Peg Cheng

Author + Teacher

Seven Dudes

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Lessons Learned from Draft 2 of SEVEN DUDES

Art by Gediminas Pranckevicius

Last Tuesday, I finished the second draft of my suspense novel, SEVEN DUDES. It came to a little more than 61,000 words. That’s 10,000 more words than the first draft. I was THRILLED.

The very next morning, Marcus and I boarded a plan for Hawaii. He had a business trip there, and remarkably, his employers were sending me with him…for free. This has never happened to me before. A free vacation with no strings attached? I couldn’t believe my luck…and the timing! What better way to celebrate finishing a draft than to take a trip to paradise?

This trip was yet another one of the clear, hard-hitting messages that the universe had been sending to me during the past four weeks that told me that I needed to stick with my path. I will tell you more about this in a future post, but for now, I’m going to share with you the key lessons that I learned from writing my second draft.

Lesson #1: It takes as long as it takes.

It took me nine months to write the first draft of SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN. If you had told me that before I started, I would have been bummed, angry, and overly critical of myself. This is because I originally thought it would only take me three months to write the first draft. After that, I thought for sure that the second draft would take me less time. Nope. It ended up taking me longer–a little over ten months. Again, if I had known this before I started, I would have been pissed and then depressed. I always want to finish fast. I am not a patient writer. I am a sprinter, not a marathoner. It’s hard for me to keep working on something when I can’t see the end in sight. But I had learned from the first draft that it would not help me to set a deadline. It could end up taking me three times as long and then I’d be disappointed. So, instead, I just worked steadily on it and assured myself that it would take as long as it took. This second draft taught me to write on a regular basis, and it ended up working out as well as it could have.

Lesson #2: Go with your instincts (even when someone you totally trust disagrees with you).

While writing my first draft, my instincts told me to have my main character (MC) make a drastic move in Act 2. But when I told Marcus about it (he’s my story doctor and first reader), he said he didn’t think my MC would do that. Turns out, he was thinking about what he wished my MC would do, or not do, not what my MC needed to do. I knew that I had to throw big stones at my MC in Act 2 and then throw even bigger ones throughout Act 3. But I was filled with doubt, didn’t following my instincts, and ended up following Marcus’s advice. After finishing my first draft, I know that the plot was wrong, and that it didn’t match the story, the armature I was trying to prove. It was not Marcus’s fault. It was my own fault for not following my instincts. As I got into my second draft, I changed the plot to veer my MC toward the drastic move that needed to happen. It was painful to do–to make my MC go through this new personal hell–but it made the plot much better, and more importantly, it matched my story. Which brings us to Lesson #3.

Lesson #3: Be willing to feel your characters’ pain.

Part of the reason why I fear writing is because I fear feeling the pain of my characters. It’s hard for me to make them go through difficult times. But it’s also hard for me because I go through it with them. That’s partly why I only write for one to two hours a day, three at the most. Especially when I’m writing painful scenes, I can only write for so long and then I need to stop and do something that has nothing to do with writing. I need time to recover and renew. How much does this happen? Well, for the second draft, because I was much harder on my MC, and all my characters, it happened a lot, almost every other day. I’m pretty sure that’s a big reason why it took me ten months to write this draft. But, it had to be done, and my story is so much better because of it. This draft taught me that if you want your reader to feel a whole range of emotions while reading your story, then you must feel them too. You must be willing to feel the pain of your characters.

There are other lessons that I learned through writing Draft 2, but these are my Top 3, and the ones that will stick with me the most. I hope you find them helpful.

They say you should take a lot of time off between drafts, like at least a couple of months or more, but after being in Oahu for four days, I felt relaxed, renewed, and ready to get back at it. After we flew back to Seattle, I took one more day off to go on my Post-Birthday Mystery Lunch adventure with my friend Alisa (thanks for keeping the aloha spirit going by treating me to Ma’Ono Fried Chicken!), and then I went to work on Draft 3. This is not a rewrite like Draft 2. This is a polish and fill-in-the-holes draft. I predict it will take me 10-14 days. What?! Can I really finish a draft in two weeks or less? Yes, I can, because of all the heavy lifting I did in Draft 2. Finally, after 20 months of marathoning, I get a chance to sprint! It feels SO good.

So, if you’re in the middle of writing your novel or memoir or short story or set of poems, and it feels so hard on some days, know that I can relate. So many of us can relate

Remember, it takes as long as it takes.

Keep going.

Remember, trust your instincts.

Keep going.

Remember, feel what your characters feel, and get it down on the page.

Keep going!

