Rules for Writing: Using Story Notebooks

I use story notebooks for my writing. Not all writers do this; it's really a matter of preference. Stephen King does not use them. Terry Brooks does, or used to. Both are great writers. I have written both ways, writing a story from a story notebook and writing a story as it occurs to me. I prefer to use notebooks because it helps me work out the book before I write it and I don't forget the ideas I have. 


Stephen King once told an audience  "not to use notebooks for story ideas. He said the stuff that's worth writing stays in your head" ("Stephen" np). I like this advice, but I have too many stories in my head that I want to remember, so I use notebooks. Sorry, Stephen, I'm just not the master you are. Not yet at least.

After this I write down the story idea. I give the basic idea for the plot of the story, where the idea came from, stuff like that. Pretty general information to begin with. 


Finally, I sit down and outline the book. I sit down and decide what will happen in chapter one, then move on to chapter two, etc. Sometimes, actually fairly often, I come up with the end of the book before the middle. I write this down somewhere and then work it in later. The great thing about computers is you can move things around, insert things here and there, and then look at it and it is all in the order you want it to be. You know what I mean? 



All of my notebooks follow the same format. I decided on the format; it works for me. You have to experiment and find what works for you. I begin with a title at the top of the page on the left margin. This is not always the final title, it changes. Some titles are generic at first; they look something like this:

Notebook: Android Story


Then later, once I've decided on the title I want I replace it and it becomes something like this:
Notebook: The Android Soul

On the right side of the page, across from the title I put the date I started the notebook. There's no real reason for this other than to show me how long ago I came up with the idea.


Next, I like to get to know my characters, at least the protagonist and major important characters. You need to know who these people are; if they do not become like real people to you, they won't feel real to your readers. If the story takes place in another land, country, world or whatever, I like to get to know that place as well. Again, I want to know it like a real place I could visit.

Sometimes I start writing the story before I finish the notebook and that is okay. I just get too anxious to start writing the actual story, so I write. Then when I get to the point I have not outlined, I outline some more of the book and then write it.

One thing about notebooking is you have to remember that the outline is not set in stone. Sometimes things happen in the course of writing, new ideas occur, that make the story even better. This may require you to go back and change the outline to fit in with the new idea and that is okay. For example, when I originally started writing The Woods of Arreth, Kyra found the bow and Caleb the sword (if you do not know what I am talking about, you will just have to go pick up the book. You can get it on Kindle, Nook, or trade paperback. See the links below). But as I was writing the story, it just worked better to have Kyra use her father's sword and Caleb the bow. It led to a lot of rewriting, but in the end served the story better. 
Sometimes these changes occur during the outline process and sometime during the actual writing, and that is okay. Sometimes the finished product looks a lot different from what you started out with and that works too. The notebook is there to help you get your ideas down, work out the details and organize everything, but mostly to help you remember what it is you wanted to say. If none of this makes sense it is because I did not outline it first. I just sat down and wrote.

Now, stop reading and go write something!


                                                         Work Cited
"Stephen King Offers Writing Tips to Mass. Students - CBS News." CBS News - Breaking




       News, U.S., World, Business, Entertainment & Video. N.p., 7 Dec. 2012. Web. 8 Aug. 2015.

Links to buy my books:      

http://www.amazon.com/Woods-Arreth-M-C-Woodruff-ebook/dp/B00UQKESLQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1439050030&sr=8-1&keywords=The+woods+of+Arreth

http://www.amazon.com/Dwarves-Ancor-Book-Woods-Arreth/dp/1630842176/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1439050030&sr=8-2&keywords=The+woods+of+Arreth

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/the+woods+of+arreth?fs=0&_requestid=216676m

The Loneliest Elf

This story is copyrighted. Do not copy, print or distribute this story without written permission from the author.

The Loneliest Elf

By

M.C. Woodruff

            You might think it would be hard to be lonely, living at the North Pole in Christmas Town. After all, how could anyone possibly be lonely when you live with Santa and Mrs. Claus, a great herd of deer (there are more than just eight, you know) and a hundred thousand elves, all working elbow to elbow six days a week (rule number one in Christmas Town and Santa’s workshop is no one works on Sunday) all year long? And yet, that was exactly what Alpert was; he was the loneliest elf in the North Pole.

