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April 2006
Endless Blue: Building a Scene and Rewriting
by Wen Spencer
www.wenspencer.com/
The 2003 John Campbell Award Winner, Wen Spencer spent twenty years living in Pittsburgh, so its only natural that she sets her stories there. Currently she's living outside of Boston with her husband and son. She's a fan of Japanese anime and manga, and it flavors her writing. Tinker won the 2003 Sapphire Award and was nominated for the Romantic Times Review Choice Award for Best Fantasy.
This is the second discussion on my writing my novel Endless Blue. In the first article I talked about all the little bits and pieces I gathered together over years that formed the conception of the book.
This is the basic premise. Paige Bailey is a descendant of a battleship, the Georgetown, which crashed into the Sargasso generations ago. The world is populated not only with humans but a wide variety of aliens, all equally stranded in this graveyard of spaceships. When the story starts, she's acting as a translator on an ocean-going merchant boat. Paige is an "Adapted" or bioengineered person with certain mental abilities, which allows her to communicate with the aliens. The banks of gene material are color-coded--she's a blue. Captain Mikhail Volkov has been sent to the Sargasso in hopes of finding a weapon to defeat an alien menace that has the human race endangered. With him is his "foster brother" Turk, a red adapted who can change his shape and physiology to match extreme conditions. The reds were originally created to settle otherwise uninhabitable planets, but now form the bulk of the human army. Mikhail is from the Russian space colonies, while the Georgetown is from the American. While they are both part of a "United Nations" type organization created to fight the invading aliens, they are not the friendliest of allies.
Unfortunately, what seems like a solid premise occasionally doesn't have enough power to stand the entire novel. As I neared the halfway point of the book, I realized that the merchant ship wasn't working. In the vast oceans of the Sargasso, a character wanting to go from point A to point B isn't simply enough; they must have means to get there. The larger the boat involved, the harder it is to justify it being available to the whims of the character.
Originally Paige is on the Haruna, a merchant ship out of Yamoto Landing. A landing is basically the town sprung up around a spaceship that has crashed in the Sargasso. One of the oldest settlements, Yamoto Landing was established when two ships, a battle cruiser and a colony ship, both Japanese, crashed near each other. It is the most stable of the human communities. To create conflict, I stated that the people of Yamoto Landing are somewhat closed-minded about the Adapted. Paige was hiding the fact that she's Adapted to fit in better. In my initial set up, the Haruna had already traded with various alien settlements and was heading home when they had to sidetrack to save the crew of another ocean-going boat.
While this all seemed like a good world building and plotting, as I wrote I found the motivations weren't solid. First problem is with the Yomoto view on Adapted. If they know enough about the Adapted to be biased against them, wouldn't they realize that if Paige was from Georgetown Landing that she has a good chance of being one? Also it takes the story in a tangent to Mikhail's story, which is conflict between the colonies of United States and Russia. Lastly, as a merchant boat, the Haruna has no good cause to go off on the wild goose chase that Mikhail's arrival triggers.
To solve these problems, I decided to redesign the boat that Paige is on. I changed the crew to the remnants of the Dakota, a ship from the United States colonies that sank, and thus doesn't have a landing. I picked the name Badlands to be a pun on their situation. The US colonies view Adapted as slaves, so Paige's situation immediately worsens. Captain Hardin is a man desperate for a way back to his own world. He is willing to do anything and use anyone to achieve his goal. His motivations and conflicts will last the course of the book. A TV show about salvage boats made me decide to retrofit the Badlands. In the plot, both the salvaging experience of the Badlands' crew and the equipment on the boat make it invaluable to Mikhail's mission. Thus, even if Hardin grows excessively hostile, it would be in Mikhail's best interest to work with him.
Unfortunately, by the time I made these changes, I'd already written a third of the book. You would think that such a drastic change to the world would also require throwing away everything I wrote. However, this is where building scenes and revisions come in.
When I write a scene, it's like making baklava. It's not one story element standing all by itself. It's layer upon layer of story elements. Generally I do start with a base layer. For example, I needed a scene that shows Paige pushing her captain to go look for survivors after witnessing the accident between Mikhail's ship and a boat from Paige's hometown. That's the base. Very simply, I needed to move the boat from point A to point B in order to bring Paige and Turk together in a logical way.
But then I start to lay down layers. The first is to continue Paige's initial motivation: members of her family might have been crew members of the sunken boat. The second layer is Captain Hardin's resistance to her motivation: why he needs to be pushed into going. Giving him this resistance not only adds conflict to the scene, but provides insight into the characters and the world. Instead of doing "as you know Bob" info dumps--telling the reader by having the characters explain stuff each of them already knows--information comes out in the natural course of an argument.