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the creator of Fear & Writing, a workshop for procrastinating writers from all walks of life.

Art by Gediminas Pranckevicius.

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Lessons Learned From the First Draft of SEVEN DUDES

cheese_and_mice

This Monday, I finished the first draft of my suspense novel, SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN. I clocked in at a little over 51,000 words. Like a round of cheese being nibbled on by mice, my draft has some holes in it, but it’s still whole and finished.

As my friend Lewis likes to say, stick a fork in me, I’m done.

For now.

I’m taking a break from SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN for the rest of October and November. In November, I’m doing NaNoWriMo and writing the first draft of the sequel to The Contenders. Then, I’ll return to SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN in December and January.

But for now, I’m finished with my manuscript.

I’m taking a break for the rest of October to rest, read, watch movies and shows, see friends, walk, and clear my head.

I’m happy. Yes, I am. Very happy!

But mostly, I’m relieved.

Why?

Because there were so many days when I didn’t know if I could do it.

It took me nearly nine months to write this first draft. But prior to starting my draft, I’ve been rolling around the idea of SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN in my head, and taking notes on it, since 2005. That’s eleven years. So, to be truly accurate, it took me eleven years and nine months to write the first draft.

Crazy, I know.

Starting in February, I only wrote one chapter a week. Sometimes less.

It was incredibly disappointing.

Some days, I could only make myself write for thirty minutes.

Some days, I could not make myself write at all.

Why?

Fear.

Doubt.

Lack of habit.

I was transitioning from my business to being a full-time writer and everything felt new, strange, and just not right. As I’ve written in past posts, I thought it would feel so natural to write full time. It’s what I’ve been wanting to do for so long. But as with so many momentous transitions, it did not feel natural. Even a transition that I wanted so badly took me a good four months to get the hang of it.

Once I established a habit of writing five days a week, things started chugging along.

Sometimes, I’d fall off the horse and have to dust myself off and get back on again. Fear still hung out with me. But I didn’t let Fear drive anymore. It was relegated to the back seat.

But again, once writing became a five-day-a-week habit, things got better. That was key. I had to write every day like a habit. Like brushing my teeth–I had to do it or else it felt weird!

Habits WORK. During these last two months, I consistently wrote a chapter a day, five days a week.

My first draft ended up having 82 chapters. Many are short chapters, but still, 82 chapters is a lot of chapters. I realized that for SEVEN DUDES DOC AND THE SEVEN, it helped me to write shorter chapters to keep the suspense going for my reader and for myself.

I didn’t know this when I started out.

It’s true that with every book you write, you learn how to write a book.

This technique of many short chapters may not work for the next book. It likely won’t. That’s okay. I need to just go with it, and follow what the story wants to do. As my friend and teacher Brian McDonald says, “You are not the master of your story, but a slave to it.”

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle.

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Writing the Back Cover of SEVEN DUDES

books-tableIf you read my earlier post on writing the back cover of THE CONTENDERS, then you know why I think it’s a smart move to write your book’s back cover FIRST before you write your book. I also mentioned in that post that it takes me many, many, many drafts to get the back cover copy just right.

In today’s post, I’m going to give you a peek into the challenges of writing this confounding summary. I’ve rewritten it about twenty times for my suspense novel, SEVEN DUDES. Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to all twenty versions. Just five.

Here’s one of my very first drafts, written on February 15, 2016.

Doc Osbourne is a loner. He trusts no one. He loves no one. He depends on no one. On his own since age 15, he’s squirreled away money for 20 years to buy a cabin in the woods where he can tend to his rare collection of bonsai trees in solitude. But on the eve of reaching his goal, a beautiful immigrant woman named Sahar moves into his apartment complex. Despite Doc’s best efforts not to get involved with anyone, they become friends. Over time, Doc discovers she is on the run from someone in her past. When Doc comes home one day to find Sahar poisoned and in a coma, he rallies his misfit neighbors in the apartment complex to help him find the attacker, not realizing that he must face his own tragic past in order to save Sahar and save his own soul.

I love the first four sentences, but the rest of this is way too detailed. Too much to digest and remember. Nix that. Try to winnow it down.

Here’s another one, drafted March 2, 2016.

Doc Osbourne just wants to be left the hell alone. On his own since age 15, he’s squirreled away money for 20 years, dreaming of the day when he can move away from his crazy housemates to a place where he can tend his rare collection of bonsai trees in solitude. But on the eve of reaching his goal, a beautiful housekeeper named Sahar moves in. Everyone is drawn to her, even Doc. Too late, Doc discovers Sahar is on the run from someone. He comes home to find her brutally attacked and in a coma. With help from his motley crew of housemates, Doc sets out to find her attacker, not realizing that the clues to saving Sahar’s life lie in his own tragic past.

