Welcome to The VERB!

If you've noticed the musical influences posted in this ezine, you've probably figured out that I kinda like Steely Dan. Well, I can now happily say that after listening to these guys' studio recordings for almost thirty years, I recently heard them live.

They rolled in to St. Louis on Labor Day, the last show of their summer tour, and unloaded at the UMB Bank Pavilion. That's an outdoor amphitheater that seats about 20,000. With the show set for 7:30 pm, the traffic started to choke around 6:45 pm. Michael McDonald, a native of St. Louis and the opening act, didn't wait for us. We rolled down our windows and listened to him belt out a few tunes while we crept along like turtles on Valium. By the time we finally parked, we felt as far away as, oh … Kansas. So we had a good long stroll back to the amphitheater. When we reached the gate, we saw the ticket takers turning folks away because they'd brought the wrong lawn chairs, baby strollers or water bottles (couldn't be opened prior to entering). I told my son's girlfriend I was glad I'd gone to the pavilion's website, which clearly stated what we could and couldn't bring, so we wouldn't have to take things back to the car. About that time, the ticket takers stopped hubby and pointed to the digital camera hanging from his neck. 

"You can't take that in, sir." 
"Your website says this camera's okay." 
"Steely Dan decided they didn't want photos taken. No cameras." 
"You're kidding." 
"Sorry, sir." 

Hubby had to travel all the way back to Kansas just to put the camera in the trunk. I think he actually growled. But who can stay angry at a concert? Especially when a bright round moon lights the sky and a cool nostalgic breeze stirs the air? Who can stay angry when the lights go down and the crowd gets up and Walter Becker and Donald Fagen join their band on stage without so much as a "Ladies and gentlemen, Steely Dan" and then proceed to pour exquisite pop-jazz directly into the soul? Nobody, I tell you, nobody! 

Thanks for overwhelming us with CHALKBOARD submissions. We have collected an awesome array of excerpts that will be displayed in The VERB up to May '07. Until then, we won't be accepting any new submissions. 

Keep those spooky contest entries coming. Halloween is my favorite time of the year (I love to be scared), and there's nothing better than a nice twist at the end of a spooky tale. The kind that makes you gasp with wonder. Now how did I not see that coming?

~~~

FOR YOUR RESEARCH – What's In a Plot? 

I once read a writing book, title escapes me at the moment, that dared me to describe my current novel in two sentences. I took the challenge and tried my darndest. But my novel contained so many literary themes and nuances, it couldn't be reduced to two measly sentences. 

In other words, I didn't have a plot.

It's a fundamental truth that most fiction writers will create their first few stories without a clear understanding of plot. The reason for this prevalent confusion, I suspect, may be due to some overly complicated explanations. I'm sure at some point you've read an article or two on the subject, and you've probably walked away scratching your head. But plot isn't some mysterious code that can be deciphered only by scholars. Plot is available to anyone who understands the difference between a story and an idea.

Let's say a woman has a flat tire on the way to work. That's an idea. A premise. A foundation on which to build a story. And if she stays in the car whining that her ungrateful daughter lost her cell phone or lamenting the sorry nature of a husband who doesn't look after his wife's car or lusting after her best friend's hot he-man who surely knows how to change a flat . . . we still have nothing but an idea. 

It becomes a story only when the woman decides to DO something about her situation.

Now let's take that same idea--woman has a flat tire on the way to work--and insert a goal. What does she want? The obvious answer is to get to work on time. But let's boost the tension by inserting a hint of desperation: to get to work early to retrieve a damaging note she inadvertently left on her boss' desk. Now we have the reader's attention.

Of course we can easily remedy her situation by giving her a cell phone or a crash course on changing a flat. She'd be on her way in no time. But we wouldn't have a story, we'd have an incident. And a boring one at that. No, nothing can be easy for our heroine. To make her story sizzle, it must be bursting with Conflict--y'know, anything (animal, mineral or vegetable) that works against her. And we find conflict simply by using the most important plot device we have: asking What if …? 

What if the woman tries to change the flat, but breaks the jack? What if she spots a cabin on the other side of a vacant field and runs toward it? What if the field isn't vacant after all and she's chased by an angry bull? What if she gets caught in a barbed wire fence and opens an artery? What if she crawls to the cabin and finds no one but a friendly dog? What if she spots an old truck, keys inside, and drives off? What if … what if … what if? The climax is the moment she finally arrives at work and deals with the note. What if ... what if? The ending is not far behind.

That's a story. Every action our heroine takes is driven by the desire to get to work early, but every thing she encounters appears to conspire against her. We hook readers not by describing a series of disconnected events, but by leading them down the same distinct path our character travels. We point to her goal, up there on the hill, then we show, one by one, the precarious pitfalls that lurk on the way. Will she make it? they ask. Will she ever overcome these obstacles and accomplish what she set out to do? That's the million dollar question. And the million dollar question is what turns the page. 

The more comfortable we become with plot, the more fun we can have with it. Some great storytellers change the goal in midstream. For example, if our heroine comes up on a crying baby or an escaped rapist, her priorities change dramatically. Suddenly getting to work isn't half as important as dealing with what stares her in the face. Then there are subplots, smaller stories that run parallel but connect to the big story. Or reverse storytelling, a structure that opens with the climax and works back to the beginning. Within the perimeter of plot, we're only limited by our imagination!

But whether it's a fable or a saga, this plotting business can send even the most organized mind into a tailspin. That's why an outline is such a valuable tool. It needn't be a formal paper with bullets and brackets and headings. It needn't be more than a single paragraph describing the ACTION and the POINT of each scene. 

Think of all the things we do before we take a trip: pack our bags, get directions, stop the mail, fill the gas tank, make arrangements for the pets, etc. Well, as writers, we are taking our readers on a figurative trip and our stories deserve just as much preparation. 

So let's map the journey from beginning to end. Let's head our character in a specific direction, with a detailed itinerary in tow, and arrive at a specific destination. And last but not least, let's describe it all in two measly sentences. 

IN A NUTSHELL
A plot is the obstacle-ridden path a character takes to accomplish his goal. Outline it, then write it.

Elizabeth Guy
Editor
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This issue was
 published under the musical influence of

 STEELY DAN
Alive in America