How Not To Plot: MCRW's Retreat Round Robin
Author: Jody Wallace
Original Publication Date in Love Notes: April 2005

I can't tell you how to plot a book because every author has to find his or her own path. Some of you fly by the seats of your pants into a big bank of mist, encountering certain unexpected barriers along the way (look out, thar she blows!). Some of you write a fifty page outline before the actual book because you get blocked if you don't know exactly where every scene is going, yet may not find the journey very exciting (I must...I must...I must increase my rust!). Most of you fall somewhere in between.

So I can't tell you where on the scale of inspiration and perspiration you ought to veer in your quest for the HEA, but I can tell you how NOT to plot a book.

1) Don't adhere religiously to anyone else's "How to Plot" instructions unless it just really, really seems to be working for you. As in, you're writing 8000 words a day and you're excited to write more as soon as you can slip your husband and kids those knockout drops every night.

2) Don't tell anybody about the knockout drops.

3) Don't let the house burn down around you while you're writing, or, on a lesser note, give yourself a repetitive strain injury because you never shake out your flying fingers.

4) Don't let the publishing world burn down around you while you're "subconsciously plotting" your manuscript. Uh-huh. Letting those ideas ferment in your creative juices. Uh-huh. In the writing world, it's not the thought that counts. It's what you manage to get onto the page and send to an editor.

5) Don't forget what you wrote in chapter 1. Or chapter 2. Or chapter 3. Or the previous paragraph.

6) At the same time, don't constantly refer back to facts and events as if your readers have no memories whatsoever. That's not how to create continuity.

7) Don't toss in influential new characters, concepts or subplots halfway through the book or near the climax unless you've done the groundwork. Ever heard the term deus ex machina? Divine (or alien) intervention intended to save your car-wreck of a plot definitely counts as influential.

8) And whatever you do, don't let all your friends crowbar their wacked out ideas into your plot! Since everyone thinks and plots differently, you're likely to end up with.....

CARRIE’S ALIEN ADVENTURE

1.

Carrie Hembree had been to one too many bachelorette parties, and her friend Lynn’s party made two too many. She should have taken the broken heel on her sandal as an omen, but here she stood, purse, broken shoe, and silly present in hand, ringing the doorbell of Lynn’s father’s mansion.

To Carrie’s surprise, a half-naked man who looked about as excited to be here as she did answered the door. He was tall, burly, and shirtless except for a black bowtie. His black satin trousers were nearly as tight as Speedos. The squeals and shouts of numerous inebriated females and the raucous beat of disco blared out onto the front porch, at odds with the stately white pillars.

“Welcome to Hunk Heaven, the Last Hurrah for Lynn Pennyworth,” he finally growled at her. “How can I serve you tonight?”

2.

“Earmuffs for a start,” Carrie said.

“Earmuffs? For you?”

“No, you look cold.”

He stepped aside and she sailed past him and through that wonderful shaving cologne that always reminded her of Jerry, the Jerk. Unfortunately she couldn’t sail as gracefully as she’d like with one broken heel. And right on cue, she fell with a splat.

The guffaw took her off guard, and she scrambled to her deceitful feet. “Listen, you poor excuse for a doorman, don’t...don’t...”

The long kiss destroyed every brain cell she had.

3.

Well, maybe not every brain cell. She had enough left for a message to be sent to her knee which hit his groin with a satisfying “thwack”.

“Next time you kiss a woman,” she said to him, “use a breath mint first.” With that, she whirled on her one good heel and stalked toward the elevator. Fortunately, the bell dinged at that moment and the elevator doors opened.

Unfortunately, what she didn’t realize until it was too late was that there was no elevator beyond the open doors.

4.

Carrie’s scream ricocheted against the elevator shaft. She caught the edge of the door with one hand as her foot slipped over the edge into air. Her shoes fell away from her feet, clanging down the dark void.

“Help!” She grabbed wildly with the other hand until she latched onto a cable. Footsteps sounded away.

“Nooo! Come back!” Her arms strained to hold her weight. She should have taken her trainer’s advice and built up her arms. Next week--if she lived--she’d work her biceps.

Footsteps pounded towards her. Carrie tightened her grip, relieved he was returning...until she saw who reached down for her. Oh my God!

5.

The last person in the world she thought she’d ever run into--Greg Barnes.

What in the hell was her personal trainer doing here of all places?

“Help me, Greg,” she begged.

He looked into her tear-filled eyes and grinned. “I warned you, Carrie, but did you listen? No. Look at your flabby biceps. I’m ashamed of you.”

“Greg!”

He shrugged and grasped her extended hand. Carrie grabbed for him but her palms were slick with sweat. Her hand whizzed right past, barely skimming him.

Great...now what?

Carrie swiped her hand over her trembling thighs and tried again.

6.

She lifted the dumbbell into a tight curve, drawing up the muscle into a knot. Greg stared.

“You like that, don’t you?” Kerri asked with a wicked smile. “Admit it.”

