting, Oreo cookies, and peanut butter does look enticing!

My mom and my family were my travel companions on a most memorable Thoft family road trip.  When we were young, my parents found the energy (I don't know how) to take us to the national parks during summer vacations, and one year, we were driving through Yosemite National Park when the engine emitted a deep rumble.  We pulled over, and the seven of us (my grandmother, Nanny, was with us) piled out of the car.

My parents checked out the situation under the hood, but the car wasn't going anywhere.  Luckily, a couple of hippies pulled over in their VW bus (this was the 70's) and offered us a ride.  We climbed into the bus, with it's distinctively grinding engine sound, and they deposited us at the park entrance.  This was before the days of roadside service; no one was coming with a replacement car.

Fish Camp: Okay, I'm exaggerating, but not much!

We couldn't find transportation back to our hotel, which was a few hours away.  My parents sought alternative accommodations, but it was high season, and the pickings were slim.  They finally found two rooms at Fish Camp, and yes, that's what it was.  Two rooms and single bar of soap were shared among the seven of us as we prepped for dinner at a local haunt.  Midway through the meal, my father left to accompany the tow truck driver to the garage to deposit our rental car.  The trip would have been uneventful, but the driver was drunk and took my father on quite a ride.  Apparently, the drive was like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, and my dad held on for dear life as they sped along and weaved through the twisty roads near Yosemite.

After a fitful night at Fish Camp, we put our pants back on—getting ready for bed had entailed a wash with the bar of soap and the removal of our pants—and claimed the repaired car.  Like most road trip crises, Fish Camp made for a good story and lives on in Thoft family lore.  I hope that my trip to Oregon is less eventful, but that's part of the fun of a road trip:  You never know what might happen!

Have you taken a memorable road trip?  Is there a road trip on your bucket list?

Does size matter? Relax, we're talking houses.

JENN MCKINLAY

Rainbow over my house!

Hub and I bought our starter home, well, when we started eighteen years ago. We picked it because it was in a good school district, although, at this point the hooligans were still a theory and not a reality, and it had a pool, which was critical for this New Englander in the desert. It's a modest three bedroom home with a good sized yard, but if I need someone I can pretty much yell and be heard on the other side of the house. Yes, this is a plus point for me.

After ten years, we fully intended to sell and move into something larger, not much bigger but with an office for me since I was a paid writer at this point, but then the recession hit. The newspaper where Hub was a music editor folded, and the library where I worked part-time as a children's librarian slashed everyone's hours. Good times. Not. We decided to hunker down and ride it out.

The hooligans thrived and life got crazy busy, hectic with activities for them, deadlines for me, and gigs for Hub. Years passed. We debated moving on and off but something always came up and, quite frankly, Hub and I are both kind of lazy in the whole sorting and packing -- ye gad, we own a lot of stuff! -- department, so here we sit.

But now, we know it's time to get ready to do...something. In a few years, the nest will be empty. Since we move with the speed of a glacier (the ones that cruise at one meter/day not the swiftly melting ones), we figure we need to start fixing up the abode now and we might be ready to sell and make a change when the youngest one escapes us. Why the change? Well, we're both longing to live near water, so we're hoping for an oceanside or lakeside location. But here's the new dilemma - what do we buy next? We have no idea.

Darth Vader bathroom.

We like to rent VRBOs when we travel because you can try on different houses for size, like hats but with beds and junk. On our recent trip to Oregon, we rented a riverside house that was, frankly, ginormous because I got a smokin' good deal on it and we wanted a river view. We're talking three car garage, vaulted ceilings, a hot tub, three decks, a master bath that included a lounge chair, jacuzzi, and a ceiling of skylights that was pretty rad. Oh, and it had another bathroom that looked like it came right out of Star Wars so we made everyone hum Darth Vader's march when they went to the can because why not?

View of the Deschutes River from the deck.

There was a lot to love about the house, like the windows overlooking the river, but there was a feeling that whoever owned it had their self-esteem tied up in it. You know what I mean, those houses that say "look at me I have pots of money" instead of "welcome home". Personally, I will take light and airy, cozy and comfy, over showy and ostentatious every time. Truly, just the thought of walking up and down two flights of stairs to do laundry makes me tired. Needless to say, Hub and I knew right away that while this was a fun house to play in, we have no interest in owning anything this cumbersome. I think deep down we might be Hobbits.


While we fix up our house and get ready to launch the hooligans, we'll keep renting houses to check out places we think we might want to live. So far, Maine and Oregon are in the lead even as we'd like to keep a foot in Arizona. After this last rental, I think the size of the house will have to remain simple, environmentally friendly, and without a toilet that requires a sing-along.

What about you, Reds? What are your thoughts on house size? Are you a the-bigger-the-better type of dweller or a just-enough-space-to-get-away-from-my-people-when-necessary sort?