THIS

(Also the time before seminar papers and required reading)

 

"27 minutes of the best goddamn fanfic writer on the planet penning some story gold." Really digging the video description joe .

 

That was very pleasant to watch for some reason.

 

So. Funny story. I was eight minutes into the video, and Joe here was in the middle of pausing for half a second when I had an idea. A bad idea, but it turned into this idea.

It started when I realised something I was doing as I watched Joe write. See, I write in much the same way Sesc does - only with more bullet points 'cause I'm not a savage - and that method is usually about connecting the dots to get to certain vital character exchanges or plot points or continuity or what-have-you, all part of my stupidly huge detailed planning documents.

To use a metaphor for how the things would be actually written that way, it's like those bullet points are the main chords of a song, the ones that you'll remember when you're humming the song later, but you still need to write the ones people are not meant to notice. The percussion, the bass, the backing vocals, y'know? The stuff that makes the whole song whole. Getting into a good writing flow is so much about instinct and rhythm - which some people have naturally and some people learn, but either way both types have to work hard to keep it - and eventually you get to a point where you can do that connectivity shit in your sleep. And, more importantly, when you view other stories unfolding.

A little exercise I'd recommend to fledging writers is, when watching a show or movie, take advantage of the dramatic pauses in or between sentences. When these pauses happen, like in a middle of a dialogue, mumble what you think they're going to say to yourself. In doing this you're stretching your own instincts: when presented with an option, what was your first instinct as a writer? If the character on screen just said, "If I lost you..." and you just finished, "... I don't know what I'd do," or whatever before they did, then you get that rhythm. Eventually, for the more crappy Hollywood cliche-ridden scripts you can chart every note ahead of you, and then you can begin to do fun stuff like actively rewrite it to be better, with the full understanding that it is better, that your line is a wittier line, that a rewording could've helped the characters's delivery, or even that they didn't need that one moment et cetera. Exercise your rhythm muscle and it helps you when you get into your own writing, definitely.

So, to get to the point, I was unconsciously doing that when I watched Joe write. Trying to predict how he'd end his sentences was kinda fun, so I thought, "Fuck it." When he paused writing at eight minutes in, I paused his video, and then busted open a text document. I know I'm obviously a different and more waffle-y word-to-word writer than he is - and he's obviously leagues ahead of like, all of us - but I thought two different rhythms and instincts would be interesting things to compare for the purpose of this thread. So, again, fuck it.

Here's the exercise: take what I'd been given so far as if it were a simple writing prompt, use the plot points that Joe had written down and expand on them, and then write what my instincts told me to write. I paused eight minutes in with eighteen minutes remaining in the video, so I'd time myself with the same time. Then, I'd post the end result of mine and his in here (Uhh, I hope transcribing and posting yours is okay, Joe? Yeah?), to demonstrate a lesson to all of you about how different writers work with different instincts. You'll see what I took from his vague notions, and then see how the guy who actually came up with them used them even better right after. Cool idea, right? Also a nice demonstration on the canyon-length between the skillset of a local crazy drunk and the professionally published crazy drunk.

So first off, here's a transcription of what Joe had at approximately 8:10 in the video, mistake and all, and what I used for my entire basis. I also added in some commentary with red bolded text in { } brackets, so watch out for that.

Spoiler

{First off, he does fancy shit like line spacing and indents, the professional writer nerd, but I skipped that and just did it simple WBA-y style 'cause easier to read here. Also, he's using Word. TextEdit forever, bitch.}

Title.​

Start:

"Welcome to our new first years," Headmistress McGonagall said from her gilded podium at the head of the Great Hall, beneath stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Battle of Hogwarts over ten years ago. "Now that you are sorted into your respective houses; your homes for the next seven years and the feast is about to begin, I bid you listen to a few start of term announcements."

Professor of Transfiguration Penelope Clearwater sat at the long staff table behind the Headmistress, the enchanted ceiling reflecting about a million stars in the dark red wine of her goblet. She took a sip, the crimson-come-lilac plum draught matched the colour of her lips, and wondered at the empty high-backed chair next to her. All the staff were curious as to who would be filling the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. As yet, the headmistress had been tight lipped to the point of obstinance {Lengthy yet hilarious moment in the video when Joe had to look up the dictionary definition online 'cause the word refused to appear as anything but incorrect on Word happened here. Same thing for my problem, weird. Maybe it's supposed to just be "obstinancy"? Ehh…} on the matter.

