Word Count Targets

I've been giving some thought to how writers choose the word count of their stories. Or does it choose them? How important is it to have a target length in mind at the outset? While mulling this over, I found myself reviewing the guidelines of this most basic tool.

First off, there are various guidelines that vary by genre, but basically:

Short story: 1,000 to 7,500
Novella: 17,000 to 40,000
Novel: 70,000 to 100,000

Yes, you may notice these ranges have gaps. I noticed that too. Hmm. What about 50,000 words? Maybe the numbers are wrong? What is the source? Well, the thing is, there isn't one source. Not anymore. If you search for it, you will probably find a chart that says something different -- or one you like better! The rules have changed, or at least blurred, over time. Maybe, as we go forward, the most accurate we can be is to say "anything over 40,000 words is considered a novel." Maybe. Or, on the flipside, there is even more definition. This is actually how the website Owlcation.com breaks it down (with no gaps):

Flash Fiction: 53 - 1,000 words

Short Stories: 3,500 - 7,500

Novellettes: 7,500 - 17,000

Novellas: 17,000 - 40,000

Novels: 40,000 + words

 Ok, this sooths my need for a categorical breakdown! It does break down those shorter ranges. But it also supports the broad range of longer works, bringing us back to "anything over 40,000 words is considered a novel."

Whew. We've come full circle to a very loose number - at least for a novel. Does it matter? Well, I think it is helpful to work through the numbers for a general idea of expectations, but I'll leave that up to you. What does matter is arriving at that target to shoot for, whether it is defined by a publisher's guideline or by you. But I still haven't decided if we, as writers, have a sweet spot for length. Maybe. Or does the story decide?

It's likely a combination of both, but I think there must be a heavy dose of instinct. Amazingly, even with so many of the variables yet to be pulled from the universe, I think you can and do know how long your story will be from the onset. Yes, really. You know the target from a framework of your intentions. Now that's not to say you're not going to second guess yourself along the road, and it's tempting to discount it because it came to you pretty easily. But think carefully before you move your goalpost. I'll get to more about that in a minute.

First,what is in this framework I mentioned? Well, it's more numbers. Consider your own numbers from the history of your stories' word counts. Do they match up with what you intended? I'm guessing they roughly do, but even if they didn't, it's an interesting exercise to consider why they did or did not. What does this tell you about your sweet spot for length? This is what I find:

My last novel had a target of 80,000 words. I arrived at this after my previous novels were, respectively, about 90,000 words, 70,000 words, and 50,000 words.

Yep, they got shorter until I leaned back into a longer target. (I also have a very long non-fiction work, but that's a whole other animal!) In hindsight, I do feel like the shortest novel was a bit too short. However, I stand by that pre-determined target. I intended it to be shorter. This was a novel in the midst of a series and I purposefully left loose ends. In fact, I thought the romance of the central couple might continue into several stories. In this respect, my future intentions influenced my prediction of the target length of this book and, for that matter, also the next. I did feel the tug of second guessing the target I set, but I held firm.

The only problem was my plans -- the framework of my intentions -- changed. I didn't want to write the next, shorter novels. Instead, the next novel would be the final in the series and it would take longer than I thought. (Four years, but who's counting.) Anyway, to make a long story short, loose plot ends were one thing to tie off, but to give the romantic leads in one book a relationship resolution as a secondary couple in another book was more difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. Should I have listened back then to the tug of second guessing? Was I just too stubborn to move a goalpost?  Perhaps. Or maybe it turned out as it was meant to be.

The choice is ours -- we can either embrace the bullseye of a target to be exactly 80,000 or shoot to be an exception above or below. There will always be exceptions, above and below this target. Need examples? Yes, I have more numbers.

 Twilight, for instance, is a novel above this baseline target at about 118,000 words. This is an exception to the rule, but I think, whether consciously declared or not, it fit in the author's framework of intentions. Some genres can do that. Fantasy and science fiction can do that. More on this is explained in the Writer's Digest post Word Count for Novels and Children's Books: The Definitive Post.