Greg’s eyes twinkled with mischief as they raked the length of her flabby bi. “I can deny it no longer.” He bent over, a drop of sweat bled down his forehead, pooled on her stomach. “I love flab. It turns me on.”

This didn’t surprise her as his entire body jiggled every time he took a breath. Even with him looming over her.

7.

Slowly Greg leaned closer until his lips were only inches away. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since you hired me to be your personal trainer. What do you say I train you in some much more personal relations?”

Their lips met in a kiss that could have melted glaciers. They kissed and kissed until Carrie realized they’d attracted quite the audience in the gym.

An attractive blonde without an ounce of flab burst through the ring of spectators. “Greg!” she shrieked, harpy-style. “Are you cheating on me with yet another of your clients? God, this one’s even prettier than the last. Why do you do this to me? It’s the last time.”

Pretty? Carrie thought. No one had ever called her pretty. She’d come to the gym to work off this flab and now she’d just kissed a total hunk... and his girlfriend had a gun!

8.

Oh, God, not again. Carrie stood rooted to the spot. She felt as if she were frozen in cement. Just toss me over the nearest bridge--I'll sink like a stone. She wondered if drowning would be a better alternative to being shot. Both options sucked in Carrie's opinion.

Greg stepped between her and the gun and Carrie felt her heart start to beat again.

"Barbie--put the gun up. This is ridiculous. I'm not cheating on you. We do not have a relationship, we never have. We never will."

Barbie--Carrie almost snickered at the irony of the name. But there was still that gun pointing right at Greg's chest--which was right in front of her chest. Well, okay, he was a little taller than she was so his chest was probably right in front of her head. Could a bullet from a gun that small go all the way through Greg's chest and hit her in the head? She blinked and looked around at the crowd that had gathered.

Why didn't somebody do something? They were all just standing around staring.

She opened her mouth to say something to the man closest to her but all that came out was a great, "Uhhhh...."

9.

"You're not gonna be sick, are you?" Greg purred. The look on Carrie's face said, "yes". In seconds, he had his answer, all over his alligator skin boots.

Nothing like a Technicolor yawn to diffuse a situation.

"Ick!" Barbie screamed. "Not my Manolo Blahniks!"

Greg used the second of pure materialism to knock the gun out of Barbie's hand. The weapon skidded across the cement.

Go for the gun or wipe Carrie's face? The answer was clear...gun, Carrie, then save what he could of his favorite pair of boots.

Greg leapt into the air, aimed straight for the weapon. A blur of pink cashmere rushed past him. Must. Get. There. Before....

Barbie and Greg both landed on the gun, fighting for control of the weapon. Weapon? At this close range, he saw the piece for what it really was. Why in the world had Barbie pulled a....

10.

What the hell did she have in her hand? Carrie wiped her mouth and lunged at Barbie. She and Carrie vanished into thin air.

Carrie opened her eyes and found herself clad in blue jeans and a "Bite me!" T-shirt as couples walked by her. The stared and wide circle formed around her made her the center of attention. She wanted to run, hide, when she caught a glimpse of Barbie sneaking out a side door.

A flash of light and Greg stood before her without a stitch of clothing on. Women gasped around her, many admiring his tanned, muscled body behind open fans.

"Come on, Carrie. We've got to catch her within two hours or be here forever, in the land of chivalry and privies."

11.

The crowd parted to let Carrie and Barbie through. Without glancing back, they ran down the crowded city street. They made quite a scene, two women running hand in hand--one in a "Bite me!" T-shirt and jeans--but Carrie didn't have time to worry about that. They had to find
a way out of here.

"Wait!"

It was Greg's voice, coming from somewhere behind them. Carrie groaned inwardly. All they needed was a naked guy running after them. They had to find a way to lose him.

“This way," Barbie called back, jerking Carrie into an alley. Down at the very end was a red sports car, apparently abandoned--for the moment, at least.

Knowing the doors would be locked, Carrie followed Barbie to it anyway. As Barbie unsuccessfully tried each door, Carrie turned to see Greg coming toward them. Maybe he knew how to pick a lock.

12.

Yes, Greg could pick a lock, but since he was naked he had nothing on him. Looking around, they found a large rock. Greg threw the rock in the window then reached inside and unlocked the door. Sliding into the front seat, he hot wired the car.

Carrie and Barbie got in. Greg pulled into the street, turning into traffic. He ran a red light.

They heard the siren. How would they explain Greg driving a stolen car with no clothes on? Carrie pulled off her pants, draping them over Greg's lap. Barbie pulled hers off and draped them over his shoulders, letting the legs hang over his chest. Greg eased the car to the shoulder. Turned off the engine and waited for the cop.

The cop came up along the side of the car.

13.

"License and registration please," said the officer. He shined his flashlight first on Greg then to the other passengers.

Greg tried to still his trembling hands. Being hustled off to jail was not what they had planned. He had heard such terrible things about jail from his sister's boyfriend. The officer pulled out his notebook and started writing, glancing at the car as he wrote. He walked behind, made more notes and then went back to his vehicle.

