Shorties: Blog posts and Novels

This week, I’ve been wondering about short books, books that weigh in under 250 pages. Some shorties are among my favorites –– Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer series, Robert B. Parker’s early paperbacks, and the 2020 novel that got me thinking about this, Law of the Lines, by Hye-Young Pyun, which I just finished and loved.

I’m about 50,000 words into my work-in-progress, and I’m thinking it might top out around 65,000 words, short by most standards. I used to get nervous about the word count, often pushing for 80,000, and, of course, still leaving lots on the cutting room floor as I pared it down. Most crime novels run about 80,000 to 120,000 words.

Part of the discussion must focus on my choice of point of view –– I’m writing in the first-person (similar to Macdonald and Parker), which lends itself to a streamlined story; and we must also focus on . . . well, my focus: I’m working hard to be lean and keep the storyline on point. Outlining has never come easily to me, so my first drafts can wander. This time, I’m spending more time journaling and less time typing. It seems to be paying off.

At the end of the day, we know it comes down to telling the story that needs to be told the way it needs to be told. It comes down to telling the story the best way you can, even if it ends up being a shorty.

Does Length Matter?

I’m chipping away at my project at hand this week, following my 48-chapter outline (and adlibbing here and there) and found myself wondering (panicking?) perhaps for the first time (for me) ever: How short is too short?

I’m 15,000 words in, and I feel like I don’t have a lot of filler. But I can’t see the book topping 100,000 words. It’s moving well, and the outline is helpful. But . . . is it on pace to hit even 70,000?

It has me thinking back to some of my favorite novels, particularly those by Ross Macdonald. The Lew Archer classics are short but far from small. They are existential and deal with moral ambiguity in ways even Chandler did not. Some weighed in at 180 pages, but the tale of the tape doesn’t mean much when you hit as hard as Macdonald.

Therefore, the question quickly becomes: Regardless of length, is the book satisfying for the reader? I’ve read several 800-page books that should have been 400 pages. Conversely, I love all 900 pages of Moby Dick (yes, even the middle 200 about the whale). But Gatsby is fewer than 200 and is one I would take on my island to reread until eternity.

One thing I know about myself is that I have a habit of putting lots of players on the stage. That leads to the danger of not fully developing them all. As I’m re-examining my outline, keeping track of who is allowed to sing loudly for all to hear and who fades into the background is useful. As is considering which questions were asked and not answered. I’m not talking about the plot here, but rather who made a cameo and never got back on stage.

Author's Best Friend or Bored Reader?

As you can see, for me, it comes back to the outline. I am holed up in Maine for the week with my dog, doing home-owner work and writing. We will get back to work, starting by revisiting the outline.

Inside the Cutting Room

I’m in the process of tightening my work-in-progress, essentially streamlining a draft of a novel in a way that, in Edgar Allan Poe’s words, “plays fair with the reader.” I’m cutting to the chase, taking a 90,000-word mystery and possibly chopping 20,000 words in the name of clarity and precision or, as Elmore Leonard would say, ridding the book of “the parts the reader skips.”

I’ve always been an edit-as-you-go type, so this is a new experience. Other writers speak of the rough draft as throwing a lump of clay on the wheel and then molding it. I’m a little too type-A for that. However, this time around, I have no choice: the clay is spinning, and I’m using the wire to take inches off.

It’s been interesting and educational. One character, who played only a minor role in the first draft, is now a leading figure, working with our sleuth. Another, who teamed with the antagonist, is gone completely, a move to clarify the plot. If I were an outliner, perhaps this is all taken care of in the cutting room. But I’m not. And it wasn’t. So I’m learning as I go.

One concern was length. Can the book be too short? Some of my favorites (I’m thinking John D MacDonald, Ross Macdonald, and early Robert B. Parker) fall in the 200-page range, somewhere near 60,000 words. A typical thriller is 100,000 words; while mysteries are often shorter, and this book is a mystery.

Part of this means fighting is myself. The book is set at a boarding school, which is good and bad. It’s good because, I’ve taught at boarding schools for nearly two decades, and, well, I can describe “the parts the reader skips” in endless ways that fascinate probably only me. If you want to know what 350 teenagers eating a family-style meal sounds like, I’m your guy. But you don’t care, and you shouldn’t. You just want a good story, one that’s compelling, one you can’t put down. And I don’t blame you.

A lot of this comes back to something I think all writers face: sacrificing our self-gratification for the good of the story. Every writer has his or her own family-style meal for 350 teenagers that the reader doesn’t need to know about. If we write what we know –– and we should –– this means finding the balance and avoiding that tempting trap.

In the coming weeks, I’ll face difficult decisions and hopefully have the willpower to leave more lines and scenes on the cutting-room floor.

Three Starts

I'm writing something new, something I hope will launch a series. I've spent a lot of time pre-writing. I have an outline I like (you know me and outlines: it's a starting point and a safety net). I have characters I would enjoy growing over years, a husband-wife team.

What I'm toying with is the point of view, usually something I never second-guess. I've written a present-tense, first-person opening, and I've written a third-person, multiple-POV opening — each running close to 40 pages — and now I want to try a first-person, past-tense voice.

I grew up reading Robert B. Parker, Ross Macdonald, John D. MacDonald, Sue Grafton, Sara Paretsky, and others writing in that vein. As a reader, I enjoy the walk-behind-the-character-and-view-the-world-through-the-speaker's-eyes vantagepoint. It offers an intimate relationship with the speaker and just maybe with the writer. I'm reading Philip Roth's Exit Ghost right now and pause every few pages to reread a passage. The plot isn't pulling me along; however, the narrator's voice and Roth's turn-of-phrase is providing any and all narrative tension.

Also, it's difficult to separate plot from character when we're dealing with first-person protagonists. The plot is limited by the knowledge and capabilities of your speaker, and when you feature the first-person voice, you must allow readers an in-depth knowledge of your character's limitations; you must play fair with readers, far more so than when writing in the third-person voice.

You've got to show your hand often. I enjoy this type of writing — exploring the depths (and shallows) of my characters. I like that it's akin to acting — stepping into voice and playing the part for a few hours a day. Third-person doesn't provide me the same type of experience.

So I have two partials sitting on my desk and will write the same book from a third vantage point now, the first-person past-tense. It's all a unique and fresh writing experience.