And then there is the trend of eBooks and non-traditional publishing that have many examples that make a strong argument for shorter word counts that may well be your "sweet spot." If you balk at calling your 50,000 word story a novella, you are not alone. In fact, you may be in the majority if your book length falls in that gap between the ranges given for a novel or a novella.

Other exceptions, I would argue, are whether your book is in a category of, well, appropriate enough,  category romance. In this case, the word count requirements are generally a bit shorter and very specific to each line with a range from 50,000 to 75,000. In this case, don't take my word for it, go here to the Harlequin Submission page to see exactly what is required. (As a side note, this, in fact, is my current challenge. I intend to write a Harlequin Presents. Amongst other things, it goes against what I "think" may be my sweet spot for word length.)

All of this goes into your framework of intent. Once you have it, you have a word count target.

Then the work begins. So, you know where you want to end up, but what about progress? Word count does seem most useful. It is a number and an unambiguous target. You can say, presumably with confidence, that you are a quarter of the way or half way done. Only somehow, it doesn't work that way. A funny thing always happens. Always. 

My novels always feel much closer to completion at much lower word counts.

At about the 25,000 word mark, in some alternate universe, it is, in fact, finished. In my dreams. Yeah, that's about it. If only the technology were advanced enough to beam my perfect dream to others. If only. That's a tough spot to be in where nothing can match your imagined story. It takes a lot of words to fill in the blanks and it's different than the "dreaded middle" we've heard about where the story stalls out. There isn't a stall. It's finished. Yeah, yeah, in my dreams.

Eventually, even if each one is a struggle, real words fill in the blanks and get moved around and tweaked until they fall into place. Round after round of layering will eventually raise the word count. It is possible for the imagined to be captured.

 And that brings me to milestones. I've always been very confused on defining my writing stages; rough drafts, first drafts or however many drafts, and at what point you're in revision. I think final revision I'm a little more clear on, but barely. The only thing I find concrete is word count. I know that at 25,000 words I have a long ways to go, but I have gone too far to stop. The rest will come. I will get to a target I set from the beginning.

Do you have a sweet spot for word count length? Do you stick with it?

Let it burn

Does the W in WIP stand for Work or for Writing? I guess, as a writer, I've always thought it was for Writing. Maybe my mind just balked at calling it Work. Either way, acronyms are like that. Most of the time, people who use them don't even really know what they stand for anymore. Apparently, according to a quick internet search, it could be World Institute of Pain. Hmm. At times that could fit for a writer too.

For most of this year though, all I know is my W has not been for writing. Oh there have been flares of story, but they would quickly burn themselves out, as a fire will do if the fuel is only papers and kindling. I should know, because I have been doing a lot of burning. Really, that's what I've been doing while the fire for story flickered, but did not take hold.

Back on a warm for February northern Minnesota day, I began to burn what amounted to 20 to 30 years of accumulated paper. Old drafts of writing, old bank statements, old scraps of everything I once thought, for one long forgotten reason or another, too important to throw away. Whether it were laziness or sentiment that kept me holding on to all these bits and pieces is up for debate. A little of both, no doubt, went into each decision of non-action. A little voice must have whispered to me, saying I might need this one day. 

That's not to say, over the years, the task of sorting hadn't been attempted. But it was too much, an undertaking that grew more formidable with time. These things, once collected piece by piece at the urging of a whisper, were now fiercely protected  from disturbance, as if guarded by a lion. Even a move to a new home would not unduly disturb this collection. These things, packed in vaguely labeled boxes, would accompany me and be hidden away, out of sight in drawers and cabinets and closets, attic and basement space too. Other things joined the boxes of paper, including clothing in sizes I deluded myself into thinking I would ever get back into.  And then came larger items of old electronics. These items held no sentimental attachment, so this part was just the hassle to arrange for their removal. But it all fit in spaces out of sight, most of the time, out of mind. Oh, occasionally I would have twinges of a guilty conscience and moments of premonition. What if someone else, be it family or strangers, had to clean out my house? I would cringe at the thought. 