"As always," the headmistress continued, "the extensive forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students without supervision from a member of the caste {Joe meant castle. We hope.} staff. Our Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Professor Hagrid {Video paused right now.}

- Harry's entrance
- Sorting (start, skip over)
- Penelope's appearance (POV to start)
- Gasps, surprise at Harry
- McGonagall Headmistress
- Layer in first few plot points
- Meeting in headmistresses office

Now, the first thing I did was very quickly transcribe everything written in those first eight minutes, but in my own words. Like - and this is what I do when I'm doing rewrites - I had his document on one side and mine on the other, writing beside it and against it all at once, using it as a guide, but letting the instincts guide me for certain phrasing. In this process I also wrote down his plot points and then adapted them to what my initial ideas were. Not only is this my future guide, but it's also, critically, so I don't forget shit when other shit comes up in my head! Seriously guys, I will forever advocate writing down your fucking ideas the moment you have them. Every time. Sometimes it gets to the point where I write something down and find out I wrote the exact same thing down six months earlier, which definitely shows how my writing instinct goes on similar tangents even months apart, but still! Important!

And also, writing my bullet points-y things I thought would help the demonstration of how I write. Like Sesc, but less German! And sexier! Here we go. Later commentary from me in bold red bracketed text, but I'll skip doing that in the actual finished pieces, don't worry.

Spoiler

- - - -o- - - -

Clear Waters Run Deep.
By Matt Silver.

Chapter One: Ripples. {I always like having titles before I write, no matter how placeholder or stupid or pun-y. I'm a bad person. Note how the "ripple" chapter title also matches with the water theme of the title I made up in two seconds, because I'm unable to go anywhere without connecting chapter and story titles in some way, even in a fucking writing exercise where I'm under a time limit, for fuck's sake.}

- - - -o- - - -

"Welcome to our new first years," Headmistress McGonagall said from her gilded podium at the head of the Great Hall, her figure dwarfed on either side by tall stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Battle Of Hogwarts {You'll soon figure out I'm also psychopathically unable to go without capitalising EVERY word in capitalised phases.} ten years previous. "Now that you are are sorted in your respective houses - your homes for the next seven years - and the feast is about to begin, I bid you listen to a few start of term announcements."

Behind her, Professor Penelope Clearwater sat at the long staff table near the far end, as befitting one of the newer additions to the staff in McGonagall's old Transfiguration position. Stars from the enchanted ceiling overhead cast twinkling lights into her goblet of dark red wine, the same colour of her lips even before she took a sip, and seemed to shine a spotlight onto the empty high-backed chair beside her. All the staff were curious as to who would be filling the role of Defence Against The Dark Arts {SEE!} professor. As of yet, the headmistress had been tight-lipped to the point of obstinance on the subject, but for her part, Penelope just hoped he didn't carry a foul odour.

"As always," the headmistress continued, "the extensive forest on the school grounds is forbidden to all students without supervision from a member of the castle staff. Our Care Of Magical Creatures {Somebody stop me.} instructor, Professor Hagrid

{This is where I stopped for the "prompt" part, and here's my bullet point notes, adapted from Joe's, and was my guide for what I was planning to write in the final piece.}

-- Hagrid is the exception, don't trust his judgement. Snickers in the crowd from knowing students.
-- Furthermore, Mr Filch announcement, WWW products.
-- DADA announcement. "I am honoured to present Professor Potter" kinda wording. Side door, not the big doors; Harry wouldn't allow that shit.
-- Harry's entrance met with gasps and surprise. Sends ripples in Penelope's wine; matches the chapter title and metaphor made literal.
-- No feast yet so we get a chance to see Harry and Penelope interact for a bit. And, Harry notes, he was hungry. {Yeah that's why I figured Joe had left the announcements here instead of after the feast like in canon, for the interaction. And I decided to add another joking line about it.}
-- First few plot hints would be related to the surprise aspect. It's been ten years; people aren't just surprised 'cause Harry Potter's the teacher, but because Harry's been up to shit. Travelling around the world shit, rumours abound that he lost his mind, shit like that ("He was more of a ghost than the ones floating lazily around their house tables"). Penelope would wryly note that he didn't carry that foul odour, sure, but some people in the crowd were looking so wary he might as well have been.
-- Penny wary, yet curious. Harry guarded yet talks back when prompted, polite enough to someone he used to know of vaguely as Percy's girlfriend, mentions anecdote of Moody's DADA announcement entrance in comparison to his, how Moody spent his first minutes up the table bringing out his own food and drink like a paranoid person. Penelope doesn't know what to make of it all, but she's banter-y back.
-- Harry gazes up at the stained glass depiction above his head. That or some comparison to the person in the depiction to the guy walking through the hall to his seat.
-- McGonagall asks for a word in her office afterwards, more curiosity from Penny, but she stays silent, drinks her wine, welcomes Harry to the school.
-- Scene will probably end around here anyway 'cause it's limited time and shit, no big deal.