A few less words, but still way too long and detailed. Too much plot, girl. Try again.

Another draft written on April 6, 2016.

Doc Osbourne, plagued by nightmares and a misanthrope at age 30, just wants a quiet place to shape his bonsai trees. Impossible since he lives in a noisy house with an actor, a cook, a taxi driver, a foreign exchange student, an ex-con, and a dwarf. But when a beautiful housekeeper named Sahar moves in, everything gets turned upside-down, especially Doc. With Sahar’s help, there is harmony in the house. But not for long. When Doc comes home one day to find Sahar assaulted and in a coma, he and his housemates set out to find her attacker, not realizing that the clues to saving Sahar’s life lie in Doc’s past.

Is my main character Doc really a misanthrope? I’m not so sure about that. Is it really important that we know that he’s a bonsai tree enthusiast? I don’t think so. Do we really need to know the occupation or profile of each dude that lives with Doc? No! Again, too much plot. Get it down, for God’s sake.

Yet another draft written on May 14, 2016.

Doc Osbourne just got fired. Again. Sacked from every job he’s ever had, and late on his rent once again, Doc needs to find another gig fast before his landlord kicks him out of the house that he shares with six misfit dudes that are like family to him. But when a beautiful housekeeper named Sahar moves in, everything changes: the house gets crystal clean, the dudes stop squabbling, and Doc finds his dream job. All seems well until one day the dudes come home to find Sahar assaulted and in a coma. Doc risks his new job to find Sahar’s attacker, not realizing that the clues to solving this crime lie not just in the present, but also in his dark past.

The plot’s starting to change and so my back cover had to change. But it’s still way too much plot. I need to stand back and paint the back cover with broad brush strokes. I need to give just enough information to tease the reader and make him want to open the book. That’s all. Nothing more.

My most recent draft, written yesterday on June 16, 2016.

In a ramshackle boarding house full of dudes, three lives collide:

a man haunted by his past,

a woman hunted by her past,

and a man who wants his past back, no matter what.

When their paths cross, each must face their greatest love and their greatest fear,

and not everyone will survive.

Eureka! Way shorter! Way less plot!

This time, I did what I set out to do: paint broad brush strokes describing the setting (“ramshackle boarding house full of dudes”), the three key characters (Doc haunted by his past, Sahar hunted by her past, and Robbie the hunter), and what generally is going to happen (they each must face their greatest love and fear and not all of them will survive). My first version had their names in it but I decided to take them out because it’s not important.

I might change my mind in a few weeks, but for now, I’m happy enough with my back cover copy to move on with my writing. I finished writing Act 1 last week, but I could not move on to Act 2 until I got my summary in a good place. It was just nagging at me. I knew it would become harder to write as I wrote more and more pages of my novel.

I’m glad I stopped this week to step back and take a big picture look at my story. Sweet relief. Now, no more excuses. Back to writing!

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Books on table photo by brewbooks.

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SEVEN DUDES: Chapter 7

Rats-dancingAfter my fear of writing Chapter 6 and then finally getting it done, this chapter didn’t seem so hard. I procrastinated less and wrote it just two days after the last one.

I find it pretty easy to get into Sahar’s head. While I haven’t lived Sahar’s life, I do know what it’s like to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. And I know what it feels like to be alone. Really alone. I’m rooting for her all the way.

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 7: Rat Man

The carpet smelled like a thousand dying cats. Though her body was stiff from riding the bus for over 14 hours, and her knees wobbled from hunger, Sahar strode across the dilapidated lobby as if it were the Seattle Hilton instead of the Seattle Supersonic Hostel.

A man with a rat-like face spun around in his high chair and leaned his elbows on the counter. His eyes darted up and down her body, and he sniffed the air. “Can I help you?”

Sahar fought the overwhelming urge to turn and run. Instead, she pictured the Snickers Man’s fearful face when he got off the bus, and fixed the Rat Man with a steely gaze. “I’d like a room.”

“Ain’t got private rooms, just dorms with beds.”

“Fine. I’d like a bed.”

“How many nights?”

Sahar hesitated. She didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to, but she had nowhere else to go. “Is there a discount if I stay for more nights?”

“We got a fall special going on.” Rat Man took a pack of gum out of his pocket and popped a piece in his mouth. Grape Bubblicious. He chewed with his mouth slightly open, and offered her a piece, but she shook her head no. “Book three nights, get the fourth one free.”

