Developing a Story: "Presto"

4-1-09: Developing a Story: “Presto”

So last night, Tracy and Cindi and I went up to UMFA (Utah Museum of Fine Art) to attend a lecture with Doug Sweetland, director of the Pixar short film Presto. And it was amazing!
Aside from seeing the short again—which is always a delight—we got to see the early storyboards, the original drawings, and lots and lots of behind-the-scenes footage. But what I loved the most was hearing Mr. Sweetland talk about how he made the leap from being an animator to being a director and what he learned about developing a story along the way.

He told us the original pitch for the story that the “The Brain Trust”—the group of Pixar animators and directors (including John Lassiter and Andrew Stanton, among others) who weigh in on everything—greenlit into production. After that first meeting, Mr. Sweetland said that the idea was considered “Final—with a fix.” And the only note the Brain Trust had to offer was this: “It’s too long for a short.”

Well, that one note was all it took. In trying to figure out what to cut out to make the short short enough, Mr. Sweetland had to ask some hard questions of his story. Questions he didn’t have the answers to. But pursuing those answers led him to the final version of the story that was eventually made into a movie and nominated for an Academy Award. And along the way, he learned some important lessons and got some great advice.

One bit of advice came from Andrew Stanton, who finally said, “Just draw it. It takes 5 minutes.” That was all the permission Mr. Sweetland needed, and he personally drew more than 3,000 storyboards, trying to find his way through the story. He eventually met with the Brain Trust ten times before he figured it out. Ten meetings where no one laughed at his jokes, where no one clapped—but also where no one said to stop, to give up, to quit.

What I learned: “Just write it. It takes 5 minutes.” I shouldn’t get bogged down with thinking too far ahead. Just focus on what I need to do in the next five minutes and write that. Just dive in and write. If I don’t like it, well, it only took five minutes, so it’ll be easy to toss it out and try again. And maybe it takes five minutes to prime the pump and after that, it’ll be smooth sailing. The point is, I won’t know until I sit down and just do it.

Another lesson that Mr. Sweetland learned was that sometimes the only way to move forward is to throw everything out and start over. And he had to throw out a lot. But what was so cool was to see his “Tragically Oblivious Brushes with Greatness” because for every draft he tossed out, there was one moment, one emotion, one drawing that ended up in the final version. What he thought were all failures, were really drafts of success, and it was by stringing all those minor successes together that helped him discover the shape of the story he was trying to tell.

What I learned: Everything counts. Good or bad, I need to just write down everything. Most of it I’ll probably need to throw away, but that’s okay because with everything I toss, it just means I’m getting closer to success.

As Mr. Sweetland honed in on the story, he kept his characters’ motivations simple and focused on the pacing and timing of the jokes. And John Lassit

er provided a key suggestion that was so simple and so right. All Alec the Bunny wants is a carrot, right? So just before Presto takes Alec on stage, he holds up the carrot and Alec almost gets to eat it, but doesn’t have a chance. Mr. Sweetland had originally drawn that scene with Presto holding the carrot vertically in his fingers. John Lassiter said simply, “You should turn the carrot so it’s 

pointing at Alec’s mouth.” A 90-degree turn and suddenly that scene is magic. A simple tweak to the carrot and Alec’s motivation for the whole story is crystal-clear.

What I learned: Sometimes you have to tweak the carrot. Is there something in the scene I’m working on that could benefit from a closer look? Is there a moment, a look, a line of dialogue that is good, but that could be great if I rotated it 90 degrees? Are my character’s motivations crystal-clear? Do my details support the story, the theme? What is the one question that I need to ask that will infuse my story with magic?

A final note. The funniest moment—of which there were many—came during the Q&A when someone asked if Mr. Sweetland had worried about the MPAA ratings board for Presto. He said no, Pixar movies are made for everyone and so you get a feel for what will work and what won’t. He said Alec jams Presto’s fingers into a light socket and no one told him to take it out; John Lassiter thought it was funny. And then he said, “John Lassiter doesn’t care about the children of the world.” And Mr. Sweetland realized what he’d said at the same moment we all did, and he quickly said, “No, no, no, John Lassiter loves and cares for all the children in the world—especially when it comes to electricity.”

All in all, the evening was wonderful, inspiring, and educational. We even got to meet Mr. Sweetland after the lecture and he was very nice and signed autographs for me and Cindi. Finishing off the evening with a free chocolate éclair and . . . well, the old saying is true, “a good time was had by all.”

What about Book Two?

3-30-09: “What about Book Two?”

Now that the ARCs for Hourglass Door are out in the world and people are reading them, the most frequently asked question I get is, “What about book two?” On the one hand, it’s kind of a surreal question. I mean, technically book one isn’t even in stores yet, so what am I doing worrying about book two? But I am worrying about it. Writing book two has been a completely different experience from writing book one. Yes, there are similarities—start with a noun, follow with a verb, toss in some adjectives and adverbs; remember to punctuate—but I’ve been surprised at the differences I’ve discovered in the process. This time I know more about my characters and what they’ll do and say, but because I know them better, I’m less inclined to put them in danger. What if they get hurt?

I keep thinking of a quote I read by Tad Williams (one of my favorite authors, by the way). He said that he hates writing the middle book of a series because it has to build on what came before it, set everything up for what will come next, and yet still be a complete book all on its own. That’s a lot to ask from a book.

