This is going to sound like a blinding flash of the obvious, along the lines of Ponder Stibbons’ observation that “Fish are remarkably fish-shaped,” but here it goes:
Story, and to a slightly lesser extent, are king. The rest is just decoration.
Allow me to elaborate:
I think, to a point, I’m good as a fiction writer on the decoration. There’s always room for improvement, I know, but I think I can hold my own.
Where I lack is the story and character department. And without story and character, the decoration just kind of slumps to the floor, like dirty laundry, waiting for someone to come along and tidy up.
I say this as I continue to read Terry Pratchett’s “Maskerade,” and observe in worshipful, stifled sniggering during my bathroom breaks, as Pratchett nails the story, the character, and the decoration, making it appear effortless.
But for a pantser like me, it’s a revelation. I’m sure Pratchett outlined the basics of the story first and when the characters were there, the decoration came right along and hangs perfectly, like beautiful clothing stowed carefully in a closet or on hooks or in display for the world to see.
And when I say story, I don’t mean the overall story, though that’s important as well. Pratchett sets out the scenes too, ready for his decoration to arrive.
The story: Opera House staff interact and observe as undercover police and guests arrive for the first opera performance following a murder onstage.
That’s it. That’s the scene.
And the characters, so far, five major, a few other minor: Two of the opera staff and three guests, bringing in the decoration as if they were being lowered onstage by the Monty Python players to deliver the Spam sketch.
A little character decoration, to help set the scene: Bucket and Salzella, the opera staff, one who bought the opera and is lost in the world, the other an insider who spends a lot of time sarcastically explaining things. Then there’s Esme Weatherwax, a Lancre witch, accompanied by Greebo, a feline who has reluctantly agreed to take the form of a human for the night.
Now all together:
First, the staff take note of the undercover policemen:
“The Watch are here, you know. In secret. They’re mingling.”
“Ah . . . let me guess . . . “
Salzella looked around at the crowds. There was, indeed, a very short man in a suit intended for a rather larger man; this was especially the case with the opera cloak, which actually trailed on the floor behind him to give the overall impression of a superhero who had spent too much time around the Kryptonite. He was wearing a deformed fur hat and was trying surreptitiously to smoke a cigarette.
“You mean that little man with then words ‘Waterman in Disguise’ flashing on and off just above his head?”
“Where? I didn’t see that!”
Salzella sighed. “It’s Corporal Nobby Nobbs,” he said wearily.
They go on to note others of the Watch, poorly disguised as they do their jobs.
Then, next:
“The Ghost would have to – “Salzella stopped. He blinked. “Oh good grief,” he whispered. “What has she found?”
Bucket turned. “That’s Lady Esmerelda . . . oh.”
Greebo strolled in alongside her with the gentle swagger that makes women thoughtful and men’s knuckles go white. The buzz of conversation was momentarily hushed, and then rose again to a slightly shriller buzz.
“I’m impressed,” said Salzella.
“He certainly doesn’t look like a gentleman,” said Bucket. “Look at the color of that eye!” He set his face into what he hoped was a smile, and bowed.
“Lady Esmerelda,” he said. “How pleasant to see you again! Won’t you introduce us to your . . . guest?”
“This is Lord Gribeau,” said Granny. “Mr. Bucket, the owner, and Mr. Salzella, who seems to run the place.”
“Haha,” said Salzella.
Gribeau snarled, revealing longer incisors than any that Bucket had seen outside a zoo. And Bucket had never seen such a greenish-yellow eye. The pupil was all wrong . . .
So. My lesson: As I write, I need to outline. Not work on the decoration. I need a solid outline of what’s going to happen. The scenes. And then who’s going to be in them. The decoration can come later. That’s going to be hard for a pantser. But I’m going to give it a try.