“How much a night?”

“Fifteen bucks.”

“Is breakfast included?”

“Yep.” He waved an arm towards the lounge behind her. “All the cereal you can eat.” He grinned at her with his pointy teeth.

Sahar could inhale a whole box of cereal right now but she acted like she could care less. She pulled out her wallet and pretended to count her money. She knew exactly how much money she had–fifty in her wallet, twenty in her left sock and twenty in her right sock–but she was buying time, trying to forecast how long she could stand to stay at this roach motel until she found a job.

While she did her calculations, Rat Man blew a bubble and retracted it. Something about the way he sucked the deflated bubble back into his mouth turned Sahar’s stomach. She glanced at her watch–it was just past 10:00pm. Her stomach ached to eat something, anything. The cereal wouldn’t be put out until the morning but she could at least take a hot shower.

“Ya want a bed or not?”

“Yes, I want one.”

“You want the coed dorm?” Rat Man’s eyes darted from her to the fish bowl on the counter filled with a rainbow of individually-wrapped condoms. It had a sign taped to it that said, No Glove. No Love.

Sahar’s face flushed. “No. I want the women’s dorm.”

“You sure?” He blew another bubble, retracted it with a loud slurp, and gave her a sly smile. “Pretty lady like you deserves some company.”

Her hands started shaking. She dropped her duffle bag on the carpet and slipped one hand in her coat pocket. As she felt the blade’s smooth mother-of-pearl handle, her hand itched to whip it out, press the button, and hold the tip right under the Rat Man’s chin.

How easy it would have been to make him take back what he had just said. But then where would she stay for the night? She couldn’t afford a real hotel and the streets were too dangerous.

She took fifteen dollars out of her wallet and smacked the bills down on the counter. “One night. That’s it.”

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Painting of The Dance of the Rats by unknown Flemish Master of the 17th Century

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SEVEN DUDES, Chapter 6

Snap-peas

I dreaded writing Chapter 6 more than any other chapter. I needed to introduce all six of the dudes (Doc’s housemates) in this scene in an engaging way, and the thought of that was so intimidating that I didn’t even want to try.

My first go was so wooden, boring, and terrible that it scared me from rewriting for days. I trashed it and spent the next couple of weeks jotting down notes about what Doc needed to do in this scene and everyone’s reaction to him. Then, finally, I wrote the chapter from scratch in two and a half hours of fervent writing. Felt great. Hope you enjoy it.

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 6: The Dudes

Doc closed the front door behind him as quietly as possible. His face lit up when he saw that the living room was empty. From how their voices carried, he could tell his housemates were in the dining room. If he could make it to the stairs without anyone noticing, he could sprint the rest of the way to his room.

“Doc! That you?” The voice was British and youthful.

How did Krishna know it was him? Doc didn’t stop, just kept going for the stairs.

“What are you doing home so early?” This time the voice was lower, more gravelly, and with a hint of concern. Frank knew it was him. He always knew.

Doc sighed. He turned around and came back down the stairs. He moved like a snail to the doorway of the dining room and slouched against it. “What up?”

A young East Indian man was seated at the table with a small pile of snap peas in front of him. He gave Doc a wide grin. His teeth were speckled with bright green bits. “Hey, Doc.”

“Hey, Krishna.” Doc lifted his chin at him. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, you weren’t running off your mouth like Jimmy. You weren’t whistling like Gary. And you weren’t stomping around like Walt.” Krishna shrugged. “I figured it was you.”

Doc couldn’t help but smile. The kid was smarter than he looked.

An elderly Japanese gentleman sitting at the head of the table looked up from his large pile of snap peas and motioned at him. “Doc, come, come. Sit down. I need your help.”

Doc slid into the seat next to him. Frank pushed half of his peas towards Doc. “These need deveining. You know how to do that?”

“Yeah, Frank, I know.” Doc lowered his voice. “I’ve done it a million times.”

Frank gave him a slide glance. It was the kind of glance that shut you up and fast. Doc picked up a pea and snapped off the end, pulling it away so that the vein came off the top. Snap. Pull. Drop.

Krishna crunched into a snap pea. “Better wash your hands or Sanchez is going to get you.”

“He’s going to get you if you don’t stop eating all of them.” Doc got up and gave Krishna a whap on the head on his way to the kitchen. Krishna yowled and clutched his head. Krishna looked at Frank, but he just shook his head. Krishna popped another pea in his mouth and continued deveining.