"He's checking the tags," said Barbie. She looked over her shoulder at the officer.

"What do we do?" said Carrie. "He's gonna figure it out."

14.

"Okay, first thing, let's not panic." Nerves always made Greg's stomach clench, which didn't bode well considering the load of chili cheese fries he and his companions scarfed down before this escapade. He could already feel the IBS rumbling in his lower belly. He tried the meditation mantra taught to him by his cousin Bob, a Tibetan Monk wannabe and closest thing to a guru he knew.

"Oh, dear," said Barbie, interrupting his concentration. She was looking out the rear window. "He's looking pretty agitated."

"What do you mean?" The worry in Carrie's voice tightened Greg's belly a notch.

"He's on the radio," Barbie said, "waving his hands around and.oh. He just pointed to the car."

Greg looked out the window at the rolling landscape and weighed his chances of flight. Nah, not good. The way things were progressing in his midsection, he needed to run straight to a gas station bathroom and he was not going to get nailed with his pants around his ankles.

"I don't want to rot in jail!" Carrie's whine nearly undid him. Especially since he was thinking the same thing.

“Okay, listen up people." Greg desperately had to get control of this situation. "We're just out for a drive. I don't even want to hear a hint about the three foot mummified space alien in the trunk. Everyone act cool."

Dang Grandma and her crazy schemes. He smelled trouble the minute she told him she beat the top bid on Ebay. How many people actually believed the cockeyed story of finding a perfectly preserved alien corpse, much less bid for it on the internet? Besides Grandma, that is?

Greg knew he had to snatch the long dead Martian from her before that whole loony gang of hers had a chance to activate another midnight mystery revival scam. The last one nearly got him shot.

A bright light blinded him, and for a moment visions of the mothership filled his head. Then the officer dropped his flashlight and reality returned.

"You know why I pulled you over?" The officer asked in a drop dead serious tone.

Just the sound of it caused another spasm and Greg felt sweat break out on the back of his neck.

"Speeding?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope." He shined his flashlight into the car and across his companion's faces.

Carrie let out a little wail of misery and collapsed in the back seat. "I knew it! I knew I should have listened to my mother. She told me your family was nuts! Oh, why did I ever come with you tonight?"

"You got something I need to know about, sonny?" The flashlight pinned him in place like an insect. "Something besides a busted tail light and a weird glow from the trunk?"

Greg twisted in the front seat to look out the rearview window. Sure enough, the whole back half shone with an eerie green light. Carrie screamed and they all dashed out of the car.

"What's in there?" The cop began to look worried.

Greg couldn't help it. He started laughing. Irritable bowels, crazy grandma, and late night kidnappings of ET. Could his life get any weirder?

"You know what you got here officer?" For the first time, Greg found that connecting link between him as his less-than-conventional family. He didn't like it, not one bit, but he couldn't escape it. "You got three people drunk on chili cheese fries and root beer, out on a joy ride with a trunk full of radioactive imagination."

The cop, Carrie, and Barbie all looked at him the exact same way he'd been looking at his family for years. It just made him laugh all the harder.

"I gotta get over to my grandma's." More like he had to get to the nearest bathroom, but he wasn't going to quibble. "There's a whole gang of mystery hungry loony tunes waiting to get their next fix."

Barbie groaned and fell against the cop with an effective display of female weakness. "I can't take it. All this drama has left me exhausted." She looked over at Greg and gave him a little wink.

Suddenly, he felt a bit like Harry Potter. His life may be in the Twilight Zone, but he had friends.

"Get yourselves and that glowing car on home." The cop closed his book with a snap and walked away.

With plenty of stumbling and giggling all three of them squeezed into the front seat, unwilling to sit too close to the glow. Barbie took the middle and wrapped her arms around Greg’s neck with a big laughing hug. "Life is never boring with you, Greg!"

He never had it so good. All it took for him to realize it was one ancient alien and a lawless night of gut-wrenching drama. He hit the gas pedal and sped off into the darkness. He had a bathroom to find.

****

The MCRW Retreat Round Robin is a classic example of How Not To Plot. Coming next month, the results of the Romantic Suspense Round Robin. Hold onto your tentacles; it's just as wild a ride as this one! My thanks to all contributing authors, especially the brave soul who wrapped it all up for us, and no, it wasn't me. There's more than one maniac in our chapter, thank you very much!

If you enjoyed participating in the round robin, especially now that you see what a hoot it is, contact me about the MCRW Round Robin "A Write Time for Love" because it really needs your input! In this one you get to see what came before, so you won't be fumbling around in the truck of a car with an alien corpse.

***

MCRW member Jody Wallace has several full and partial manuscripts making the rounds and keeps her chaptermates entertained with her wit and grammar wisdom.

Love Notes, the official monthly newsletter of Music City Romance Writers, is provided to paying members free of charge. If you are an MCRW member and would like to submit an article to Love Notes, visit the main newsletter page for more information. If you would like to reprint one of these articles in your RWA chapter newsletter, please give proper credit to both the author and the original source. For any other uses, please contact the president.