Norman Green

STARTING OUT

10/25/08 

 

Sometimes I wish I could be one of those writers who begins with an outline, who lays out his plot in advance, and who then goes to work in an organized and orderly fashion.  There are such writers, and some of them are damn good.

 

I ain’t got it like that.

 

If I decide to try to write an outline I usually stare at the paper for a week or so and then I wander off to seek other amusements.

 

When I sat down to write my first book I had a neighborhood, about four blocks of a particular street in Brooklyn.  This was my beginning: ‘Troutman is a one-way street that runs from nowhere to nowhere.’  That was back during the first big crack epidemic, and Troutman was on the front lines.  The kids were on the corners selling rock, girls from Oyster Bay were selling their asses, tradesmen were selling their vans and tools, it was the street fair from hell, and it became my first character.  I picked up the story line,  the plot, such as it was, and the rest of the characters on the way.

 

For my third book I sort of knew the ending, I just had to get there.

 

My fourth book came about because some of the characters from the first one were still talking to me.  For number six I saw a kid with a ponytail and I just riffed on who he might be and what he might be going through.

 

What I’m saying, I suppose, is that in most cases I start out with no clear idea where I’m going, and somewhere between page fifty and one hundred I stop and try to figure out what the hell is going on.  It’s not a particularly efficient way to go about things, and I know I could save myself a lot of time and effort if I could put more planning into the process, but it just doesn’t seem to work for me.  I find that odd and a bit disconcerting because in my day job I do plan ahead, I tend to be fairly organized and I make punch lists and cross jobs out when they’re done and all of that.

 

The book I just started began in similar fashion.  I finished what I sincerely hope is the final draft for book six and sent it off to my agent.

 

Who went on vacation for a month.

 

You’ve got to give in to the process, if you don’t you’ll wind up wearing a jacket with sleeves much longer than your arms.

 

The point being, I found myself between writing projects, and I hate that.  I couldn’t even putz around with the last one, I sort of have to wait until I get the manuscript back covered with flyns (fucking little yellow notes). 

 

I really hadn’t thought much about what I wanted to do next.

 

I know!  I’ll start with an outline, and a plan, I’ll lay out the whole plot, this is going to be so much easier that last time…

 

Paralysis.

 

I hate not having a writing project.  I got out of the television habit, I wander around feeling guilty over my lack of progress on my phantom outline, I give myself silent lectures about my lack of discipline and mental laziness.  And then I figure, screw this, and I jump in.  There’s this chick, she’s riding the subway, there’s only one other person in the car…

 

What a relief, man.

 

What it is, I’ve got this itch.  That’s what I start out with, every time, it’s just an itch and writing is the way I scratch it.