ArchiveFebruary 2018

This is not a dumb question. So let’s answer it: Why would we write a serial?

The story is too long for other formats.

Yes, a movie or a book or a music album could be any length, but the two to three hour movie, two hundred to four hundred page book, or half-hour to hour length album are conventions for a reason. People expect that, and while different sizes can be good, the audience needs to adapt more to them. A three hour album isn’t something I would ever just put on to listen to, even if I really like it. I’d have to be in the mood, be ready, and have three freaking hours to spare. Can we break convention? Of course. With a good reason.

Yes we need to make our story hard to put down. Yes we need there to be drama and conflicts ripping about page after page. Yes we need to have hooks to pull readers from one piece to the next. And there are plenty of massive tomes that sell fantastically well, and are better because they are massive. But readers also want respite, and reader’s won’t just jump in to a thousand page book from someone they don’t know. Assuming we’re still starting out here, that is important.

More important than that, though:

The story’s development, research, drafting, and editing cannot be finished all at once.

If we make a thousand page book, great, but we also need to have as much polish and care on every single page as a two hundred page book. We don’t get to faff about just because we have more words. Try and get that done in a reasonable time frame.

If the story has grown so large we cannot make reasonable deadlines, we can try breaking it apart. This is part of the reason serialization used to be popular: it funded writers creating long novels by letting them sell it piecemeal in newspapers over a length of time. Of course, this also led to longer novels, as they got paid more if the story was longer. (Unrelated note: Fuck you, Charles Dickens.)

Yes, we are writers, and we have taken on this large work. Writers are responsible for doing it well and completing all the necessary tasks. We can still make it more bearable. Breaking it into pieces, piecemeal publishing it, and building from one to the next is one way to do that. I mean, that’s a series, too, in a way. That certainly isn’t something to look down on.

We need practice.

Probably the best theory I’ve ever been told for writers to learn how to write well is to write short stories, publish them, and then transition to longer works. It’s a great way to learn, fail, improve. Stephen King, almost every classic SF writer you can name, and a great number of other writing luminaries from the last hundred years until recently almost all started this way.

Two problems: It was a good idea in the past because we could actually earn a meager living from publishing short stories. Really talented short story writers could feed a whole family on it. Stephen King’s first sale was enough to pay a couple bills with money left over to go out for a nice dinner with his wife, according to his book On Writing.

Things have changed. More writers, fewer readers, less money available. Many places, at least a few years ago when I still bothered picking up a book on places to publish, will often just offer free copies of the magazine if our work is published. Not nothing, but not great. I’ve stopped caring, though I wouldn’t say it’s a bad idea to do it this way.

But, and we’ll go into detail on this, a properly done story is a series of smaller stories, made up of tiny stories. Serializing, in one sense, can be seen as a string of short stories tied together. If we’re starting out, and working from amateur to pro, the differences between serial and short story are more minor than major. And besides, we’re getting ourselves in the game. How we actually publish this as a serial, well … we’ll get there. Suffice it to say, short stories can be written exactly like serials, even if they don’t meet the definition we set out earlier.

Oh, and the second problem: Some people hate short stories. I do. I can’t fucking stand them. I like reading them: they’re quite interesting and fun. But my brain does not do short. Why would I think of six characters, set them up in some situation, create this whole conflict, and just write eight to ten pages about it? I would rather write fifty. Wait, now I can’t ever use them again, too? No.

There are more reasons, and we’ll cover them as we come across them. Don’t be upset, either, if none of these apply. Perhaps this is the wrong format. I have plenty of stories that I don’t think should be serials, and have no intention of writing them in pieces.

Consider these ideas carefully. Is it going to get us where we want to go? Independent authors are not an outright goldmine, they are a way, with different rocks in the path, rather than more or fewer these days.

Programming note: This blog will be Continuing with the single, weekly update for the next week or two, as secrets are prepared.

So, we have a core idea for what a serial is supposed to be, but we need to establish some ground rules for ourselves.