Cringe, yes, but the call to action would fade. Of course it would. I had other things to do. Other things I wanted to do so much more than this. Writing, yes. But really anything currently setting a fire in my soul took preference to looking back. Maybe I felt like if I looked back I wouldn't like what I found. Not just in old journals, old letters. If only that were all. But I kind of knew even a receipt or a sample of paint color would have a purpose behind it. A reminder that, at one point in time, this was the project setting a fire in my soul. Did I succeed or fail? It was all there, in mementos unintentionally kept.

Were those things important, after all, to have kept? To continue to keep? Just thinking of how much time it would take to make that decision made me cringe! And there you had it. One cringe can outweigh another!

But somehow, finally, I felt the need to purge. Moreover, I felt the need to light a fire. Does the credit go to my lack of ambition for writing? We have all been there and experienced the moments when the most mundane tasks are preferable to writing. This might apply here, if not for the fact my task was not mundane. It was personal to go through all these pieces of my psyche I hid out of sight. 

So, you may wonder, why now? Of course, I needed an inciting incident or this purging was never going to be done. What got me going was at least two-fold; an impending house renovation and an impending empty nest. This was a start. It at least lit a fire. (Note to self, sometimes an external conflict gets things moving more than internal conflict! Or sometimes we need both.)

In the midst of this purging loomed uncertainty. This is not an unusual state of affairs. There has always been uncertainty in one form or another as to the permanence of my current status quo. (That's another story!) But of course those anxieties played into this. Was I being rash? Would I regret this? Those questions were probably what I thought I'd be thinking about the most as I watched the flames. But of course, by then, I'd already asked and answered those questions. The burning wasn't hard. 

Yes, it did take time. As it so happened, with circumstances as they are in the world right now, I had the time. I too am working from home, but I'm not sure that really mattered -- it never really was about having the time. I'm still not done with the burning (it's restricted at the moment), but the sorting is done. The large items hauled away. And no, I did not throw away or destroy everything.

How did I know what to keep? In hindsight, my test seems simple. It came down to asking if it was something "useful for the future." This definition, of course, is highly personal and I would never be able to define it for another person's purge. But for me it was about keeping "fuel" for the future. All that means, I suppose is asking would it make me happy? That criteria broadly covered a lot of sentimental things like my son's school drawings or even my own high school poetry. Not bad, if I do say so myself. Or even a project from the 11th grade on "The History of Furniture." (I'm always collecting for a new edition of the HRC!) Oddly, my test did not cover a lot of early writing and even personal journals and letters. I reread everything, remembered much more than the words told, and said my goodbye. I wish that girl would have written more poetry.

But that sounds too much like a regret. No regrets. I have empty spaces! Well, almost. The last step in my sorting is to have a yard sale of all the things someone else might find "useful for the future." Only social distancing was not a thing while I was sorting out my mess. I think I have to wait. I may also have to wait for the house renovation. This is also on hold, but I am certainly not putting things back in those empty spaces! 

So, like many people feel these days, there is a sense of limbo. Some things are on hold and yet some are not. As my son found out, some things will not wait for you. Remote learning made it hard for my son to finish his senior year of high school and I wondered how I could light a fire in him. Or under him as a way to get him out of bed! (Tempting, but I did not.) Somehow, we pushed through. Next week, in the school parking lot, he will get his diploma and there will be a parade through town. And in the fall, he will go to college. So far, the college is saying it will be on campus. We didn't get a chance to visit so that doesn't seem real either but it will happen.

Yes, it helps to set fires. Fight fire with fire? Sounds logical to me. Or, as another way of thinking of it, use a distraction to fight a pervasive state of distraction. And who isn't distracted right now? Distraction, by the way, is #5 on this list of the 5 Reason You're Experiencing Writer's Block by Susan Reynolds in a guest post on Jane Friedman's blog.

 Instead of feeling like a failed writer, be patient and kind toward your writing self until the situation changes. The less you fret and put a negative spin on it, the more small pockets of time might open up. And, since you have been wise in keeping your writing brain primed, you may find it easier to write than you imagined.

This is good to hear. It also tells me I shouldn't be so hard on myself if my story fire flickers out. At least it was there, for a small pocket of time. But I still say fighting fire with fire is good too

What is your writer's block?

