Monday, January 25, 2016

How To Fix Up Your Plot Threads

    Plot threads are the worst kind of monsters to breed up.

    On the one hand, you roll a ball of narrative along the ground for a while, just like you were preparing the body of a snowman.

    But your other hand is free also, and because it pays to make with the ambidexterity deal from time to time, you roll another ball of narrative along the ground with it, figuring maybe you have the snowman’s head, or the beginnings of a whole new snowhorse.

    When the balls are rolled, de-leafed and de-turded, you can hang them up alongside one another on lengths of string — and this is where the weird stuff happens.

    So, in the spirit of weirdness, let’s leave those snowman parts aside and consider a more generative option for our analogical wombcraft.

    Because hanging from your creato-hooks right now are a couple of prime, bulbous testicles.

    Forget the scrotum for the moment, and all of the accompanying hair.

    Forget (even) the penis, or any possibility of an accessory hunk hung off the end of it by his pubic bone.

    All that matters right now is that you have two independent bundles of plot, attached by strings to a hook.

    So let’s fetch ‘em down and see how they swing together.

    If you hold your ball strings firmly between thumb and forefinger, gravity will take the weight of your orbiture, and the testicles will naturally kiss one another.

    Where they kiss is equally random and pre-determined.

    Depending on the angle of their dangle, each testicle presents a different aspect of its surface to the other.

    But in a more general ‘properties of physical objects’ kind of way, all dangled plot testicles obey the same rules.

    Such is the interwoven constancy and flux of ballpark science.

    Now you must jiggle your fingers and watch the testicles roll and bounce.

    It’s the only way to begin analysing their properties as you try to figure out how to merge one plot ball with the other to form a more complex and unified narrative.

    Looked easy when you thought you were rolling parts of a snowman (or -men) (or -women) (or even -horses), but now you have two live semen generators thumping and thwamping together —  unmasked — it’s a whole new jeu de ballon.

    And, who knows — perhaps magnetism will figure in the equation.

    Because these plot balls have their own unique gravitational properties — both to move, and be moved.

    That’s why sometimes, when the balls swing together, perhaps they kiss for longer than they should, or remain momentarily fused in place as if glued by viscous drool or possessed of Velcronic hook and fluff.

    Or perhaps they avoid one another, like each contained randomly strewn lumps of repulsive matter prompting only a need to flee from what they see coming.

    You’ll see that I just threw in testicular eyeballs there, because these plot balls are not blind.

    Only the finished product — your novel or story or poetic epic — has the luxury of blindness.

    Signed, sealed and delivered in a scrotum of self-contained completeness, your finished work has no outlook, and persists as a sightless salamander in a dark cave, waiting to be plucked  from the shadows and examined by the forces of Eyeball Central.

    At the plot stage, your plot balls are hoovering up all the available information, picking themselves over for holes and scouting around for anything to make them complete.

    So, yes, these are balls with eyes and ears and noses and trunks and tentacles and hairs and all the other sensory stuff —  thumping and thwamping together, tongueing out one another’s earholes, nostrilling one another’s spiracles, cornea charging one another’s muff tufts, all the time seeking out




until noses break off and swap over, rolls of velcro peel from one ball and layer over the other, glue squirts into holes and solidifies,







Finger Jiggle

Finger Jiggle

Finger Jiggle

until you are swinging a single, fully formed ball, with a few weird shaped blobs no longer featuring in the uberblendo.

That’s how I see the breeding up of plot threads right now.

As breeding goes, it’s not so much about getting adults together to produce children as rounding up the children and squishing them together into kind of human haggis, reaching out for the next available dangling testicle.

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