WHACK! A heavy cleaver came down on a large slab of beef. Wielding the cleaver was an elderly Mexican man wearing an oil cloth apron printed with bright hibiscus flowers. “Doc! You here to help me with dinner?”

“Hey, Sanchez.” Doc washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “Frank’s got me doing peas, but you need help in here?”

“No, no. I’m good. Cleo’s helping me.” Doc and Sanchez were alone in the kitchen. Sanchez leaned towards Doc and whispered. “She thinks she’s a better cook than me.” Sanchez winked at him and went back to hacking the beef into smaller pieces.

Doc smiled and nodded. As he dried his hands on a towel, Sanchez glanced over. “Should I even ask why you’re home early?”

Doc shook his head and mouthed, “No,” and headed back to the dining room.

After he left, Sanchez shook his head. “Aye, miyo’s gone and done it again, Cleo.” He lifts both hands heavenward. “God help him.”

Krishna’s pile of peas was almost gone by the time Doc sat down again. He reached over towards Doc’s pile but Doc slapped his hand. Hard. Frank tried not to smile. “Krishna, why don’t you see if Sanchez needs some help?”

Krishna got up, cradling his hand like an injured animal. He slapped Doc on the back of the head and ran out of the room before he had a chance to retaliate. Doc shook his head and muttered, “Kids.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “You have something to tell me?”

Doc kept his eyes on his peas. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll find out sooner or later, you know.”

BAM! The front door slammed shut and seconds later, two men appeared in the dining room doorway: one tall, thin, and lean with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and one short, very short–he was a dwarf, in fact–holding a large lavender box stamped with Dub’s Donuts on top.

Doc ignored them but Frank smiled and motioned at them. “Jimmy, Walt, come in. Sit down.”

Jimmy took the cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it behind his ear. He plopped down in the chair by Doc and rubbed his hands together. “What’s for dinner?”

Walt kneeled on one of the chairs and placed the box on the table. “Well, we know what’s for dessert.” He lifted off the top to reveal seven beautiful round donuts glazed with a coral-colored frosting. “Special of the week. Guava passion fruit jelly.”

Frank’s eyes lit up. “Sanchez loves guava.” He craned his neck towards the kitchen door. “Sanchez! Come out here!”

Doc eyed the doorway and deveined his peas as fast as he can. Snap! Pull! Drop!

Sanchez and Krishna came through the kitchen door. Sanchez’s eyes got wide. “Are those guava donuts?”

Walt puffed out his chest. “Not just guava. Guava passion fruit.”

Sanchez smiled and called out to the kitchen. “Cleo! Come see what Walt brought us!” He pushed open the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen, waited a minute, and then let it swing closed. No one walked through but Sanchez was beaming.

Jimmy grabbed a freshly deveined pea from Doc’s finished pile and cocked his head. “What’re you doing home so early?”

Snap! Pull! Drop! Finished with his last pea, Doc got up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “Got to go water my trees.”

Before Doc could make it out of the room, Jimmy’s voice rang out loud and clear. “You got fired again, didn’t you?”

Doc stopped cold in the doorway.

“Admit it.” Jimmy crunched into another pea. “You got canned.”

Everyone is silent. Walt and Jimmy exchanged glances. After a minute, Doc nodded without turning around.

Jimmy crowed and held his palm out to Walt. “Pay up.”

“Damn.” Walt reached into his wallet and slapped down a twenty-dollar bill. “Thought for sure he’d last three months this time.”

“You thought wrong, my friend.” Jimmy snapped the bill in front of Walt’s face. “You thought wrong.”

Frank got up from his chair. “Okay, okay.” He waved his hands like he was shooing cats. “Everyone move along.”

Sanchez and Krishna edged slowly back towards the kitchen, their eyes still on Doc. Jimmy and Walt laughed as they scraped their chairs back and got up. Doc turned around.

“I didn’t like that job anyway. My boss was an asshole.”

Frank nodded. “It’s okay, Doc.”

“No, it’s not okay.” The vein on his neck pulsed. “It’s not okay.”

As Jimmy moved past Doc, he patted him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, buddy.”

WHAM! Doc turned and socked Jimmy right in the jaw.

Jimmy fell back against the wall, and without a word, came at Doc with a fast jab right to the stomach. Doc’s breath came out with a OOF! and he doubled over.

Just then, the front door slammed and a tall black man appeared in the doorway. He looked quickly at Doc doubled over in paid, Jimmy rubbing his jaw, and the rest of his housemates standing and staring. He threw up both hands. “Damn, I always miss the good stuff!”

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Photo of snap peas by Forest & Kim Starr