Status: In revision.   That's become a bit of a catch-all phrase for me that covers everything after the first draft to final edits.  It also feels like I'm:  In renovation.   And we all know if you tear down one wall in a renovation, the dust will settle on the rest of the house.  Even if you've covered everything with drop cloths, somehow the dust will invade the nooks and crannies far from the destruction zone.  By the amount of fallout, you'd think the demolition crew had used explosives to tear down that wall.

After the explosion, even if the "all clear" hasn't been given for further demolition, I really can't resist the temptation to do some feather dusting of a scene I just blew up.  Then I wander through the building's structure looking for signs of fallout from this change.  When I find it, I hesitate with my feather duster in hand.  How severe is the damage?  Can I clean it up?  Should I?  Or do I wave my feather duster like a magic wand and undo the explosion?  I can do that.  Yet another choice is a further explosion.

You Won't Really Know Until You Do It

Hello!  It's been a while since I've posted because of my college classes and, while I do get the urge to blog, I also wonder what I could possibly have to say that's relevant to writing and romance!  I'm immersed in a different sort of world of biology and chemistry, and even I can push the analogies only so far. *grin*

But I do have a new mantra of sorts this semester, and it's one that I hope will carry over to writing:

 You won't really know until you do it.

Perhaps it's a rather obvious little gem, but this relates -- and in a round-about-way is as close as I'll likely get to an answer -- to some writerly questions I've pondered on the time spent preparing for and researching what I'm going to write about.  Not just about facts and descriptions, but the works...from plot to character motivations and everything in between.

Question #1: How much is enough preparation and information collected before we get to the doing of writing?  

Good luck answering that one, right?  Maybe only the owl on the old classic commercial who succinctly answered the question "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?" could help!  (Remember that?    To jog your memory or view for first time, here's the YouTube link: http://youtu.be/LZ0epRjfGLw) 

But I confess, left to my own devices, I can get into a lot a of trouble in this area.  After all, there's a lot of wiggle room in the answer to the question. 

A:  As long as it takes.

Hmm.  That can be a while!  But maybe, the answer to this first question, and any hope of escaping a loop of preparation, hinges a lot on answering a second question.

Question #2:  What do we do when panic sets in about diving into the unknown?

A:  Trial by fire.

Okay, that does sound a bit extreme, but it's appropriate when stuck in the pause before running across hot coals.  Really, when is it ever okay to run across?  Do you count to three and run like mad?  The only way I'd go is if someone pushed me between two and three!

I don't know about you, but I realize I'm often throwing my hands up in protest at tasks.   My first response to new information (whether assigned by a professor or suggested by my writing Muse) is often:  "you want me to do what?"

I try not to say it out loud.  No, instead I'll nod like I'm taking it in stride, while inside I'm thinking some form of this incredulous "you want me do do what?" question.  Whether I think I know too much or too little about the task ahead of me, the follow-up thoughts going through my head are either, "really, I'm clueless," or "whoa, this is going to hard."  Information, it seems, can be dangerous...at least to my confidence. 

 But at some point we have to dive in and do the "lab work" (i.e, the writing).

Oh, the dubious joys of a lab class.  "Lab" is the DOING and each of my classes this semester has a lab component.  Two are indoors and one is often outdoors doing field work.  For each there is pre-lab work to be done.  For one lab there is a "pre-lab lecture" and forms to fill out.  (Things to know, like:  "concentrated sulfuric acid will vigorously attack tissue.  Avoid contact..etc.")  For another lab, there is a "research prospectus" to be drawn up of what you intend to do out in the field.  (Lots of unknowns to assume will go smoothly.) For another lab the preparation is just a "monster syllabus" as I think of it...pages and pages of scientific names that is merely a "head-up" for the critters (parasites) I'm supposed to somehow commit to memory. 

Personally, I find all the pre-lab exercises part the intimidation factor.  If I didn't have the push of deadlines for these labs when I had to show up, I would always want at least "one more day" to prepare!

But what I've discovered is:

1.  The things you do in the lab (and in the writing) will be vastly different than what you imagined.
2.  It won't be as bad as you think.
3.  There are do-overs.