The stage is set. I have my guide. Joe's got like eighteen minutes left in his video, I give myself eighteen minutes timed out exactly by picking out certain songs my special playlist of "get shit done" music. This is the final, hilariously rough in places, result, something that is so crazy different than what he wrote, but I didn't know it at the time of writing. It's actually pretty hilarious how I approached it, what I was thinking as a full possibility of the story ahead and how it's probably nothing like what's in Joe's head. It's also kinda interesting! Also, no commentary as I go, just some notes afterward, so enjoy!

Spoiler

- - - -o- - - -

Clear Waters Run Deep.
By Matt Silver.

Chapter One: Ripples.

- - - -o- - - -

"Welcome to our new first years," Headmistress McGonagall said from her gilded podium at the head of the Great Hall, her figure dwarfed on either side by tall stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Battle Of Hogwarts ten years previous. "Now that you are are sorted in your respective houses - your homes for the next seven years - and the feast is about to begin, I bid you listen to a few start of term announcements."

Behind her, Professor Penelope Clearwater sat at the long staff table near the far end, as befitting one of the newer additions to the staff in McGonagall's old Transfiguration position. Stars from the enchanted ceiling overhead cast twinkling lights into her goblet of dark red wine, the same colour of her lips even before she took a sip, and seemed to shine a spotlight onto the empty high-backed chair beside her. All the staff were curious as to who would be filling the role of Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. As of yet, the headmistress had been tight-lipped to the point of obstinance on the subject, but for her part, Penelope just hoped he didn't carry a foul odour.

"As always," the headmistress continued, "the extensive forest on the school grounds is forbidden to all students without supervision from a member of the castle staff. Our Care Of Magical Creatures instructor, Professor Hagrid, is the sole exception to this rule, for reasons of... questionable judgement in the regard for students's safety."

Several of the more knowing older students in the hall snickered.

Were Hagrid there, and not off wrangling the school's Thestrals, he might've protested, but he wasn't, and McGonagall carried on, "Furthermore, our caretaker Mr Filch has an extensive list of items whose very existence in the proximity of students will result in detention for those students, available for viewing in the wall outside his office on the second floor, and includes a blanket ban on all Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products."

Years of working with the headmistress helped Penelope know when she saw a lighter look in the corner of McGonagall's eye; she was always fond of her former Weasley students. Far fonder than Penelope; after all, she had dated one.

"And finally," said McGonagall. "It is with regret that I announce that our Defence Against The Dark Arts instructor, Professor Sands, will be unable to join us for his eleventh consecutive year of teaching on account of his retirement, but with pleasure that I announce we have found a more than suitable replacement. If everyone could join me in giving warm greetings to our new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, please welcome Professor Harry Potter to Hogwarts."

For one long moment, deafening silence blanketed the hall. Then the gasps came, of shock and surprise and some of sheer bewilderment - and some even coming from the professors on the high table. The wine in Penelope's goblet rippled at the rush of air coming as the side entrance of the Hall swung open, and a dark-haired wizard in plain black robes strolled into view of all of Hogwarts to see.

Headmistress McGonagall led a scattered applause as Harry Potter raised a hand to the crowd, a smile on his face that would've been worth little if used for currency. It could've been nervousness, thought Penelope when thoughts dared to return to her, before her next ones turned right to the fact that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the saviour of the wizarding world, was about to sit beside her, was about to be her colleague for possibly years to come, was about to return to the public eye of nearly ten years of escaping its piercing gaze.

The hushed whisperings seemed to be saying the same thing; it was as if every student had been hit with static electricity and sought to pass it on to all those around them. The more ignorant Muggleborns looked confused until their neighbours spoke over each other to explain just who Harry Potter was, and then they just looked more confused.