While to a reader this scene will read as one smooth, closely woven passage, in reality it is layer upon layer of separate components. Here are some of them: clear definition of Paige's position on the boat, a vivid portrait of the captain, Paige's mental abilities as Adapted, her courage under fire, and her ability to manipulate people around her.
As I put down layers, I keep in mind why I'm putting them in, what their role is in the scene, and how they interact with each other. By seeing each layer as an independent element, I then can manipulate each of those elements without needing to change everything.
Here is an easy exercise on this. Take two characters and do a talking head argument between them... Ignore at first setting and descriptions, and just focus on the dialogue, using only 'said' as a tag. Then go back and add in setting: eating dinner in a family kitchen. Replace all 'said' with action tags. Now, move the setting to a crowded expensive restaurant. Pay attention to how much... and how little... you have to change the fundamental argument. Descriptions of the setting change. Some of the action tags and perhaps descriptions of the food may change, but many could stay the same--eating is eating. What the characters need to say to each other doesn't change. Keep that core discussion, and now make the characters fighting zombies in a swamp. This exercise forces you be aware of the layers that make up a scene, and gives you practice at being able to control over all of the elements. After you gain control, rewriting goes from massive, messy gutting jobs to laser surgery.
Here are the original scene with the layers tagged, and the rewrite.
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ORIGINAL
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REWRITE
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(Establishing Paige's motivation)
As second shift started, the news
filtered through the crew that the
captain wanted to see Paige. She went
slowly, trying to guess why. The worse
reason would be that the crew list of
the Ambition came through and
her mother had been on it. She would
have to radio home, make sure Boo was
taken care of until she could figure
out what to do. She'd have to keep her
grief in check long enough to push
Shiji into allowing her personal access
to the radio.
But if it wasn't about the
Ambition's crew, then it might
be about her modification. Had she done
anything to tip Shiji or the crew off?
Nothing came to mind--and that nearly
undid her with grief.
(First indication that Paige can
keep it together under pressure)
She stood outside the door, leaning her
head against the steel, trying to find
her mental balance. "Even if it's the
worst," she whispered to herself. "You
can't go to pieces now. Focus."
Breathing out, she straightened up,
tugged her uniform straight, and then
knocked on the door.
"Come." Shiji's muffled voice called
from inside.
(Painting a vivid picture of the
captain, first through his quarters and
then via his physical description)
She opened the door and entered. In an
attempt to keep the place cool, the
Captain kept his shutters closed except
on a porthole on either side of this
desk. Those sat open, allowing a cross
breeze. Unlike most of the ship, the
walls were paneled with wood and a
woven grass rug covered the floor.
She'd been in these quarters enough
times to know that she wasn't to step
off the mat by the door, least she
track dirt into the room.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
Captain Shiji sat at this desk, writing
in his log. He didn't look up when she
entered, but finished his passage. Only
then did he lift his head to look at
her.
Most crews called the captain "the old
man" regardless of his age. Most of the
time it was just an affectionate
nickname. In the case of Captain Shiji
it was accurate. He was lean, weathered
man with gray hair cropped close to his
skull. From the pictures on the wall of
his quarters, he was clearly descended
from Yamoto stock, pure human, no
genetic corrections; everyone in his
family needed glasses.
(Indicating the conflict between
Paige and the Captain)
As always he frowned at her as if he
found her lacking. She still couldn't
pin the cause. It was the damn Yamoto
reserve, sticking everything behind
polite disdain. He might just consider
her too young, or too female, or too
Georgie. She doubted he knew that she
was modified. Certainly if he did, it
would probably be more than polite
disdain that he'd be leveling at her.
At least, she could take comfort in the
knowledge that--even if he did find
out--he was a coldly practical man and
needed her. Still, she didn't want to
spend a two month voyage with that much
hate and distrust leveled at her.
The silence stretched to unbearable
before he glanced down at the report he
was writing. His pencil scratched
across the paper.
(Setting up moving ship from point A
to point B; also stressing
conflict)
"You were the only one that saw
anything," Shiji said without looking
up at her, leaving her to contemplate
his skull with its short, wire-brush
hair.
She breathed out in relief. Was that
all? She took a minute, trying to cope
with the sudden shift from what she
thought they'd talk about. If no one
else saw anything, it meant no one else
could verify or add to what she could
tell him. Clearly it galled him that
he'd have to rely on her--which spoke
poorly about his trust in her as a
translator.
"What did you see?" He paused as if he
intended to write it down verbatim, as
if even in his log he wanted it clear
that this was her untrustworthy report,
not his.
(This section is to show off her
mental abilities... does a poor job in
this version)
And what did she see? Did she really
see what she thought she saw, or had
her mind molded things into something
recognizable but not accurate? She
focused on the blank page, trying to
call up the exact image.