In the DOING the impossible becomes possible.  It is difficult, but in one step at a time (or several quick steps!) it gets done.  Nobody gets hurt.  Much. But even if the worst you can imagine happens, the mistakes can be fixed.  You realize that some of your preparation would have done you little good.  Only in context does it become meaningful and individualized to your experience. 

We don't always get a push, but we can trust we are prepared to handle what comes up.  You won't really know until you do it.

I don't regret a lot of my "preparation and information gathering."  After all,  I just might write a story where my historical research and lots of other trivia comes in handy.  If I can find it.  But there's a big chance I won't know until I'm in the thick of things.  Sometimes the best results can come from taking the initial "you what me to do what?" information and running with it.

Maybe I'll put on my chem lab goggles on to write...just to make me feel official and prepared. :)  It can't be too dangerous in the story, but just in case...

Digging Out

Yes, that's my car under a foot of fresh snow! And to tie this to writing, my car and my WIP have a lot in common. Both need digging out and seem stuck in one place. I need a shovel and a broom for each, but I do try my best to put off both jobs!

Late last night, as the snow continued to fall, I went to bed with not much thought to the task of digging out this morning. In fact, I was happy to be snowed in. With another 6-10 inches in the forecast for Wednesday, these two words -- "why bother?" were firmly in my mind. I mean, really, why not wait to dig out? I'm not planning on going anywhere soon since it's Thanksgiving week and I'm "home free" for the rest of the week. I'll watch the soaps or a movie. I could study or, what a thought, I could work on my novel, but probably not tomorrow. I have the whole week! My son's school will probably be cancelled too and he's excited about a snow day. Yes, I'm quite content to hum along to the Winter Wonderland song: "The weather outside is frightful, but inside it's quite delightful. As long as we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

Oh, silly me. Snowed in? I forgot where I lived! You see, even with another big storm coming, you can't underestimate how industrious Northern Minnesotans and my little town of less than 300 people is about snow removal. In fact, almost too industrious. What was I thinking? I must have flash backed to my years in Washington, DC where, yes, you could expect a Federal holiday for a little snow. But here? Oh, no.

Nope, late into the night the snow plows flashed their lights as they went along Main Street past my house. But other than waking me up, I know what that means for me! The roads might be cleared, but they always block me in by dumping a mountain at the end of my driveway -- that hard packed heavy kind that I can't shovel. Ha! My plans to avoid the shovel and broom for the car still has merit and I fall back to sleep knowing I'm not getting out. It still makes no sense to shovel (to do work)!

Then, at four a.m. I hear the beep, beep, of the City's sole maintenance person on his Bobcat clearing off the sidewalk in front of my house. Oh, bother! I open the curtains to see him plowing away the snow blockade in front of my driveway and, moreover, clearing a big share of my driveway for good measure. He's like a whole team of the elves who made the shoemaker's shoes while he slept. Only noisier. Still, I should be grateful. I tell myself this anyway as I pull the covers over my head.

When morning comes (daylight that is), I am now, of course, guilted into work. First, I might as well get to it since, no surprise, I'm awake! *yawn* It's been a long night of lights and beeping snow plows. And there's also the consideration that I can't be identified as the only able bodied person who forgot their duty to fight a "man (or woman) against nature" battle. My neighbors, it seems, are out in full force as if the town is preparing for a winter parade or something.

So, as my son's school bus picks him up -- right on time -- I went out in the three degree weather with my shovel and a broom. I grumble under my breath (that I can see) as I start in on something I'm not sure has a point, but I do smile and wave my thanks as my neighborly maintenance elf (who is a neighbor, of course) drives by. I'm also thinking that if I don't clear my steps and driveway I'll be visited by another neighbor who wonders if I've "fallen and can't get up," as the commercial goes. Because, of course, only dire circumstances would prevent digging out. This is another small town difference from the big city that I am normally quite proud of -- when I'm not intent on being a hermit, that is.