This space is for getting better at writing using a specific high-level format: a serialized piece of fiction (or non-fiction, you all are welcome too), as opposed to a novel, a short story, or a non-serialized series. But what does it mean to get better? It’s vague. Each one of us could have a different opinion on this; we need something we can use to judge our progress.

I have three points, for now, that I use.

Quality

We are writing and publishing at a relatively faster pace. Nothing in that says low quality writing. Now, there’s a difference between quality writing and metaphysical literature, so don’t confuse the two. Tarzan was published extremely rapidly for its day, and other than horror, Stephen King is most known for his massive output of books. We may disagree on their narrative and linguistic impact, but both of those had “good” writing. Besides, this isn’t a lit class. It’s a shop class.

Spelling mistakes, poor plots, bad characters, and all around shoddy writing are not acceptable. We can aim for quality on the level of Souseki, Rushdie, Austin, or Wolfe, just as we can aim for quality the likes of Christie, Poe, King, or Takahashi (Shin or Rumiko), just as we can aim for the quality of harlequin novels, pulp fiction, or that perennial bugbear, Charles Dickens.

We simply must maintain a level of quality for our audience. There is room above that for technique and literariness. However, going lower than that, having poorly designed or poorly written stories, is unacceptable. Any speed we gain from publishing poor writing is worse than wasteful.

Speed/Consistency

As we rambled on in the definition post, the central focus is a speedy and regular publishing schedule. Work starts, is developed, and then gets published, often and consistently.

If we find a technique that makes the writing “legit super good,” but either takes forever or is wildly inconsistent, it must be discarded. We are making an implicit promise to our readers: this will be here often, on time, for a long time. Things will happen, sure, and please understand we’re moving along a little fast, so we may slip up; but that’s the exception, not the rule.

Mostly this means speed and reliability. Any useful technique must do both, or at least improve one without harming the other. Knocking out 8000 words in a day, occasionally, isn’t good enough. Getting six words down every day without fail isn’t worth it either. Both are vital.

It still must be quality. Effective, while being quick and consistent.

Sustainability

If this kills me, well, what will I do next week?

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get things organized, ready, put in place, and that left me with nothing to show for it. No, get going, and get good. I have a plan I am working towards right now. A publishing schedule which sounds partially insane. I want that as my baseline, with side projects and other things on top of it. It shouldn’t kill me. But I can’t risk that, either.

Any technique or skill which gives consistent, fantastic results by destroying our health is worth knowing.

It cannot be used regularly, nor can it be our standard operating procedure.

Where the answer is: fuck, I got to write a 20k word draft in a day? Those days, pull that trigger. Pull out all the stops and let loose, and do everything to do quality, fast work. Do not slow down, do not hold back, and just hammer that thing out.

If that’s every weekend, we will burn out and die before getting close to anything worthwhile. It’s still work, it’s still a job, it’s still the long haul. Some of it will feel like it’s killing us, but actually, we just need to adapt. Get used to it as training. But sometimes it is killing us. If in ten years, I can’t still be doing this, then it doesn’t work.

It still needs to be fast, and it still needs to be good. But it also needs to be a weight we can bear.

One final point: Hobbyism.

I feel like this needs to be pointed out, even though it’s not exactly related to this post. I’m not here for fun. I’m not here to while away my time during commercial breaks. I’m not sitting at this desk because I have nothing else worth doing, and it papers over the ennui.

Sure, I might fail. No, that’s unrealistic: I will most likely fail and die aware of that. This whole project is probably a great show of effort to accomplish nothing. And I accept that; that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here because I want to be, and it is my reward to deal with all this. Writing this is my privilege, my vocation, and, if everything works out, the way I continue to eat.

Readers, I do not expect all of you to follow this. I have no problem with people who are not so serious, who want to be hobby writers, or who just enjoy reading and learning about things. In fact, if you aren’t interested in the blog, but like the stories I tell, fantastic. Thank you.