Penelope didn't blame them at all. How could you explain Harry Potter? The man who spent a year as an Auror hunting down every Death Eater and Dementor left running free after the defeat of You-Know-Who, and then disappeared into the world after a tragic loss. The man who apparently took down another Dark Wizard in Syria, who reclaimed the Lost City Of Atlantis, who stared down madness for ten years and his only reward was to be stared at as if he were the mad one. Maybe he was - Penelope certainly didn't know otherwise - but the stories were madder, and she dismissed more than a few of them as utter poppycock. What she did know was that Harry Potter was more a ghost than the ones hanging lazily above their house tables, and yet there he was.

"Professor Potter here is honoured to be joining us and instructing generations of students to come," said McGonagall, her voice raised to cut off any more outbreaks of whispers. Now standing beside her, Harry waved again and didn't even blink those green eyes of his behind round-framed glasses. "As befitting students of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, treat him with the respect you would any of your teachers, and to allow him to help you learn how to combat the Dark Arts."

Harry - Professor Potter, Penelope's mind tried to process it - nodded at the headmistress before walking down to the far end of the table, sliding right into the seat beside Penelope. She didn't stare at him like the rest, though pretending to look at the stained glass window behind his seat would've given the same effect; the depiction of Harry Potter, all jagged edges and lit by the halo of a rising sun, was waving his wand in the scene playing out on an endless loop, jets of brilliant red light shooting out to match the green coming from You-Know-Who at the window far opposite.

After one final reminder from McGonagall about third years and above only being able to go on Hogsmeade weekends if they had the forms, the feast began. And while Harry didn't wear a pungent cologne like Professor Sands did, he might as well have been for all the looks he was getting, from students and teachers alike.

It was in the midst of Penelope pouring a second glass of wine for herself when Harry finally spoke.

"Penelope, right?" he said, cutting his roast lamb. "You looked familiar."




{It was here when I hit my time limit. Kinda started rushing at the end, didn't really cover much of Harry's physical presence beside her, blah blah. But hey, in the end that's like 1000 words, and they're not entirely awful! Just rushed! And awful!

Now for my post-mortem commentary.}

POST-MORTEM: I obviously wrote a bit too much there that repeated the same kind of information, but it was tone-setting and some preliminary waffle that would've been cut down later, easy as. But waffling like that, letting the autopilot kick in, lets me expel as many lines that convey that tone as possible, giving me stuff like "a smile on his face that would've been worth little if used for currency" which is something that I could repurpose for other character-defining moments or descriptions later on, you know? There's always value in anything you cut, even if it's just to know what's essential words and what's not for later on. Although, I mean, it's me, so I would've kept as much as possible because I'm self-indulgent and writing fanfic, so fuck it!

Also, the name Professor Sands, invented on the spot, was meant to also fit the water theme; Sands started teaching before Clearwater. Or whatever. Roll with it, I just conjured it out of my ass to finish the sentence. Also also, the details of Harry's disappearance were also conjured, including the "tragedy", the Dark Wizard in Syria et cetera. All to sort of play into the tone of mystery, add layers to possibly be exploded later, despite Penelope's skepticism. Also also, Atlantis thing was my shoutout at Joe, especially the part of it being poppycock! <3 you baby.

Looking back, if I did rewrite/rejig - which, 'cause I suck, I edit and re-edit shit constantly after leaving it for like half an hour/day/week - I know what I'd fix. For one thing, I would not do it under a fucking time limit, because it probably caused half these mistakes... but anyways.

I would do stuff like make McGonagall's wording sound less like, y'know, not herself (Though that dig at Hagrid totally feels like her to me), and to make sure whatever my Penelope stuff is, it matches with her character arc and not just the plot arc. Would she maybe be more intrigued than curious, or more afraid than cautious? Would her POV mention something about Harry being attractive in any way, even subtly? I know they're headed for a romance, but a good romance is two character arcs colliding, not a plot arc just with two people, so which feels too much like which? These questions and more are but a few of the ones we crazy writers ask themselves for every aspect to make sure there's enough cohesion in the story that people won't be questioning shit all the time later, just enjoying it.