Less than an hour later, the car is unburied, the driveway and steps clear, and I do admit to a feeling of accomplishment. I did what I wasn't enthused about and, even if my plan for the day hasn't changed I can go somewhere if I choose to do so. That is, assuming it starts. But besides that detail, there's a point to what the big call to action to dig out is all about. It's about creating possibility. No one (usually that is) wants to be "stuck" in one place, so we do whatever is in our power to clear a path, however temporary. It's also about getting started on a big task, simply by doing, even when you don't have a destination in mind. Now, after the fact, I'm a bit more sincere in my gratitude to the "maintenance elf" giving me a head start.

I see there are similarities to my writing process in my perspective toward whether I dig out immediately or if I wait to dig out my car. Whether I realized it or not, there is that same need to believe in the purpose. There's that weighing of the time and effort. For the car, I didn't see why I should put in the time (that I had such big plans for) and effort during an interval bookended by major storms. Everything I do is going to be basically "wiped out." For writing, I often don't see the interval large enough, the window of opportunity wide enough to start. Add to that a very real possibility of frustration if any changes I make in the plot will affect other areas of the story, and it's a recipe for writer's block.

The trick seems to be not think about it so much. Easier said than done, but I recall a teacher saying to always do a simpler problem that is similar to a more complicated problem. In the simpler task of digging out the car I probably still did it "wrong" or out of sequence. I started shoveling the driveway and then swept the snow off the car, which meant I again had to shovel the driveway. I know. What was I thinking? *LOL* It's not the end of the world, but if I'd done it the other way around I would have saved a step. It's a good thing I didn't think about it. I needed to clear the surrounding area first to get to the car, and I didn't think about how the car snow would change what I'd already done. Would it have been better the other way? It wasn't that bad to do cleanup, and either way, the task was complete.

For novel writing I often get stuck in indecision of whether my writing process is effective, which paralyzes my progress. That constant re-writing can seem pointless and make you feel like there must be a better way. But all that does is lead to second guessing, which really does take a lot of time. So, when the questions come up, the answer is most likely, "yes." Next time I ask, does it makes more "sense" to clear the surrounding area first or write a specific section (cleanup!), the answer is yes. Either is right.

When there aren't any helpful elves around, how do you get motivated to dig out your story?

And yes, I know the big question is, why don't I have a garage? Long story, but it would help!

I didn't see that coming...

The potential for surprises come in many forms when writing a story. Sometimes, or probably most of the time, surprises are pre-planned. As the writer, you think of plot secrets to reveal layer by layer or cliffhangers for chapter endings. You pick the right moment to reveal them with optimum effect, be it the next page or holding out til the end. That's the fun part, that rubbing your hands together in anticipation setting up the surprise and the payoff during the delivery of your insider information. You know, if all works right, the reader is going to sit back and think - - with various emphasis on the exclamation point -- "I didn't see that coming!"

Other times, the surprise is on you. The characters are up to something, but you're not sure which direction they are going. In their own time, they are going to reveal their inside information and leave you sitting back and saying, "I didn't see that coming!"

This form of surprise happens in all forms of writing actually, including music. Not so long ago, on a PBS special honoring him with the Gershwin Award, I heard Paul McCartney talk about the creation of one of his songs. With lovely, almost humble humor, he first joked (maybe?) that the original lyrics were something like "scrambled eggs, oh how I love your legs." LOL But it was the melody - - a melody, he said, that seemed so familiar he had to ask everyone around him, "where have you heard this before?" Over and over he asked the question. It had to exist. But no one knew. No one had heard it. So, after a considerable time, he said with a shrug, he had to claim it for his own. That song: Yesterday.

(Now I hear it. Scrambled eggs...oh how I love your legs.)

But the best part of his story was the mystified awe in his voice and expression when he gave the only explanation. Magic.

I got a little shiver when he said that. Even I, somestimes if I'm very lucky, have felt that magical feeling that an idea is plucked seemingly out of the air. Creation is magic.

Both forms of surprise are vastly different. The magic kind leaves you humble, gifted with something so new but familiar you feel a slight trepidation about claiming it as your own. On the other hand, the insider information kind makes you anything but humble, skipping around with a childish 'I've got a secret' glee.

Both are wonderful things.

Of course, sometimes we run out of the pre-planned surprises. Then we wait for magic. But the magical muse is fickle. Write it out anyway. You never know what may fall from the sky.