It’s not that other elves didn't like Alpert. Those elves who knew him, liked Alpert a lot—he was a very likeable elf—they just respected his privacy, thinking that he preferred to keep to himself. They had no way of knowing that Alpert was just too shy to tell anyone that that was not really the way he felt at all. He longed to connect with the other elves, to have friends, but he had been alone for so many centuries, he just didn't know any other way to be.

            Every year, Christmas Day was a huge party at the North Pole, celebrating the successful completion of another Christmas delivery. Alpert always attended these celebrations, of course, everyone did. Fellow elves hugged him, patted him on the back, pressed a cup of eggnog or hot chocolate into his hand, or clinked his mug in a toast, shoved a cookie or piece of fudge into his mouth, all of which Alpert accepted with a shy smile, but no one sat with him or asked him to join their group. They did not do this out of meanness; they just all assumed that he would prefer to be alone like he always was, and would have felt awkward had they tried to include him. They did not know how his heart cried out for just such an invitation.

            You are probably wondering why Alpert was so lonely, how anyone could be so lonely when surrounded by so many people who worked together on a daily basis. Well, you see, Alpert was the only child born to an elderly couple, who had not been blessed with a child until late in life. Alpert’s parents loved him very much and always kept Alpert as close as they could. Perhaps they were a little over-protective, but that was only because they loved their only child so much and couldn't bear the thought of any harm coming to him. So, Alpert had a very sheltered childhood.

When he was old enough, Alpert’s father had made Alpert his apprentice in the mail office, passing his job on from father to son. Alpert loved working the mail office, performing the very important job of sorting Santa’s mail, and he loved his parents just as much as they loved him and never left their side, as much as was possible.

Now, I am sorry to say that, while elves live for a very long time, they are not immortal. When his parents became too old to care for themselves, Alpert took his father’s place in the post office and cared for his parents as they had taken care of him. This did not give Alpert a lot of time to spend with other elves or to make friends, something that bothered his parents, but did not overly concern Alpert when he was a young elf. His parents were the only friends he needed. But as he grew older he began to realize that he longed to join other elves in their merriment and socializing, but by then all of his time was spent either in the mail-room or carrying for his parents, whose health had begun to fail when Alpert was in the latter half of his first century.

            Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of elves (there were far too many for me to count, I know that), attended the funeral of Alpert’s parents who went to sleep one night holding each other’s hand, and never woke up again. Both Mrs. Claus and Santa shared some beautiful words, and everyone expressed their love and condolences to Alpert, who accepted every kind word and every warmly offered hug with the kind shy smile he was known for. Then they all quietly went on their way, leaving Alpert to go home to his now empty little hovel across the street from the mail office where he spent long days reading through letters to Santa.

As one of many postal elves, Alpert spent his work day sorting through vast stacks of letters. His job was to copy down each child’s name and what they had asked for. He then sorted the list between those children who had made the nice list and those who had not quite made it (although really, many of those children who might have been placed on the naughty list still found their way onto the nice list under Alpert’s tender, watchful eye). The advent of the home computer made Alpert’s job much easier and quicker, but he never rushed through the children’s letters. He carefully read each one, and remembered many of the children from previous years, and in many cases even recognized the children of children who had grown to become parents themselves. He could often be heard by passersby making comments such as, “Oh, Billy, you are so much like your papa. He once sent a letter to Santa saying he was sorry for hitting a baseball through the neighbor’s window too. Like father, like son, they always say,” or “Cindi, two I’s no Y, you are growing up so fast. I’m sure Santa will make sure you get the dolly with red hair this time. Oh, and look, you included a picture of yourself so the elves can get the color right this time.” And he double underlined “Red Hair” next to doll on the list next to Cindi’s name.

            If truth be told, Alpert loved each child he placed on Santa’s list, almost as much as Santa loved them himself. Even though not a single letter was ever addressed to Alpert, and these children went happily through their lives without ever knowing the quiet unassuming elf who read their letters, he secretly imagined the letters were to him and that they loved him as much as he did them. And so Alpert spent the years, decades and centuries doing his job, reading the letters, making his lists, passing them on to Santa, who checked them all twice, and quietly going to his empty home, wishing there could be someone there waiting for him. But no one was; he couldn't even have a pet because he was allergic.

            Then one day he picked up little Nadia Young’s letter. “Dear Santa,” the letter read. “I hope everything is good in the North Pole, and that all the elves are happy making toys. Does Rudolph’s nose really glow like a light bulb? You know the part of the song that says you would even say it glows and then everyone says, like a light bulb? Daddy always changes the words to like a glow stick, but I think light bulbs are brighter. For Christmas this year, please bring me a friend. Love, Nadia.”