As for the things I didn't get to do but were planned out, it would've played out as planned; the rhythm was there, I could feel it. Kinda sad to stop it, honestly. I had my stage, I had my actors, I had my tone. If this was a regular story of mine, my far-flung planning ahead would've said something like that the point of the conversation was to both play into the mysterious Harry angle and subvert it at the same time, yet build and build and escalate into bigger moments and subversions later on. Makes the reader ask themselves questions. Does the comparison between Harry and the stained glass Harry act as a contrast? If so, which is the more mythical and unknowing one? Building blocks for grand reveals, hooking people in on a subtle level while doing it on the bigger level with the "what the fuck Harry just came back after ten years?" aspect. Shit like that.

{This is what it looks like to be a Matt Silver. Would not recommend.}

So that was my piece, and my post-mortem "what the fuck did I just write" thing. Obviously not word babies that would grow up to win any science fairs any time soon - it's okay kids, I still love your baking soda volcanos - in the end, but writing is so much about adapting and transforming and even ditching what you've got until you get what you want, or what you need, that first drafts are so very much forgotten about within a second of editing it or writing a new one. And this is an exercise, so fuck it.

Let's get onto the real fun part; it's time to compare the words with what Joe ended up writing. After I first wrote my bit I instantly figured that he definitely would've gotten to the actual point quicker, would've travelled more ground, would've probably had more striking Penelope and Harry characterisations or whatever. Sue me, but this Penelope I just wrote ain't got shit on the one I've got planned a my future fic I had even before Vlad's challenge came up, and now I'm seriously considering buckling down to ace it (tease tease tease)... Anyway. Take it away Joe. Here is the final transcript of his words in the video, with my "What the fuck I got this so wrong" commentary at the end. It's transcribed as is, his occasional mistake and all, just shown in basic forum-y style instead of his professional-y one, so enjoy!

Spoiler

White Wine in the Sun

… Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways.

~ The Heart and the Head.
​

"Welcome to our new first years," Headmistress McGonagall said from her gilded podium at the head of the Great Hall, beneath stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Battle of Hogwarts over ten years ago. "Now that you are sorted into your respective houses; your homes for the next seven years and the feast is about to begin, I bid you listen to a few start of term announcements."

Professor of Transfiguration Penelope Clearwater sat at the long staff table behind the Headmistress, the enchanted ceiling reflecting about a million stars in the dark red wine of her goblet. She took a sip, the crimson-come-lilac plum draught matched the colour of her lips, and wondered at the empty high-backed chair next to her. All the staff were curious as to who would be filling the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. As yet, the headmistress had been tight lipped to the point of obstinance on the matter.

"As always," the headmistress continued, "the extensive forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students without supervision from a member of the caste staff. Our Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Professor Hagrid, is absent from tonight's feast in order to deal with some... aggrieved centaurs, who did not take kindly to his introduction of a colony of magical creature, which have apparently trampled their nesting grounds. Fourth year's, you make look forward to a semester collecting item from these creatures with Professor Hagrid. Coincidentally, our matron Madam Pomfrey has informed me her stock of healing remedies has been suitably replenished by Potions Master Slughorn."

Penelope hid a smile behind another sip of wine as the fourth year students squirmed uncomfortably along their respective benches.




Harry slung his jacket over the back of the tall chair, revealing muscled arms and a simple black shirt over which he wore an unbuttoned waistcoat. Ignoring the frantic whispers and wide-eyed glances, as he had done his whole life, he sat down next to Penelope with a polite nod and she stifled her own small gasp of surprise.

It had been ten years since she had seen Harry Potter, at some Weasley family gathering or another back when she had been part of such things, in the aftermath of the war. He had changed an not, it could be said, for the better.

He'd lost most of his arm during some fight or accident, and magical silver had fused over the missing chunks in his bicep to his elbow, down to his forearm, and across the back of his left hand. His thumb, index, and middle finger were all tarnished metal. He picked up a bronze goblet with ease, however, and didn't seem to have lost any movement in the limb. If anything, Penelope thought, he's being careful not to crush that goblet.

Fusing metal and flesh like that, seamlessly, was not something taught at Hogwarts, or even at St. Mungo's. Penelope was as fascinated as she was horrified at where Harry Potter had come across such obscure magic - and what adventure he had been on to have need of it. Some of those carefully fused seams between flesh and silver could be mistaken for bite marks.

"Professor Potter joins us after extensive experience fighting the dark arts both here at Hogwarts." Headmistress McGonagall paused and smiled sadly. "And ten years experience in the world at large, first as an Auror, then a varied employment history that makes him uniquely suited to teaching minds how to defence themselves. Welcome, Professor."

