How To Thread a Novel

So much detail to put in just the right places. How does anyone ever write a novel? There are tricks, of course, passed along from writer to writer. Not to over simplify -- or over promise as per our header here, but here are our best suggestions in a nutshell.

Q: I've written my first draft and there are sizeable clumps of information that need to be threaded throughout. What's the best way to do this? I started an outline, but got sick of it. I read Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird about plot treatment--summarize chapter by chapter what happens. I'm thinking this might be the best way to go. I know the chronological thread of my MC's life, but I want to start when she's an adult, then go back and insert background on her past, her relationship with her mother, her job, her relationship with her boss, how she met certain friends, all while keeping the main story moving forward. Without it all becoming a huge mess. How have you done it? Hannah's Thread Obsessed and Millefeuille post were helpful, but maybe a little more nuts and bolts about how to work those threads? And Lynne's post on journals hit home. I had one character as an ex-Marine, then realized it didn't really fit his personality! Exactly what does a thread consist of--subplots or just the chronology of each character?

Lynne Griffin
Like Amy, my storytelling process is more organic than plotted or outlined. I don't choose jobs or homes or life circumstances for my characters, these come to me over time. And the time I spend thinking about my characters--listening to their story, wondering about their predicaments-- far exceeds the time I spend putting words on the page. That said, as you mentioned above, I keep a journal for each novel. Not only do I jot down plot points as they come to me, but I note what threads I'll need to go back and tighten in revision. Writing fiction, for me, is equal parts art and science. I strive to write for the story, then I go back to be sure I've been true to craft. As my dear friend Michael Lowenthal once said, "Let readers dismiss the work on taste, not talent."

Amy MacKinnon
Outlines? Plot treatments? Chapter summaries? It all sounds so technical. I'm afraid I can't help you with this one because my process is more organic and very simple. In terms of threads, I introduce them the way I'm introduced to other people's stories in real life: in bits and pieces. When I'm getting to know someone, they don't tell me everything of their past and present right away, and they almost always hedge the truth. Time teases out the story, trust, circumstances, a shared experience. It's a gradual process. And then, finally, there's the big revelation and you realize the clues were there all along. It's simply a matter of identifying each story in your novel, and ensuring each is told as fully, as richly as possible, and all sharing a common thread.

Hannah Roveto
I always do a chapter-by-chapter synopsis, for my own work and when I read for others. Hallie Ephron teaches a High-Low Revision process; she explains it in her Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel, which is perfect for any kind of novel. Whether or not you're an outliner, and I'm not, you do need to see your first draft from higher ground and follow each character through. The draft is very organic for me, messy even. Once it's complete, then comes the work to make sure it doesn't stay that way! I do synopses on a couple of sheets of lined paper, with 3-4 lines per chapter. Line one is the synopsis, with the date in the left margin and setting, then a quick description of key points. When I've got them all down I go back and make little notes -- one or two words -- thread by thread, character by character, on what info gets revealed to whom when ("R 2 K, dad issue"). Leaving yourself little space makes you focus. What really does happen here that is important to the reader/story? Best to do this with a cup of hot tea to one side, in the comfiest office chair you own. The few hours it takes are well spent!

The Hot Seat

Posted by Lisa Marnell

According to Donald Maas …

“If there is one single principal that is central to making any story more powerful, it is simply this: Raise the stakes.”

Donald Maas is a literary agent, president of Donald Maas Literary in NYC. In his book, Writing a Breakout Novel, he goes on to suggest that many writers cannot answer that question of what will happen to the protagonist if he doesn’t reach his goal. Too often, he reports, writers sit dumbfounded; we love our characters and we simply HATE to see bad things happen to them. Not good. Stakes aren’t high enough.

Look at Harry Potter. (Oh, how I loved that series). And think about the stakes, the personal stakes to Harry. Voldemort killed his parents, brutally, and tried to kill Harry as well; he was just a baby! Now, Harry has discovered he is a wizard – how cool is that – and he has this wonderful new life in front of him, away from those dreadful Dursleys. Harry has so much more to fight for now. He has friends now, a muggle-friend no less, Hermione would be first on Voldemort’s list. The stakes are high. Back comes Voldemort into Harry's life.

In his chapter on plot, Donald Maas holds that we, as writers …”must be willing to push characters into situations that you would never go near in your own life.”

I’m afraid I’m too nice, and frankly, I don’t like where I’ve put my protagonist. Chapter 18 gives me a downright icky feeling. But, I tell you, she's staying put! One of our writer’s group members once said something wise. In fact, she’s said many wise things, but one sticks with me and gives me comfort. I paraphrase her words but the gist was this: “It shouldn’t bother us when our characters find themselves in an awful situation because we, as writers, are the ones to help them out of said situation.”

