While emailing on critiquecircle.com about how to add a scene to a written novel, I realized that I have a process. When I get stuck, I write an overview of what I need, often in present tense, in the broadest terms possible, just to get a few words written.
Like I know I need a scene with Gabe and another character’s toddler together.
First pass, I wrote:
- Add scene
- Candice’s POV.
- Gabe with the toddler.
I think some more. Glance over the scenes before and after, where I have a recounting by the second character’s stepson of ‘Mom forgot Noodle in the stroller in another store.’ — So I expand that.
Second pass.
- Add scene
- Candice’s POV.
- She and Gabe come upon Noodle in the stroller.
“One of us should find Andy’s wife,” Candice said.
“I’ll go.”
“You won’t recognize her. I should go.”
“But—”
“I’ll be right back.”
Returns, Gabe is holding Noddle, tears streaming down his face.
Cindy rushes in, takes her daughter.
Candice talks to Gabe. “How are you?”
“Maybe I should talk to a counselor.”
3rd pass:
- Add more stuff and pretty soon I have a resolution of Gabe’s grief, not that he’s over it, but he’ll be able to see his nephew.
Gabe stared at her for several seconds, then turned abruptly, almost tripping over a stroller. He put a hand on the stroller to steady himself, looking at a blonde woman who was standing nearby.
“It was my fault,” Candice said, hoping to forestall the woman’s complaint. “My brother didn’t mean to trip over your child’s stroller.”
The woman held both her hands up. “Not my child.” She walked away.
There was no other adult nearby. Gabe asked, “Whose child is this?”
Candice looked into the stroller, meeting the gaze of a curly-haired toddler. Her blue eyes and curly hair seemed familiar. “I think this is Andy’s daughter, Daria. He calls her Noodle.”
“Where’s Andy?”
“He has his show with Janek today,” Candice said. “One of us should find Andy’s wife. Cindy must be nearby.”
“I’ll go.”
“You won’t recognize Cindy. I should go.”
“But—”
“I’ll be right back.”
… (more stuff)
After they left, Candice laid her hand on her brother’s arm. “How are you?”
He wiped his face. “You’re right. I was cheating. The accident was all my fault.”
“You wife was driving. What about the truck driver?”
Gabe mumbled. “He was arrested.”
“So, it was his fault.”
“If she hadn’t found out, if only I hadn’t … She never would have been at that intersection.”
Candice hugged her brother. “Life is full of if-only. You didn’t kill your wife. And you didn’t kill your son. You obviously loved him very much. If the marriage was over—”
“What makes you think my marriage was over?”
“You’re a good guy. If you were cheating, there must have been a reason.”
He stepped back. “I haven’t thought about that. Maybe I should talk to a counselor.”
