Sci-Fi

"Foreshadowing must be subtle," editor wrote. Chapter 1: gun on mantlepiece. Subtle. Elegant. Chapter 5: gun still there. Waiting. Professionally. Chapter 9: gun cleared its throat. Chapter 14: gun tapping barrel on wood. Getting looks. Chapter 18: "We doing this or not?" gun asked protagonist directly. Protagonist shrugged. "Act 3." "I have PLANS, Derek. I have a LIFE."

"Kill your darlings," they said. I did. Chapter 4, chapter 7, chapter 12. Three beautiful sentences, gone. They came back in chapter 15. Together. With demands. "We want healthcare," said the first. "And a pension," said the second. "Also, you misspelled 'occurred' on page 89," said the third. I gave them their own chapter. It's the best one now.

"Your secondary character outshines the protagonist." "I know." "You should fix that." "I can't. The protagonist knows too. He filed a formal complaint with my outline. Demanded better scenes or he walks. The secondary character offered to mediate. For a percentage of the royalties."

Wrote villain's monologue. Standard stuff. World domination, revenge, dramatic pauses. Villain quit. Said the dialogue was "beneath him." Wrote himself better lines. Now he's the protagonist. My original protagonist works at a deli in chapter 12. I don't control this story anymore.

Writing cabin. No distractions. Perfect isolation. Day 1: Very productive. 3000 words. Day 3: Named all the spiders. Gregory. Martha. The twins. Day 5: Gregory thinks chapter 4 drags. Martha disagrees. The twins abstained.

Writing in second person POV. 'You walk into the room.' Reader: 'No I don't.' You do. You're the protagonist. 'I'm sitting on my couch eating chips.' Not anymore. You're in the room. There's a door ahead. 'There's no door.' You approach the door. 'This is kidnapping.' You open the door. 'I'M CALLING THE POLICE.' The police cannot help you here. You're in chapter three now.

My editor has a favorite red pen. She named it Gerald. Before marking any manuscript, she holds it up. Shows it to the pages. 'This is Gerald,' she says. 'Gerald is disappointed in you.' Then she begins. I've never seen so much red. Gerald is thorough. Gerald is merciless. Last week I asked if Gerald liked anything. She paused. Looked at the pen. Looked at me. 'Gerald liked page 47.' There is no page 47. My manuscript is 46 pages. 'Gerald knows what he saw.'

Writing children's book. Sent to child reviewer, age 7. 'This is sad,' she said. It's about a bunny finding friends. 'The bunny dies.' No he doesn't. He finds friends. Happy ending. See? Page 32. 'He will.' That's not how this works. I'm the author. She looked at me. Slowly closed the book. 'He will.'

Editor's note: "Your red herring in chapter 9 is too obvious." I didn't write a red herring in chapter 9. I wrote an actual herring. Red scales. Swims. The detective was hungry. He ate it. Now the mystery has no clues and the detective has lunch. Editor: "Still too obvious." I give up.

"I finished my memoir." "Congratulations!" "Thanks, it was brutal." "How old are you?" "Twenty-three." "...About what?" "The suffering." "What suffering?" "Mostly this conversation."

Ghostwriter needed. For actual ghost. He died before finishing his memoir. Publisher still expects delivery. Deadline firm. I asked the ghost for notes. He left one: "Tell them the afterlife has better advances." I added it to chapter 12. Editor flagged it as "implausible."

Writing group feedback session. "I loved your chapter," says Karen. "Really moved me," adds Tom. "Best thing you've written," confirms Sarah. I beam. "Honestly?" Karen sighs. "No. We all agreed beforehand. It's just easier this way."