The hall took a moment to realise they were meant to politely welcome the new professor. Penelope smiled to herself and started to clap, which spread quickly through all five tables. Harry raised his goblet and gave a small nod of acknowledgement.
Dinner gets underway - Penelope tries to talk to Harry, but he's strong/silent.




"People talk about you like you're a legend, a myth in your own time," Penelope said, and blushed at how silly she sounded. "I caught up with Percy Weasley a few months ago. He mentioned you in passing, said his family hadn't seen you in some time. What do you get up to these days?"

Harry shrugged. "I keep busy. Whole lot of world out there."




"You know the last three defence professors didn't last more than a year," Penelope said with a soft giggle. "Kind of like when we were kids here, isn't it?"

Harry smiled sadly. "So I've heard, Professor Clearwater." He rapped his silver knuckles on the hardwood table once. "That's why I'm here."

*~*~*~*​

As unexpected as Harry Potter's appointment to Hogwarts had been, it wasn't the only unexpected thing to happen that evening. As the students old and new, those heading toward the end of their magical education and those freshly Sorted, ambled stuffed from the Great Hall led by prefects and house goats, Headmistress McGonagall called a staff meeting in her office at midnight - some three hours away.

Why the meeting, why so late, and why the whole faculty were puzzles Penelope was fairly certain had the newly minted Professor Potter at the heart. So be it. Penelope retired to her quarters in the wing of the castle to change out of her formal robes, shower, and slip into something far less stuffy and cumbersome. After all, if Harry Potter could flout the dress code then nothing was sacred and the rules could be forcefully, elegantly, damned.


{Annnnnd scene.

My live commentary as I watched the rest of his video:

-- Joe uses italics for his FIX SHIT HERE moments in story, as indicated. We saw earlier in this thread that Sesc uses <> marks, while I personally use [ ] brackets. Isn't it fun? Find what's comfortable to you and use it!
-- Hah, McGonagall's got jokes here too.
-- He jumped over the announcement for Harry's appearance. My fucking face when {Later I realised he said as much in his post before the video, but I didn't really read it, like an idiot.}. But it does demonstrate how different writers go at it. I felt the need to connect it in one flow because I planned it out that way, and waffled a bit in between. Joe goes his own way, and just wanted to get to the point for this video.

-- Joe had a system of highlighting what parts of his plan got finished, and even used it as a "To-Do" List later on, which was fun to watch live. I usually just cut and paste the finished bullet points over to a trash document of my cut stuff, and the To-Do stuff on a Notes For Rewrite doc or whatever.
-- Harry has a silver magical arm? Love you so much, Joe. Also that does hilariously play into my planned joke in mine about Harry making a comparison between his dramatic entrance and Mad-Eye Moody's, lol.
-- My Harry appearing uninjured could at least help that line about Penelope thinking all the stories are bullshit, haha. Maybe he just spent ten years getting a tan. And then losing that tan.
-- "defence themselves". Oh Joe. There's something so weirdly endearing and satisfying about seeing a writer of more caliber making the same occasional dumb mistake we all do.

-- Penelope leading the clapping. Smooth, Pen. Getting in his good graces early. Get it, girl.
-- It's so fun to think of Harry and Percy being wiener cousins someday in the future. One conversation for a particularly slow Weasley get together, that's for sure.
-- Joe paused at "Harry smiled sadly" and added "as if"... Hmm. I would've gone with some variation of "Harry smiled sadly, as if that being something to giggle over was both funny and sad" but y'know, with more class. Or maybe he's smiling sadly in remembrance? ... Or maybe yeah, Joe was right to cut it back.
-- After Harry raps his knuckles on the table, Joe now decides to go back and create a title and the opening quote, as seen above. Harry a white wine drinker, Penny the red. Must be love.
-- Hilariously, the curse of British spelling strikes us in strangest, incorrect, moments. Joe just spelt "those" as "thouse" twice. RIP Joe, I feel ya.

In the end, he's got about 900-y words. And they're pretty damn awesome, occasional slip-up notwithstanding! Not bad in less than thirty minutes; we're all jealous and emasculated.

