Packing it all in there

I came up with all sorts of ideas for this blog on the way to work today, but writing and driving (and putting on a little make-up so my dark under eye circles look less purple) doesn’t work out so well. Therefore, I’m winging it tonight.

Lately, all of AotP has been tied up in angst over our first books. We can never go back to those naïve writers we were when we met – those writers who just assumed you sat down and wrote a novel. Well, it doesn’t work that way. It involves blood, sweat, tears, mutilation, amputation, expulsion, killing, and mayhem, etc. Hopefully, the rewards will be as great as the drama, tantrums, and depression.

Regardless, it's a process and the first time around you'll make mistakes as you try to figure out what works best for you.

You know, writing story is a lot like packing a trunk for camp. Never done it? Too bad. It’s quite an experience.

Mikeala has been going to summer camp for several weeks each summer for a few years now. She’s 15. Two nights ago, we packed for camp. The finished product is one duffle bag and one trunk (both airline regulation). She’s gone for two weeks. We had a packing list for the 2 weeks. It went something like this:

1 sleeping bag
1 blanket
2 sets of sheets
2 pillow cases
3 pairs of tennis shoes (one for wading)
10 pair’s socks
10 pair’s underwear
10 pairs shorts
12 shirts
1 costume for Mission Impossible night
Toiletries
2 swim suits
Flashlight
1 sweatshirt

Get the idea? The list continues.

That’s a lot to pack in one trunk (that doesn’t exceed 62 total inches) and one small duffle. You have to really understand what’s going in there. If you don’t pack everything on the list, you might have some problems. There are only so many times you can turn your underwear inside out – know what I mean?

If you take too much, your bags are too heavy. The airline won’t accept them.

And then there is the whole packing with a 15 year-old thing. She’s never fickle. (Ha.) One of our conversations went something like this:

“You can’t take all three pairs of crocs,” I said, my patience worn thin from the flashlight argument.

“But what if I don’t take the right color?” a petulant teen voice asks, as if I’m dense.

“They’re wading shoes. Take the gray ones. Gray goes with everything. Besides, you have to wear tennis shoes everywhere, don’t you?” My voice of reason should win out.

“They’re not JUST wading shoes. We can wear them around camp on Sundays.”

“You’re only going to be there two Sundays.”

“But if I only take one pair, what if they don’t match what I wear on Sunday? I can’t plan those outfits right now.” She speaks as if I am the original fashion dyslexic.

It’s CAMP! “Gray goes with everything. Take the gray ones.”

“But I NEED them all.”

“You don’t have room.”

“I’ll make room.”

“Okay, but you’re paying the extra charge if the bags are too heavy – not me.” The next battle might be bigger. I surrender this ground.

“Fine.” She’s obviously is finished with my assistance.

In go two pairs of crocs. Compromise is good, right?

And wouldn’t you know it? She packs the pink and blue ones.

And not one damn other thing that’s pink.


Ah, yes, back to my thesis statement: Writing a story is a lot like packing a trunk for camp. First, you have to know what the hell goes in it. GMC – check. Hero – check. Likable heroine – check. Action verbs – check. And on it goes. If you leave something out, well, there are only so many days you can wear the same underwear…..

Second, you can’t pack too heavy. Lots of writers pack their stories with bulky subplots and added words that don’t progress the plot. If the trunk is too heavy, it’s never getting off the ground. Pack thoroughly, but lightly.

Finally, the stuff invariably has to be repacked. The pink crocs don’t really need to be on top – after all we really don’t need them anyway. Oh, but wait, don't I have pink shorts? And pink is my color. Why did I pack red shorts? Take them out. They aren’t me. And before you know it, you’ve strewn stuff all over and determined that the hole in the jeans actually is a problem and should be mended. Etc. Etc. Etc.

You just keep packing and repacking until you get it right. Get rid of the pink shoes or add something pink. Either--or. Just don’t leave it a mess. Eventually you’ll get it.

Macy.