
This means that I’m currently focusing on
short stories, and the re-write of novel number one.

Possibly for the second time.
The main problem I’m having with the
re-write is that the story is, itself, about stories, and myths and the things
we remember. This means that there is a
huge amount of backstory and an awful lot of layers. The plot is relatively straightforward, in a
lot of ways. It’s managing the great,
amorphous mass of other stuff that’s
giving me a headache.
So, the main character needs to get from
point A to point B. When leaving point
A, he needs to not know everything
there is to know about his world. This
has involved the removal of an info-dump to which I was rather attached (not
least because an editor described that scene as a “show-stopper” and things
like that give me a happy, warm glow) but that’s probably a whole other blog
post.
Anyway.
Main character. Point A – doesn’t
know everything he needs to know. Point
B – needs to know a bit more than when leaving point A, in order to avoid
another epic info-dump upon arrival at aforementioned point B. I should probably admit that there was
originally an epic-info dump at point B, but nobody liked that one. No happy, warm feeling for me.
So the main character mooches around a bit,
and meets some more people who give him some hints about why going to point B
might be a good idea. The problem is
that there needs to be some sort of explanation as to why these characters are:
a a) there
b) willing to help
c) in possession of the required knowledge
b) willing to help
c) in possession of the required knowledge

So, I’ve been trying to work out how much
of that vast body of backstory can simply be hinted at, or even left unexplained,
to give a sense of stories untold, and narrative strands unfollowed. Can you leave the reader wondering what that was all about? Or does there always have to be some sort of
resolution, or at least a suggestion of a resolution?

In The
Neverending Story, that was a deliberate plot device. But it was hugely effective, and it makes me
wonder if readers want a glimpse of something beyond the story upon which the
writer is having them focus. Something
beyond it, or before it, or below it, or somewhere off to the side, only just
glimpsed out of the corner of the eye.
I had a bit of a ‘moment’ with the
re-write, the other day. All of that
backstory, all of those layers of information about characters, and a fairly
narrow plot into which to squeeze it. It
was starting to feel a bit like trying to wrestle a king-size duvet into a
single duvet cover. So I was quite glad
to have something that wasn’t writing-related to look forward to.
I went to see The Drowned Man last night.
For those who haven’t heard of it, The
Drowned Man is a National Theatre production, set in an abandoned warehouse
right beside Paddington station. Now I’m
not a massive theatre fan. I tend to get
fidgety towards the end of the first act, and I’m quite capable of falling
asleep in the middle of the second. But The Drowned Man isn’t a standard theatre
production. The actors go through their
individual story arcs in a vast set, arranged across four floors, with multiple
strands of the story going on at once, in different parts of the building. While this is happening, the audience wander
around, choosing which actors to follow, or simply exploring the set.
I should probably put a spoiler warning,
for anyone who is considering going to see the show, although I’m not sure my
interpretation of what was going on, bears any actual resemblance to the
story. But, just in case…
----------------------------------------SPOILER
WARNING-------------------------------------
So, I arrived in Paddington stupidly early,
due to a combination of buses, trains and inability to work out how long the
queue was likely to be. This meant that,
in order to avoid being the over-enthusiastic person at the front of the queue,
I had to keep wandering, with probably unconvincing nonchalance, up and down
the road, trying to work out which of the many sets of bright red garage doors
was the actual entrance.
HWSNBN and a friend of ours eventually
joined me, and we settled for a respectable queue position in the low
twenties. But, as it turned out, most
people in front of us needed to pick up tickets, so we actually finished up in
the first handful of people to go in. I
had read a few reviews, so I knew broadly how we would get to the set. I wasn’t expecting the pitch black passageway
on the way in, however, so I did engage in a bit of staggering about and
treading on the heels of the unfortunate theatre-goer in front of me. But I knew about the white masks, and the
request for silence, and I knew that we’d be dropped off by lift, on one of the
four floors.
I also knew, or thought I knew, whereabouts
on the set a couple of the story arcs began so, as soon as we disembarked from
the lift, I found a flight of stairs and took myself to the top floor.
That’s pretty much where my smugness about
my research evaporated.

Just as I was about to give up and go back
downstairs, two actors finally appeared, followed by a handful of other
audience members. The two men wrestled,
danced, and fought over a woman, who swore at them and disappeared, pursued by
some of the audience. I started ambling
after one of the male characters, but I had entirely failed to appreciate the
speed with which the cast move between floors, and it took me about 5 seconds
to lose him. He crossed my path a few
more times over the course of the evening – line-dancing, having a *cough*
encounter with a woman outside a saloon, and completely naked in a bath. That one was slightly disconcerting.


There were apparently two murders, but I
swear I saw three. There were at least
two characters that I managed to merge into one. There was a strange ritual, and some rather
odd little shrines scattered about the place.
There was a secret passage behind the door in a phone-booth. That bit was particularly fun. There’s something quite satisfying about
climbing into a booth, and closing the door behind you, watched by several
confused audience members who will no doubt soon start wondering whether you’re
planning on staying there all night, while you’re actually crawling through a
hidden entrance to a labyrinth of coats. I apparently missed an orgy - HWSNBN didn't. Our friend was kissed by a drag-queen - I missed that too.

The show seems to have a huge fan-base,
with people returning again and again, to try to figure out things they don’t
understand, or to follow characters they’ve missed on previous visits. The popularity of the show makes me wonder if
readers are likely to be more accepting of the unexplained, or the
half-glimpsed, than I’ve previously believed.
Can the plot ‘float’ on a great bulk of
sub-plot and back-story? Are people willing
to accept that there are things that they can’t quite pin down, or which doesn’t
quite tie into the final resolution of the main strands of the story?
I’m inclined to think that the answer is
yes. And it might well be that this is a
fairly modern phenomenon. As modern
readers, we have a huge amount of information at our fingertips. We can pick up a passing reference, and have
its meaning available at the touch of a button.
We can easily learn more about an author, or about a particular topic. We don’t have to have it all laid out for us.
Maybe that’s why The Drowned Man has had such a successful run. It lets its audience immerse themselves, and
explore, and choose their own experience.
And, if so, perhaps there’s a lesson for writers there. Give the reader a glimpse of other stories,
other character arcs, and let them explore their own idea of what lies beneath
the main character’s journey.
I hope so.
Because, otherwise, my main character’s going to have an awful lot of
explaining to do, when the character in the street market starts asking
questions about the mysterious figure in the courtyard garden.
A few final points. If you're planning on seeing The Drowned Man before it closes in July, I can save you a fair bit of research time by answering some of your likely FAQs:
Q What time should I start queueing?
A Exactly 48 minutes before kick-off. This is a precise answer, based on the fact that there was no queue when I went to find HWSNBN at 4pm, and a queue when we came back at 4.24pm. Somewhere between those two times, the queue happened.
Q Where should I start?
A In the phone-booth. For no other reason than the fact that you can probably throughly flummox some poor first-time audience member who is wandering around trying to work out what's supposed to be going on, only to be faced with the mysterious disappearance of a fellow audience member.
Q What should I take with me?
A As little as possible. Cash for the bar and some method of telling the time. And a tissue. The masks give you a sweaty nose.
Q Should I have a drink at any point?
A Under no circumstances. One glass of cava will probably be enough to turn an already surreal situation into something you'd expect to experience after a sortie into the world of hard drugs.
Q So what is the plot?
A No idea. You choose.