            A friend. Little eight-year-old Nadia just wanted a friend. Now, as you know, all of the elves are magic. But what you might not know, is that their magic tends to be rather specific, geared towards the particular job they are tasked to perform (the video game production elves are particularly powerful). Alpert’s special ability was to be able to hold a child’s letter in his hands, close his eyes, and see the child in his heart. When Alpert held Nadia’s letter and closed his eyes that day, he saw right into that little girl’s heart. What he saw there brought tears to his eyes.

Little Nadia Young was a small delicate child, who spent much of her time alone. Nadia had been born with two clubbed feet, her feet twisted in the wrong direction. She had learned to walk with her feet in casts, and after numerous operations to try and correct her feet, had developed a rather awkward walk. There were some children at school who poked fun at the way Nadia walked and often teased her. So, Nadia, with the long curly dark hair and large brown eyes that her father loved so much, was spending most of her childhood alone. She would often sit in her living room, peeking through the blinds, watching the other children in her neighborhood play, longing to join them, but afraid of being teased.

            Tears came to Alpert’s eyes as he pressed this dear child’s letter to his heart. But how could Santa give her the gift she wanted? Not even Santa had magic strong enough to make a friend for Nadia, did he?

            “Oh, Alpert, I’m sorry,” Santa said after holding the letter to his heart just as Alpert had; Santa has all the magic every elf has and more, after all. But even he has his limits. “I’m sorry, but I am afraid you are right. I don’t know how we can make a friend for dear little Nadia.”

            “But, we have to try, Santa, we just have to,” Alpert lamented.

            “Perhaps a teddy bear would make a good friend?” Santa suggested, speaking more to himself than to Alpert.

            “It would need to be a very special teddy bear,” Alpert said. Like Santa, he was speaking more to himself. “She asked for a friend, not a simple stuffed toy.”

            “I am open to suggestions,” Santa said, this time looking directly at Alpert over the rim of his antique wire frame glasses. If you could have seen Santa’s lips under his bushy white beard you would have seen the slight smile teasing the corner of his mouth, as if he knew something that Alpert did not.

            Thinking that Santa was rebuking him, Alpert hastily apologized. “I did not mean to imply I could ever do your job, Santa. You know better than anyone, the perfect gift for each child. I just feel for Nadia. I felt her heartache, no child should be so lonely, Santa. Especially not at Christmas.” Alpert fell silent and looked down at his hands, now clasped in his lap.

            “You mistake me, Alpert,” Santa said, placing a large hand on the small elf’s shoulder. “Even Santa needs help, you know? Only God is all knowing; I am just a toy maker. We have time before we need to be on our way to deliver the gifts. You are almost done with your letters, I’m sure one of the other elves in the mail sorting department will not mind taking over your load. Why don’t you take some time and see what you can come up with for sweet little Nadia Young?”

            “I wouldn’t want to burden anyone with my work, Santa,” Alpert said, although it was obvious that this was exactly what he would like to do.

            “Buddy will be more than happy to take some of your load,” Santa said, speaking as if it was already a done deal. “He always moves through his allotment of letters quickly. He can use some more work to keep him occupied. He does not have to read all of your letters; I know how much they mean to you. But take a few days and see what you can come up with for Nadia. She needs your help.”

            “Thank you, Santa!” Alpert said, brimming with excitement. He sprang from his chair, clutching Nadia’s letter in his hand. “I will not let you down.”

            “You will not let Nadia down, you mean,” Santa said, tapping his nose with one large finger and smiling.

            Alpert gave Santa one of his shy smiles, bowed, and hurried from Santa’s office.

            Elves passing him on the street said hello, wished him a Happy Jubilee, or asked him how his day was going, but Alpert’s mind was elsewhere and he barely acknowledged these polite salutations as he hurried to his small home.

Locking the front door behind him for privacy—no one in the North Pole worried about break-ins—Alpert hurried into his study and took out a writing pad. He stared at the blank page for several minutes, tapping his pen lightly against his forehead, a ritual he always performed before writing. He began by making a list of possible choices. He then added a second column in which he listed the reasons why the choice might work and a third to list why it might not.