Joe successfully gets in a "what the fuck has Harry been up to?" hook going strong, has a physical presence in the form of the magical arm, establishes some banter with Penelope, and conveys a little bit of her being attracted/curious/both/more stuff. He skips around to go to the next idea that jumps out at him, whatever's on the tip of his mind's tongue, which I totally feel. I usually end up doing that in the planning dot points, as you saw in my first thing, then yeah, do what I did. I had the basics for Harry and Penelope's conversation down, knew what points I wanted to hit, and would've gone on to hit them, no big. Just as Joe would've added stuff, cut stuff, edited stuff, whatever. He's fucking Joe Ducie. Don't question him, you asshole.}

So, to sum up: I'm glad that I never write on the fly like I just demonstrated, and I'm also very much looking forward to seeing what Joe's finished product looks like. Watching the process was really cool, Joe, so thanks for uploading and sharing with us. Seeing how another perspective moved in similar ways in some parts yet in different ways in others, seeing words dance on the screen in more advanced ways than I saw... Fun times. And this exercise here I drummed up may have been born of just having woken up and saying, "Fuck it," but I hope it was educational to those a little confused by the Sesc method, or just educational in general.

Nothing here is a definitive guide or whatever, just an insight in one style of many, one way of achieving the same result as any other. Your favourite writers and authors all use different methods, maybe even changing in the middle of their own stories, and I suppose the key is that they buckle down and just fucking write. They find their own way, they're constantly adapting, always evolving. The best writers are perpetual apprentices. Sometimes they're not, sometimes they just get lucky, sometimes they just write one thing, but if you go into writing expecting to get lucky, then you're doing it wrong. Probably. But fuck me right, I just wrote some shit to prove and placed it next to fucking Joe's writing, so I need a drink.

Which brings us to our next lesson, same time next week, titled Alcoholism And Writing: A Love Story. Until then.

Oh, and also. Republic, this should also say something about having a similar premise not meaning you'll get the same result. No need to scrap what you've got. Unless you think of something better because of the challenge now presented before you to think of something new... In which case, if you need help, we're here for you!

 

That was awesome, Matt.

This made laugh:

Normally I'd say there's a typo and that was supposed to be 'explored', but with you it could be that there isn't a typo.

 

I'd guess mine's sort of like Sesc's in that I get certain sentences/scenes in my head that I need to try and connect to create a cohesive story. My major problem is once I get those scenes out of the way I'm always in a rush to get the story connected that the majority of said writing becomes garbage. Something I really need to work on.

As for music while I write, I like using Classical, as it just sits in the background and also blocks all other noise from distracting me, Chopins Nocturnes is my main go to, or Mendelssohn's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Other times I just use one of my playlists, which tends to feature anything and everything and either gets me distracted from writing or really invested, bit of a hit and miss there.

 

I write in... the opposite way to Sesc, but really similarly, I guess. I don't fill in specific bits - I like to be able to read what I've written without pause during the writing process?

I tend to write the first draft of something in which I have a rough idea of the scene and very specific lines that I know are going to be in it.

And then I'll let it sit for like, 15-20 minutes, then I'll read over it, aloud usually, in a whisper to myself. Doing so lets me get a feel for what's missing from it - it's usually really barebones at that point, so it's often missing a lot. Usually the character work (what people say, their facial expressions, what they feel, the trajectory of their conversation) is the most fleshed out at this point.

Then I paste it to a Google doc, drag it to the right side of my screen and open TextEdit (no fancy programs for me, at all) and, side by side, trace over the words and fill them in. Every time I write a longer segment (500-600 words) I'll usually read it aloud to myself and edit it on the spot, then I'll cut and paste the "rewritten" bits over the parts and start on the next section.

After it's done, I tend to give the whole thing another read over and... in rare cases I'll redo the process. The writing generally doubles in length.

I do this because it lets me shelve the writer's block that comes from "oh I don't have the perfect line here" from start to end, which is a problem when I try to write a finished product from the start. On a whole, I find that doing it the way I do nowadays gives a coherence to my writing that I didn't really used to have.

 

I thank God for computers, because forced to rely on pen and paper I would be up to my eyeballs in notes.

I write a document that outlines the entire story, start to finish.
Then have a separate document where I go through and highlight what I want to cover in every chapter. Sometimes this is really specific - the exact dialogue of a conversation that I've thought through - and sometimes it's really general. Each chapter has its own document.

Then there's one for random thoughts, lines, ideas I have that I might incorporate, might not, but that I don't want to lose them

Then I'll write the chapter. I'm more linear than Sesc (who isn't!), but occasionally I'll have a scene or idea that I want to get down on paper. Or if I'm worried about the characters running away, I'll go ahead and write the end of a scene so I keep it where it needs to go.