"Well?" Shiji said.
"It was a frigate."
"A what?"
"My grandfather was a spotter on the
Georgetown. He taught me the various
fleet ships. It was a game we played.
He made these flash cards and saw how
many I could guess right."
"What else did he teach you?"
"A frigate is a multi-purpose ship,
capable of jumps, planetary landings
and take offs."
He hissed out a small sound of disgust.
"So, if Damocles had not hit it,
it would have landed safely."
She made the mistake of considering it
as a serious question, and her ability
spit out the answer. "With the
concentration of the islands, their
orbits, standard jump protocol and an
incoming ship's ignorance of the
Sargasso, there is no way for any ship,
even a frigate to land safely."
He lifted his head to give her another
cold look of contempt.
She bit down on possible variations
that would allow a safe landing and the
percentage chances for each success.
"So it was a frigate," Shiji said.
"What was it doing?"
"It was applying braking jets." Page
illustrated the tilt of the ship that
indicated that it was attempting to
slow its fall. "It nearly cleared
Damocles but then the frigate
clipped its stern on the leading edge.
I didn't see anything after
that--because of the smoke."
Shiji scratched this down in his log.
"You saw nothing else?"
"No."
"You may go."
(Paige now pushes for the Captain to
go rescue the crew of the sunken
boat)
"We are going to honor the handshake
and go to the Ambition's aid?"
"There is most likely nothing left of
the Ambition."
"It's part of the handshake agreement."
Shiji flipped the page and continued to
write without looking up at her.
"I'll lodge a complaint if we don't."
"I did not say we were not honoring the
handshake."
The hell you were.
Shiji glanced up then, the rims of his
glasses flashing in the sunlight. "I
was advising you not to get your hopes
up. Now, get out of quarters."
(END OF SCENE)
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(clear your mind -- I've changed
around all the names)
As second shift started, the news
filtered through the crew that the
captain wanted to see Paige. She went
slowly, trying to guess why. The worse
reason would be that Yamoto Landing had
transmitted a crew list for the
Haruna and one of her family
had been on it. She would have to radio
home and break the news to her mother.
She'd have to keep her grief in check
long enough to push Hardin into
allowing her personal access to the
radio.
But if it wasn't about the
Haruna's crew, then it might
be about her modification. Had she done
anything to piss Hardin or his crew
off? Nothing came to mind--and that
nearly undid her with grief.
She stood outside the door, leaning her
head against the steel, trying to find
her mental balance. "Even if it's the
worst," she whispered to herself. "You
can't go to pieces now. Focus."
Breathing out, she straightened up,
tugged her uniform straight, and then
knocked on the door.
"Come." Hardin's muffled voice called
from inside.
She opened the door and entered. In an
attempt to keep the place cool, the
Captain kept his shutters closed except
on a porthole on either side of his
desk. Those sat open, allowing a cross
breeze.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
Captain Hardin sat at his desk, writing
in his log. He didn't look up when she
entered, but finished his passage. Only
then did he lift his head to look at
her.
The Badland crew called
Captain Hardin "old man" but even with
gray speckling his dark hair, he was a
solid-muscled man in his prime. His
only concession of age were a pair of
reading glasses.
As always he frowned at her as if he
found her lacking. She still couldn't
pin the cause. He'd handpicked her out
of Georgetown Landing, and for the sake
of her family being held hostage back
home, she'd been careful to be a model
crewmember. He knew her abilities and
always kept his true emotions behind a
military façade. He might just consider
her too young, or too female, or too
Georgie. She doubted he thought of her
as incompetent, certainly if he did, it
would probably be more than polite
disdain that he'd be leveling at her.
At least, she could take comfort in the
knowledge that--no matter what he
thought of her--he was a coldly
practical man and needed her. Still it
had been hard to spend the last two
months with that much dislike and
distrust leveled at her.
The silence stretched to unbearable
before he glanced down at the report he
was writing. His pencil scratched
across the paper.
"First Gunner Cadget says you saw a
spaceship," Hardin said without looking
up at her, leaving her to contemplate
his skull with its short, wire-brush
hair. "You were the only one that saw
anything."
She breathed out in relief. Was that
all? She took a minute, trying to cope
with the sudden shift from what she
thought they'd talk about. If no one
else saw anything, it meant no one else
could verify or add to what she could
tell him. Clearly it galled him that
he'd have to rely on her--which spoke
poorly about his trust in her.
Hardin glanced up then, the rims of his
glasses flashing in the sunlight.
"Well?"
What did she see? Did she really see
what she thought she saw, or had her
mind molded things into something
recognizable but not accurate? She
focused on the blank page, trying to
call up the exact image.