I do love a book with high stakes. So, I’ll keep putting my fiction friends into that mess. I must; I want to write fiction.

Thread Obsessed

by Hannah Roveto

The other evening, my husband and I found ourselves home without children and did what any rational couple would do: ran out for Chinese take-out and an R-rated movie. We rented The Good Shepherd, with a cast that merely begins with the likes of Matt Damon, Angelina Jolie, Robert De Niro and William Hurt. Directed by De Niro. A spy movie that follows the creation of the CIA and turns on the Bay of Pigs. Two thumbs up from its reviewers. We settled in with our soups.

A full 167 minutes later, we stared at each other. "Wow, that was long." "I was confused; did this happen first or later?" "Did he do that or did someone else?"

After rehashing the movie another several minutes, we decided to check any deleted scenes, thinking they might provide missing answers. What was fascinating was that the deleted scenes represented an entire thread cut from throughout the movie. In the official version, a particular character is killed off; yet there he was, again and again. His scenes still didn't answer our questions about the movie, but in watching them, I knew what was wrong with the film. It was, yes, the threads.

There weren't necessarily too many, we decided after further discussion, and De Niro was right to cut that particular one. The problem came in how the remaining threads were woven together. Whether it was the writing or editing (Everyone needs a good editor!), I don't know. Time was jumbled and while dates were provided at the start of scenes, the viewer might not realize how critically important they were until it was too late. Threads became snippets, difficult if not impossible to follow smoothly from start to finish.

Being thread-obsessed myself, I actually plan to rent it again, in part to better understand the story, mostly to track each thread from start to finish. I want to see how De Niro and the editors thought it through, to see whether it could have been done differently. Sometimes we learn more when we can see what's missing than when it is done perfectly.

Thread obsession? It's what delivers the richness of Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. Glen David Gold's Carter Beats the Devil. And so on. You know it when you see it, the palpable texture that comes from beautifully crafted threads.

Millefeuille

by Hannah

Can you tell I haven't had breakfast yet? I was trying to think of something with lots of layers, and pastry popped into my head. You know, Napoleons and those other yummies with the thousands of sheets of pastry and cream (or fruit) and icing... but I digress, a bit.

My own challenge in writing also has been plot. Not so much in creating one, but in creating a full set of events that together make it richer, stronger, worthwhile. I could take a thread and stretch it one end to the other. A second thread, fine. A third, even. In the past, however, I found it easy to get lost. I might start with a firm beginning, and follow my primary thread to hit key points along the way, but in between it would wander.

I learned to manage that to a greater degree, and my last draft was close. The unanimous opinion, still, was that it needed more action. There were already so many characters, so many pieces, how could it need more? As I reviewed and played with it in my mind, the answer (as usual) was that everything I needed was really already sitting in front of me. What I have discovered in this last revision is precisely how many threads I'm really working from end to end; that number is far more than I ever realized.

Before it seemed thin, and suddenly it felt rich, excessive. At first I panicked. How presumptuous to assume I could take so many elements and truly craft them start to finish! Do I really have it in me to pull the right ones at the right times, to make sure the heavier ones march solidly along and the delicate ones add depth by popping up gently here and there? How do I interlace them so they happen in the right order, like dominoes with intersecting paths?

What I have learned with this revision is that more threads are not necessarily harder. In fact, like a narrow writing prompt, it makes the work easier. I set out the main character's thread and the basic plot, writing it step by step with lots of space in between on 8 1/2 by 11 sheets of paper. I added in the secondary character's bits between. Then the third most important person. Then I made a list of all the elements: relationship with father, funny unconscious habit, details on backstory that main character is unaware of but that he -- and we -- need to put together along the way. Layers and layers and layers on sheets across my dining room table.

This was different from the outlines I had done before, different in that every aspect of every character was on the sheet somewhere, not only in my head. In doing so, it was suddenly far clearer what was important, what drove the whole thing forward, what could be eliminated. Who could be eliminated. Who had drifted into lesser importance and was waiting patiently to return to greater prominence. Best of all, I was able to find the action that was so dearly needed.

Like a baker, I am taking those layers that stretched across my table and am folding them not once, not twice, but what seems like a thousand times into something new. A confection that I hope will be as impressive in the tasting as it is in the presentation. A thousand layers in nearly that many pages? Not quite, but close enough. And now, off for breakfast!