Also keep a document that acts as my wiki: character info, relationships, motivations.

I've tried condensing documents, doesn't work for me. So this is my folder for Sins of Father:




Compared to the complete artistic mess of my drafting, my actual writing process tends to be very technical, I think. I already at this point have the story and then it becomes a question of what selection of words best tells it and doing the grunt work of writing them down. Each scene is a single unit. Then the goal is to come back and stitch them together in such a way that readers don't see the Frankenstein.

As a final note: the IRC gammurz isn't entirely put upon. Much like Eric Cartman's tourettes, I have done so much fic-talk and drafts in IRC that my steam-of-conscious mimicks it at times. For instance:

As a final note, I have no qualms showing the above picture because the "Korean" and "Korean 101" folders are totes legit and I have nothing to worry about, unlike you smutfaecez who by the time you've read this final paragraph are all ready to crack joekz about Harry Potter and the Yellow Fever of Chang.

 

Upside down in zero-g.

 

That explains so much.

 

I write original fiction, but treat it like fanfiction.

Before I start writing a story, I’ll make a chapter list and the broad events that happen within it. I expand this in each chapter document. Then I start from chapter one and write chronologically until I get to the end of the chapter. Because the urge to edit is strong, I’ve included in my process in that I go back and edit / rewrite parts of the chapter to make sure everything goes as it should. It’s easier to write / edit a chapter when I have a solid chapter ending.

After I’m satisfied, I upload the chapter to google docs and let someone read it. If I don’t do this, I’m afraid I’ll let chapters stand in their unedited states, and I can’t count how many times an edited chapter has redirected important events. I won’t be doing this for my second draft though, and I’ll try to write the chapters in one draft since my draft one is basically an unedited version already.

 

That lesson never ends, my friend.

I enjoyed your story far better than I'm enjoying writing my own. Heh. Your 'killed a wizard in Syria' bit actually got me around a plot knot I hadn't accounted for. Cheers, Matt.

 

Heh. I have something like 500 pages of handwritten stuff across 10 notebooks for that one longer fic I have written. Somehow I just couldn't focus in front of a computer (too many distractions just a click away) so I did a lot of writing in restaurants and cafes...

Of course I also had a lot of bullet points in different computer files (including an AutoCad drawing with a timeline of the whole story with the actual dates of canon events, full moons, weekends, holidays and quidditch matches plotted out as reference), but I think majority of the actual text was first written by hand.

 

"How do you write?"

I wait until my muse floats down from Olympus, borne upon wings gilt. Then she gives me a handjob.

Then I piss it away dicking around on the Internet or IRC. Then I swear at myself, find alcohol, and stay up until one or two in the morning writing.

 

I used to write a lot, though I only posted a very small part of that work.

Basically, I'd sit down, type stuff up and post it. At this time I was at that stage of adolescence where I thought everything I did was brilliant (you all remember that time, right?)

Then one of my favourite English teachers introduced me to some really great books and the concept of editing. I kind of hate her for this.

Now, I'm functionally crippled as a writer. I get too caught up in trying to make things perfect and I'm my own worse critic so nothing's every good enough. The last thing I posted a spy-Snape story in WbA about two years ago. I've written bits and pieces but I mostly get caught up in world-building both fanfiction and original fiction.

I'm contemplating trying to pick one project and posting it in bits and pieces as I write them in an effort to improve my writing.

I'd love to write more, not because I see myself as a published author, but because it's just so much damn fun and a nice distraction.

 

I always have a notepad with me, where I write everything down that comes to mind, doesn't really matter where I am or what I'm supposed to do. Than, when I have some actual free time I edit it and try to fit in random passages in my existing stories. It works most of the time...

 

I wrote about a thousand words for two different projects yesterday, one being my review blog and the other being someone's Santa fic.

To write critically/for school, I typically put on something really energetic that I'm already familiar with music-wise... creative writing is harder though.

I have to put on something trance-y and actively avoid any distractions, going so far as shutting off my phone/closing IRC. Even then I find myself spinning my wheels/struggling to get the right words out. What finally worked last night was when @rep told me to just get words out at all and that I can hammer out/fix phrasing after. That helped me with moving through the individual tough bits of a scene until I had a first draft of the whole scene down.

So, how I write period, and how I write fanfic vary wildly <.<

 

I stare at the page, get nothing, and then vow to try again tomorrow.