Some of these things will be more than you think are necessary. Some of them may appear to be overkill. As long as it meets the first three points, however, I don’t think there’s such a thing as overkill. Maybe it’s not required, but better is still better.

But remember, I wake up and think, “Hell yeah, this is what I get to do.” If I get a little overzealous or lose my perspective sometimes, forgive me. If it’s a hobby for you, take what you feel like and leave the rest behind. If it’s a job, treat it like one.

If it’s your dream, or your goal, then we will get to work. I know I’m still a dumb newbie, and you should know that too, but we’re in this together then. It’ll be a ride.

Let’s start by defining a serial.

Vocabulary.com has a couple definitions, but here’s the one that most matters to us right now: (n)a periodical that appears at scheduled times. It will be our baseline. However, consider also what a serial isn’t.

A serial is a kind of series, but it’s different from a series.

A series is a number of works coming out one after the other. A serial is, as stated above, a work that appears at a scheduled time. So, understand that a serial is a series, but the reverse isn’t always the case.

Some examples: HBO’s Game of Thrones is a serial TV series, which appears at regular intervals (weekly) for set times also at regular-ish intervals (yearly or so). The book series it is based on does not qualify, as each release arrives when it’s done. Many podcasts can be considered serials, as they have a fixed release date, along with most comic books, manga, and tv shows, all having very strict release schedules. They fit our basic definition.

We can be a little flexible here. Japanese light novels, webcomics, Youtube series, and a number of independent works come out regularly, but not always on a perfect schedule. My sense is, as long as it’s releasing as often or more often than what is traditional, it could be considered a serial.

If it doesn’t, it’s just a series. That not a value judgement, but what we will explore here is pulling off that special something called a serial, in written form. As such, fairly regular is vital, but exactly timed perfection is not.

Yet, there’s a little bit more. Maybe more opinion than definition, but I find them important points too.

First, we’re talking about a narrative. News programs, monthly community newsletters, or variety shows are not serials. They can teach us, they may use the same techniques we employ, and they may be fanatically reliable in their release schedule, but it lacks a narrative. A serial does not need to be fictional, but it must be a story.

Second, it’s a single story from the beginning to the end. It may change over time — perhaps drastically — but there is some unbroken thread that carries it through from beginning to end. The Simpsons is a great series, but there’s no throughline story. Almost every episode resets to the status quo. Not a serial, by our definition, here on this blog.

Third, many of the major conflicts start in one part and are resolved in another. Let’s look at Star Wars. It fits the second rule but not the third. In A New Hope, the conflict is the first Death Star, which is neutralized at the end of the movie. All three movies track Luke, Leia, Han, Darth Vader, and the Empire, yet each movie’s central conflict is almost entirely contained within it. Some points carry over, like Han being frozen in carbonite, but remember. He was hunted, and then captured, in one movie. It was decided to rescue, and then they did rescue, him in the next.

Conversely, look at . . . Look at Dragonball. Or Z. Or Super. Or whatever it is now. Fights begin in one episode, and end several episodes later. Things find a stopping point, but the actual conflict in the moment, and the ones at higher levels, both carry between steps.

Okay, one final caveat: a serial is usually many parts. It could be two parts; however, with such a short length, the whole thing gets muddy. We’ll say, it’s possible, but in general it should be many dozens of parts. Look at the series One Piece. At the time of writing, there’s 891 chapters, and 87 collected books of it… And it’s still going… And it’s still Luffy wanting to becoming the King of the Pirates. We may not be aiming for something as long as that, but it’s a much clearer picture here. It’s also more emblamatic as to what we, as writers, will end up producing.

Sure, sure, fancy definition. Super.

Why does this matter?

This is a way to carve out the space we’re working in.Next time, we’l be looking at what we can do with this to keep on track. We don’t want to be lost at sea, not knowing what we’re doing, but we can’t just drive the ship on shore. The definition is our lighthouse. That, plus a map (our techniques) and a compass (our criteria), will let us move freely.