By Gaie Sebold

Feel stalled on novel and decide to use friend's rather clever analytical chart thingy for working out where am.

Is exactly sort of fun thing that feels like writing, but isn't; though unlike many pseudo-writing activities (i.e., reading gossip on Absolute Write forum when should be working) may actually prove useful as well as entertaining.

After happy hour or so spent working out color scheme and fonts to use for chart (essential part of process and not at all procrastination in any way), finally get around to analyzing who is in which scene, where and when scene takes place, times of day/night, etc., etc. Fill in various boxes with great sense of satisfaction.

Am putting in character names when realize have not made chart big enough. Expand chart. Realize have left two characters who appeared early on languishing in limbo for large number of scenes and make note to bring them back in and do something with them.

Expand chart again. Feel slight sense of apprehension.

Find another random character that was so interesting was sure she was going to do something. Make note to bring her back in later as well. Expand chart down (for plot) as well as across for characters. Sense of apprehension now quite noticeable.

Eventually get to point where novel currently stalled, and look at chart. Well, try to look at chart. Chart will not fit on computer screen unless reduced to size so miniscule font is entirely illegible. Ignore realization that apprehension is turning into actual fear, and decide will make more sense to print out chart anyway. Printer groans into life and continues to chunter away for inordinately long time. Go make cup of tea to calm nerves.

Return to find paper scattered around printer in messy pile and adorned with muddy paw prints. (Must replace paper tray one of these days). Gather sheets and realize, with sinking heart, that chart, intended to present things in clear and simple fashion, covers about 20 sheets of A4.  Maybe printed out twice? Check, but alas, no. Possibly things more complicated than I realized.

Sit on floor and read chart.

Realize have at least three major plot threads all of which are growing like bindweed, all of which require resolution at some point, hopefully before heat death of universe, and a scatter of subplots which require either resolution or brutal excision. Also realize have approximately 35 named characters, not to mention random passers-by and walk-ons, many of whom are currently standing around in corners getting bored and antsy and ready to cause trouble, simply because had forgotten about them.

For about 30 pages.

Beat head slowly on sofa.

Novel currently running at 55,000 words, and am not quite half way through plot. Know that fantasy novels can get away with being longer than most, but do not wish to compete with Robert Jordan (as frankly, can't), and write story that goes on for decades. Want to finish story in this book, not in sequel several decades down road, besides which haven't sold this one yet, so planning sequels Not a Good Idea.

Look at huge mess of plots, characters, and timelines again. Whimper and attempt to hide head under nearest cat. Cat exasperated at being disturbed, and moves to other end of sofa, hunching back to indicated wish to be Left Alone and not Hidden Under, thank you. To add insult to injury, now have muddy paw print on face. At least sofa cover washable. Wonder briefly where cat managed to find mud, as no rain for weeks and soil in garden currently bearing much resemblance to dust. Obviously somewhere is special mud puddle designed for sole purpose of bemusing humans, retained throughout driest season by dedicated team of cats with small buckets. Either that or paw prints not, in fact, mud.

Wish had not had that thought, and go wash face. Also remove and wash sofa cover, to increased indignation of cat. Threaten to put cat in washing machine as well, to no noticeable effect. Cat curls up on as yet unread manuscript of friend's novel instead, mysteriously failing to leave paw print. Obviously used up last of hope-it-was-mud on owner's face.

Wish was cat. Have, in fact, wished same frequently since early age when first discovered human existence frequently complicated, frustrating, and emotionally painful, whereas cat existence largely without these issues. At least, have always assumed so. Possibly cat existence complex and psychologically fraught, but watching other cat roll about in patch of sunlight with every appearance of unselfconscious enjoyment, rather doubt it. Tempted to go and roll in sunlight myself, but (a) neighbours already think am weird and possibly Satanic, and acting like cat unlikely to help, and (b) book will still be there, looming, and could not really enjoy self until have made some sort of attempt to sort it out.

Have spent quite enough time worrying about provenance of paw prints and otherwise avoiding issue. Force self to sit down and Deal With Book.

After strenuous two hours, have managed to remove precisely one extraneous character and have added at least two more. Also seem to have added another sub-plot, while intending only to give several extant characters more to do.

Pants.

Suspect someone has been feeding novel with fertilizer when was not looking. Perhaps have been overfeeding garden and resulting overspill of nitrates has seeped into novel as well as water table. O Woe! Have not only destroyed local ecology but ecology of own novel! Novel will be overtaken by rising sea-levels and… oooh, sea, maybe can get pirates in somewhere… No! No pirates! At least not in this book. Must Restrain Self.

Must restrain characters and plots, too. Wonder how one de-fertilizes novel. Perhaps could show it educational films or something, stop all this rampant breeding. Need some means not only of stopping any more characters turning up but keeping those already present in check. Have vague memory of mother putting raw potato in stew, in order to absorb excess salt, but suspect this less than likely to be helpful in context of book.

If try to cut all unwanted characters and plot threads now, will spend next month doing that instead of writing next bit, and may never get to end of first draft at all. Have vowed not to do as much editing in first draft this time; so will simply have to refuse to introduce anyone or anything else new, and once first draft is finished, attack novel with trowel and secateurs, routing out all that is not vital like metaphorical weeds.

Must also remember to check that book not being overwhelmed by random gardening metaphors. Or random pirates.

Sigh. Shove aside brief fantasy of being overwhelmed by random pirate, and get on with Next Bit.

Gaie Sebold's short stories have appeared in, among others, Black Gate, City Slab, and Legend and she has received an Honorable Mention in Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Her first fantasy novel (first publishable novel, that is) is now with an agent and she is currently working on her second. She is a member of T Party Writers and commits occasional poetry readings. Her first poetry collection, Urban Fox (The Tall-Lighthouse, 2001) is available at Amazon.co.uk. Contact her at urbancat<at>talk21.com. Visit PlotMedics at http://www.plotmedics.com.

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