Writing a novel can be a daunting, unruly task. Even after the first
draft is finished, the challenge remains of pulling all the parts
together—scenes, characters, plot lines and settings—to create a
unified whole. In his book The Weekend Novelist Rewrites the Novel,
Robert J. Ray confronts this need head on, providing exercises and
tools that illuminate larger structure, building upon key elements so a
book’s dramatic shape will emerge. And by dividing his guide into
focused, at-the-desk sessions, Ray makes the process more manageable—creating a regimen even weekend writers can follow.
While Ray’s The Weekend Novelist was aimed at aspiring authors, this
companion book assumes a reader with a first draft in hand. You should
be prepared to revise extensively by adding and recasting scenes,
inventing backstories for characters, even exploring the roles that
major objects play. Comparing the process of revising a novel to
adapting a novel for the screen, Ray states, “A film adaptation is a
major rewrite. There is compression in adaptation, squeezing two to
three hundred pages (or more) down to a 120-page script. There is
cutting: taking out what doesn’t work. There is cast reduction: firing
certain characters, some of them your favorites.”
Although he does, in the final weeks, treat surface issues like style
and word choice, Ray believes that story and structure (the strategic
arrangement of parts) come first. Specifically, he addresses writer’s
tools, backstory and flashbacks, suspense, subplots—the story lines of
antagonists and minor figures—and seven critical scenes proceeding
along the novel’s main plot. To target elements, Ray offers short,
guided exercises, many of them drawn from screenwriting: timed writings, plot diagrams, grids, lists of plots and characters, scene profiles, and more.
After each section, Ray provides an ongoing work-in-progress to
illustrate points. He also breaks down novels (The Great Gatsby, Jane
Eyre), films (As Good as It Gets) and, sometimes, books alongside their
screen adaptations (The English Patient, The Namesake). Such a mix
allows him to point out differences, whether in compression or order of scenes, while discussing the decisions all writers make.
The bulk of rewriting involves major scenes tied to the protagonist’s
plot. Most readers will already place extra weight on the beginning and
end, the climax, and the first meetings between major characters. Less
familiar—but just as vital, Ray says—are the midpoint (the central
scene and “the heart of your novel”) and two “plot points” situated in
the first and third acts. In explaining these, Ray lays out clear goals
and options. In plot point one, for instance, he says that “the
antagonist outclasses the protagonist, which guarantees conflict,”
while in the second one, “[c]haracter agendas collide” and “[s]ecrets
buried in the subtext force their way to the surface, where they
explode.”
In the section on subplots, writers take time to unravel their plot
threads, scrutinizing them one by one. (Ray suggests three to six
subplots, though some books manage with fewer.) Lists, grids and
diagrams present each plot in context, revealing how characters’ story
lines impinge upon the rest. Questions raised include: How do the
subplots connect to the protagonist? Where do characters’ paths
intersect? What does this person say or do that the protagonist is
unaware of? Such prompts may help writers better grasp their material,
suggesting how to cast it in the most dramatic way.
Ray often describes works in terms of mythic elements—namely,
archetypes and core stories, character types and narratives that recur
in literature and film. (A common archetype is Cinderella, with a core
story of “rags to riches.”) These and other concepts are, according to
Ray, “elements buried deep in the subtext of every good story,” and he
argues that incorporating them will give your novel more resonance.
What’s more, Ray believes that when you rewrite, tapping into myths
can shed a strong light on characters’ motivations—and, therefore,
their inner conflicts and fates.
How useful this guide will be, finally, may depend on your project and
goals. Like any writer, Ray makes some assumptions about just what a
novel should be, stating that “you are rewriting a novel that must
fight for space in a world of screens (TV, film, computer).” Thus, his
advice tends to favor fast-paced, traditionally plotted narratives and
near-cinematic prose. (A few of the sections assume romantic intrigue.)
Also, Ray’s use of abstractions to dig at meaning may, to some, seem
foreign, especially those who think form should be uncovered in the
writing rather than fashioned by the reasoning mind. Still, writers of
all breeds will find plenty here, and Ray stays set on one aim: to help
them re-envision their work. If you’ve written a good novel draft, or
one that somehow went wrong, this guide may move you closer—one day or
one weekend at a time—toward that final, published book. |