So this year I was on the pre-convention Seminar before Fourth Street. Despite covering professionalism, voice, and critique in 3 separate discussions, we barely got through half of the things we had notes for, which is about par for the course. So here are some notes on one of the topics we didn't get to.
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Premise problems vs. structure problems vs. text problems )
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This reminds me of when I was writing Midnight Never Come and called it the teenaged boy of novels: it ate every bit of energy and skill and inspiration I could give it, and never stopped being hungry. I've written things before and since where I knew very clearly that it could only ever be X good, because that was what the premise could support, and my job was to asymptotically approach that limit. But with MNC, I wasn't sure where X lay; all I knew was that I was never going to get there, and the graph of "how good is it" was limited not by the premise, but by my ability to carry it. If I wrote that book today, it would be better. (For starters, I would give it the extra 30K to play with that In Ashes Lie and A Star Shall Fall got, and see what it could do with some room to stretch its legs.) But in a way I'm glad I wrote that book when I wasn't good enough to quite pull it off, because ( ... )
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I don't want to claim that writers should only be pursuing that sort of story, because A) prescriptivism, B) people should be allowed and encouraged to write fun things that don't aspire to be the Bestest Story Evar, and C) it sounds like it would make writing so very stressful. That said, I think your observation about how it made you grow is a relevant one.
Meanwhile, I've spent the last few months avoiding writing the scene in which one of my characters dissects the first chapter of Plato's Republic as a lesson in rhetorical shenanigans and uses it to articulate a taxonomy of power. Because that's not going to be hard to pull off at all...
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