Recently, I finished the second draft of a fantasy novel. The condensed plot: A sorcerer assists the undead to prevent a terrorist attack, becomes embroiled in the politics of war, and learns corrupt governments need not be fought with revolution and cannot be fought with absentee citizens. I think the second draft turned out quite nicely, with help from a number of people including the fine folks at Litopia. In the falling action, several cabals affecting the protagonist are identified, and all plot lines button-up with the narrative timelines and politics. But, one does not write a second draft without a first.
In two thousand one, I wrote a treatment for a fantasy setting, and in two thousand four I wrote a fantasy novella using the treatment as a guideline. The novella plotting was loose, the plotting direct, and the character arcs horizontal. Later, I reconsidered the role of an antagonist, and decided to write a second novella from their point of view. When I wrote past the junction point of the first and second novellas, I put the second novella on hold and started work on a third unrelated short. The third novella used an entirely different setting and magic ethos. I wrote four very long chapters and hit a brick wall: This third novella had nowhere to go, and an aspect of the character direction and setting fit with the second novella. I blended in a few traits of the second novella, and the third novella became an extension to the second.
With three novellas ostensibly interconnected, I had a flash of insight: Fuse the three novellas, bolt on a new first chapter, inject a bridge chapter, and rework the first novella plot to capture the revised character arcs. I had created a masterpiece. The artifacts of this writing exercise included detailed character descriptions and behaviors, politics, timelines, and character ascension and descension based on the point of view. These notes I considered the story architecture.
I printed a few copies, passed them around, and received feedback along the lines of too complicated, too dense, and what the hell?
What happened? This was a masterpiece after all and its story architecture a grand design.
I collated the feedback and started out light. The first chapter was a problem and it had to go. However, a hard decision loomed: The plot was too complicated to follow from three points of view, and one had to be excised. I allowed the characters and plot elements from the third novella to co-exist and I cut out the entire third novella. It was a cathartic moment, albeit liberating.
With the first chapter and one-third of the first draft tossed out, I was left with several problems. The transition between the first chapter and the following chapter of the first point of view required a large skip in time and space. I had treated this as the main character agreeing to go somewhere, and then skipping the entire journey and having them arrive. At the time, the rational was I didn't think the journey was important. However, with the third novella tossed, several plot points were disconnected. For example, the third novella characters and their magic methodology were key plot points in the first story's narrative. Since I had cut out that story, I decided I would have to devise a way to have the main character cross-through the same region as the third novella characters.
I laid out the plot points and realized I now needed a narrative for the main character to journey into a random location. Since I'm adverse to fetch-and-retrieve plots, I simply had the character cross-through this random location, and altered a secondary character's arc to pick up the requisite plot details. Originally, I thought skipping the journey worked because the main character went from Point A to Point B with no overture as to starting or finishing. However, once the character began the journey, I revised my position and decided to add more details to the journey. What began as a need for a new first chapter, and pruning out the third point-of-view, evolved into a plot outline requiring ten new chapters.
I began by writing a new first chapter in two thousand eight, and found a place to review it (Litopia). Based an much feedback, I wound up rewriting the first chapter from scratch at least six times. Each time I rewrote the material, I had to make minor tweaks to the plot that would have downstream effects on the remaining narratives. While rewriting the first chapter, I discovered my chapter lengths were quite long and so cut them in half. After I had a new first chapter that I liked, I wrote a new second chapter. Once more soliciting and responding to much feedback, I rewrote the second chapter serveral times. Afterwards, I moved on to the third, and by then I had a better sense of the corrections I would need to make to the remaining content.
I mentioned the folks at Litopia were very helpful, right?
In all, I wrote nine new chapters. I did opt to compress one leg of the first narrative's journey, which may come off a bit cliche, but I think it works. I then moved on to the requisite editing of the remaining first part.
Throughout the rewrite, I revisited the plot details, timelines, and characters. Since I followed the same plot structure and character concepts, writing the new material became very tedious. A character couldn't do or say something to alter past or future activities unless I wanted to revise those related sections. For example, a few subtle plot points involved time and spatial sensitivity to fantasy MacGuffins, such as the requisite materials of a magic spell being accessible at a particular place and time, but never before or after. It's easy to write something like "Joe Bob the Barbarian Slayer walloped the carnivorous sponge of Nananaland". If I edit an earlier section of the story to infect Joe Bob with a rampant case of slimy toad warts from a sinister medicine woman with pierced teeth, and the intent of the malady is to affect Joe Bob's swing, then I have to reconsider whether Joe Bob's future wallop is feasible.
As I rewrote and edited the first draft, I realized that the added details allowed the first part to stand up on its own. I could set aside the second narrative. While I like the second narrative, and hope one day to edit it to be consistent with the style of the second draft, the body of the work is large enough to work as it's own novel.
By the time I edited the last chapter, the second draft was less than half the length of the first, and includes only one character point of view instead of three. A lot of background information is missing regarding the motivations and trials of several secondary characters, but the reader doesn't need that to digest the main character's story. This reduction also made the elevator pitch a lot simpler. Instead of trying to summarize three interwoven parts that merge at the end, I only have to describe one.