"I don't have to remind you what lying
will mean?"
"No!" She snapped.
"If you're not serving as this ship's
Blue, I'll bust you back to the Blue's
first function and make you the ship's
whore."
"I only saw it for a moment--I'm not
sure what I saw."
"You're a Blue--you only need a
moment."
"For something I'm familiar with, yes,
but I don't know much about
spaceships."
He breathed out, opened the bottom left
desk drawer and gingerly took out a
small machine. Paige had never seen a
workpad, but she recognized it from its
description. Hardin positioned it in
the patch of sunlight on his desk and
after a moment of fiddling made
pictures appear on the screen.
"Did it look like this?" Tension in his
voice indicated that the bulbous,
organic craft would be a bad thing.
"No. It was more angular--like the
Georgetown, but smaller, a lot
smaller."
"Good, a human ship then." He made a
few adjustments and ships started to
flash on the screen.
"That one." It had flashed by quickly,
and she kept count as he stopped the
flow of pictures. "Twenty-three back."
He flipped back through the pictures
and stopped on the ship that matched
the one she saw. "A frigate." He hissed
out a small sound of disgust. "If it
hadn't hit Damocles, it could
have landed safely. What are the odds
that it will land intact?"
He expected an answer--so she let the
question drop into that part of her
mind that would work until it found a
solution.
And somehow, as always, an answer came
back. "68.4 percent chance it will land
safely."
"Where?"
"The minotaur coast. There's a twenty
percent chance it will land short and
sink. If it lands in the shallows
before the mainland, it will survive
impact. There is a slim chance that it
will hit the mainland and the angle of
impact will reduce it to wreckage."
"Good. Good." Hardin scratched this
down in his log. "You may go."
"We are going to honor the handshake
and go to the Haruna's aid?"
"There is most likely nothing left of
the Haruna."
"It's part of the handshake agreement.
It was a verbal contract."
Hardin flipped the page and continued
to write without looking up at her.
She knew him well enough to know what
buttons to push--but she had never
dared to try before. She wasn't sure
what his reaction would be, but if her
family was on the Haruna, she
had to chance it. "So, that whole bit
about 'for the good of human kind' is a
load of bullshit so you can piss all
over people and yet still feel good
about yourself?"
He went stiff as her barb sank home and
looked up, jaw tight, the muscles in
his shoulders and back bunching and
rolling. She steeled herself. If he
came at her, she knew, too, that
retreating, showing him weakness, would
only make him worse. He stood slowly,
his breath rough with his anger, his
big hands balling into fists.
She fought her fear to stand still and
watch him come. Would dodging make it
worse? Yes. It would. He wanted to hurt
her, and if she used her abilities to
avoid him, he would corner her and hurt
her worse.
There was a knock on the cabin's door.
Hardin shot a glance toward the door as
if to look through the steel to see who
stood outside. She knew that there were
some crewmembers that he respected more
than others, and, by default, cared
what they thought of him. The right
person behind the door could save her.
The person rapped again.
"Who is it?" Hardin snapped.
"Smith, Captain."
Paige tried not to breath out relief.
Hardin could simply send his First Mate
away until he was done with her. Hardin
worked his jaw, as if trying out
sentences. Finally he grunted, "Come
in."
The door open to the First Mate. He
took in Paige and Hardin and then
focused on the Captain with a neutral
gaze. He could guess what was about to
happen, but he didn't really want to
acknowledge it. But his very refusal
acted like a chastisement on Hardin.
"I didn't say we weren't honoring the
handshake," Hardin said.
The hell you were.
"I was advising you not to get your
hopes up that there were survivors,"
Hardin dismissed her with a wave. "Now,
get out of my quarters."
(END OF SCENE)
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When I decide to make such a drastic change to plot, I always start at the start of the book and work to the end of what I have done. That way it's one smooth consistent plot, instead of a patchwork of plots. Luckily, of what I had written, most scenes only need this type of tweaking. I can insert new scenes if needed to reinforce conflicts that the changes bring about. Nor is all this locked in concrete until the final draft.
I like to say 'the genius is in the rewrite.' The first draft is to get enough of the story out to see if it works or not. A novel must work as a whole. Something that might seem right at the beginning of the novel when you're just starting writing might not be perfect for the complete novel as you come to the end. The novel you wrote isn't always the one that you intended to write, and, as such, first chapters don't always match up with the back half of the novel. If you realize in chapter ten that you need some pivotal object or person or thought in chapter one, you can use the method I just discussed to go back in change sentences, paragraphs, scenes and chapters to insert it.
Having made the radical change to the world, and rewritten the chapters in the above method, I'm now ready to move on. I hope to get this novel done in the next few months.
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