What’s helping me the most as I work on book two is actually something from my childhood. As a kid, I would get so engrossed in a story that I wouldn’t dare stop reading during a dramatic moment because I didn’t want the characters to get stuck in a bad spot. How would they escape if I didn’t read the next part of the story? By the same token, sometimes I would slow down and savor the good moments; setting the book down gave the characters a chance to rest and breathe after so many adventures. (Perhaps that’s why I love Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next books—characters play their parts while you’re reading, but once the book is closed, they are free to do what they want.) 

So I’m trying to work on book two more often—if only to get Abby and Dante out of the bad spots and into the good parts. I’m the writer, it’s my responsibility to look after them.
And so as I’m working on plotting and writing book two, I’m trying to build on book one and look ahead to book three and still make book two worth reading. I’m trying to get my characters through the bad spots so they can relax and enjoy the story too. Wish me luck!

2-27-09

2-27-09

So today was supposed to be my press date for Hourglass Door. But, as is often the case, the last 10% seems to take longer to finish than the other 90%. We’re down to cleaning up the last nuts and bolts, and it’ll go early next week. Which is okay by me because part of me is oddly terrified to send it to press and actually see it published. Granted, it’s a small part and usually doesn’t get much attention because the rest of me is still screaming “Hooray! My book is being published!” But that voice seems to be gaining strength the closer I get to my press date and I’ve been trying to figure out why.

Perhaps it’s because this is my first book. My first time as an author. I know it probably sounds strange because I spent all day every day publishing books—but for other people. And, believe me, it’s different when it’s your own book.

I recognize that my path to publication was a little different than other authors since I actually work for the company publishing my book, but it was different in part because I kept my writing a secret from my coworkers. I wanted the people in the office to be able to review my book without the burden of bias. Without feeling obligated to like it and without feeling awkward if they didn’t. For the year or so that I was working on Hourglass Door only three people knew anything about it: Chris Schoebinger (the YA product director), Anne Sheffield (my immediate supervisor), and Jay Parry (my good friend and next-door office neighbor)—and frankly, I’m not sure Anne and Jay knew much more than I was working on a book. Chris knew more details about the plot and the characters because I’d pop into his office periodically and let him know a quick status report: “I’ve got about 50,000 words now.” “I just figured out something cool about the ending.” “I just wrote the Prologue and it’ll knock your socks off.”

The secrecy was both good and bad. Good, because it worked perfectly: my coworkers read my manuscript and didn’t know it was me and so were honest in their reactions and reviews. (The fact that they loved it was particularly gratifying for that very reason.) The secrecy was bad because it was only after my book was accepted and had a production schedule lined up that I discovered how hard it was to talk to people about my book. I still felt like I had to keep it a secret, which was not particularly compatible with what the marketing department wanted to do—which was to tell everyone in the world about my book.

Over the last few months, I’ve had to consciously shift into “blab mode.” So now when my hairdresser says, “How are you today?” instead of saying “Fine,” I say, “I’m doing great! I have a book coming out this spring and I’m really excited about it.” And when I see my neighbor at the grocery store and we start chatting about books, I find a way to mention my good news. For a girl who grew up painfully shy, this is a big step for me.

I hope this blog will be another big step for me. A way to blab about my book on a grander scale than to just my neighbors at the store. A way to chronicle my transformation from full-time editor to first-time author and beyond.

I hope you’ll join me on this amazing journey. I can’t wait!

2-21-09

2-21-09

I’ve heard that when starting something new, it’s best to start with a joke, if only to set the audience at ease. So here you go: “I shot an elephant in my pajamas. What he was doing in my pajamas, I’ll never know.”—Groucho Marx. Not only is the idea of an elephant in pajamas funny, but so is the dangling participle.

And now you know the sad truth: I’m a word nerd. A person who finds jokes about the English language funny; who corrects (if only mentally) the incorrect usage of “it’s” in advertisements; who is thrilled to see punctuation in the wild.

Example: My husband was shooting video for a wedding and I tagged along to keep him company and shoot some candid photos. The couple cut the cake—a beautiful, three-tiered affair with fresh flowers and black ribbons around each tier—and then moved to the dance floor. After a few songs had played, I wandered up to the table where the cake had stood and glanced down. There, to my wonder and amazement, was one of the black ribbons from the cake, casually discarded . . . in a perfect ampersand! It was the highlight of the evening for me.

As a word nerd, my whole life has been about books. I’d been writing since I was a child and loved to read. My first paying job was even at the public library shelving books as a “Page.” (I’d hoped to one day be promoted to a “Chapter” or even a “Book.”) I worked in a bookstore to pay for college. Four months to the day from my college graduation, I was hired as an Editorial Assistant at a publishing house. I’ve been working as an editor ever since. I suppose it was inevitable that one day I would write a book.

I’m so glad that book turned out to be The Hourglass Door.

Writing the love story of Dante and Abby was so much fun. I loved spending time with the characters and seeing how the story developed. I wrote on the weekends, at night, on the train as I commuted to work. I thought about it all the time. They say time flies when you’re having fun, and the cliché turned out to be true for me. From the day I got the idea to write the story to the day I finished and turned in the manuscript to my publisher was almost exactly one year. (And that includes the three months I spent ill with blood clots and two separate hospitalizations—a story for another blog, another day.)

And almost exactly one year after that, the book will be out in stores, ready for people to read. The official on-sale date for The Hourglass Door is May 13, though, since it’s not a hard street date, books may start showing up on shelves a little earlier than that. (Shameless plug: you can buy the book at DeseretBook.com, Amazon.com, or BN.com, or wherever fabulous books are sold.)

I hope that other people have as much fun reading about Abby and Dante as I did writing about them. I hope that you’ll come back often to see how book two and book three are coming along, to ask me questions, and to celebrate our status as “word nerds” together.