…Or, why I’m not JJ Abrams.

I’m on page 30-something of my new story, and the dark, dangerous, mysterious hero I so carefully crafted just had a dream that told EVERYTHING about why he’s the way he is. Worse, the heroine was there when he woke up and he had a weak moment where he told her the troop under his command couldn’t trust him because he can’t trust himself.

Well, hell. I may as well write “The End” right there. I was so excited because I actually KNOW this character so well that I spilled all the beans in chapter two.

I am so not JJ Abrams, who never spills beans without raising a dozen more questions.

So I have these index cards. Bright, pretty index cards. 4 colors (I may need more.) I’m going to take everything I want to reveal about my hero and break it up on those index cards. If I’m good, I may even add a couple questions to raise in my heroine’s mind. I’m going to do the same thing with my heroine (who, to be honest, I don’t know as well. I never do,) my bad guy, my suspense plot. Okay, that’s 4. Why did I think I needed 6? Oh, well, I’m going out to breakfast anyway. It won’t kill me to stop at Office Depot and get some of those cool marbleized index cards. Just in case, ya know.

Once I lay out the cards, I could, reasonably, write a synopsis. So when I try that timer trick, I’ll actually know what I’m going to write.