Possible Choices	Possible Benefits	Possible Problems
Stuffed Animal Cat Dog Me?	Will never leave her Soft and cuddly Easy to make Soft They Purr Playful Loyal Like to play Soft I could be a good friend	Not real Cannot talk to her or offer comfort Only friendly when they want to be They scratch You have to clean their litter box Hairballs I think she’s allergic They bark constantly Slobber They can’t talk Not the friend she needs Her dad doesn’t like dogs I am needed here (well, not really, anyone can do my job, Buddy is doing it right now) I can’t risk exposing the secrets of Santa and the North Pole

The list was longer of course, but he kept coming back to the last thing he had written: himself. He couldn’t possibly leave the North Pole, could he? Well, he doubted he would be missed, but this was his home. He looked around at his small home. There was nothing in the kitchen except for the stove, sink and refrigerator. His bedroom held only his bed and dresser. There were no pictures in the bathroom, since he spent little time in there; he did all of his reading in the study where he now sat, the only other room in the house. He looked around; he looked at the comfortable chair he sat in, at his antique desk that had been brand new when he had bought it over a century ago, at the books on the bookshelf. Was that it? Was that really all he owned? He hadn’t meant to live such a meager life; he’d just never needed anything other than books to read. And of those books he really only read a few; A Christmas Carol, The Hobbit, and The Winter Toy Maker. That was it. He wouldn’t be leaving much behind.

            But he still couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk exposing the secret of Santa. Such an act would risk destroying the very magic of Christmas and the last home of the elves. The magic of Santa and the elves comes from the faith of children like you, and me, who believe in them. Christmas is, after all, about faith; faith that Santa is real, faith that the elves will be able to make the toy you asked for, and above all faith in the baby whose birth is celebrated on this most holy day. But faith requires choice. You have to choose to believe. If an elf just walked into your living room, there would be no more faith, and therefore no more Christmas magic, and without Christmas magic there would be no more happiness! He could not risk the end to all the happiness of Christmas. But what about Nadia’s happiness? What about his own? Would the happiness of one little girl really threaten the happiness of the entire world? Alpert didn’t know, but he knew Santa would never risk that.

            So, was there really no other option? Alpert thought and thought…and thought some more. He looked at the page, saw “teddy bear” and saw “me,” then he looked back at “teddy bear” and then back at “me.”

            “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, looking at his reflection in his window. And then suddenly he knew what he had to do.

            It was neither early nor overly late in the evening when he came to his decision. He was not sure if Santa would be up or not, but he could not wait until the next day; time was running out. There were only a few days left before Christmas Eve, if his idea was going to work, he needed to get things ready now. He looked at his reflection in the window one last time and asked, “Are you sure about this?” But he knew he was.

            “Alpert, this is not the solution I expected you to come up with,” Santa said, when Alpert was seated once again in Santa’s study. “Are you sure about this?”

            “I am, Santa,” Alpert said.

            “Well, I can’t say I am surprised,” Santa said, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. “But Alpert, you are making a real sacrifice.”

            They talked about it for some time, but in the end, Alpert convinced Santa that this was not only the right decision; it was what Alpert wanted as well.

           

            That Christmas morning, little Nadia Young rushed down the stairs, dragging a bleary-eyed Daddy by the hand, to see what Santa had brought. Mommy had gone down first with Nadia’s baby brother to turn on the lights. The glowing Christmas tree was surrounded by at least a dozen beautifully wrapped treasures; there was something for everyone in the family and several somethings for the family as a whole. In front of all of the presents, thought, were the stockings and two special presents, bigger than all the rest, one for little Jonny, and one for Nadia.

            Nadia ran to the box that was almost half as tall as she was, and tore open the wrapping paper, wondering how what she had asked for could possibly be in this box, if Santa had brought it. Once she had the paper torn away from the lid, she opened the box, and saw sitting inside a stuffed elf. She took the little elf out of the box and sat him on the floor in front of her. The elf was soft and beautifully crafted. He had brown hair, the same color as hers, beneath a bright, red postal worker’s hat. He had a round face with large blue eyes beneath large, bushy eyebrows, and a pleasant, shy smile. He wore a long-sleeved green shirt with stripped green pants and pointed red shoes. Over the green shirt he wore a red vest. On the pocket of the vest was a name tag that said “Mail Room” and beneath that “Alpert.” Attached to the stuffed elf’s shirt was a note. Nadia sat cross-legged in front of the little elf and read the letter.

Dear Nadia,

          Merry Christmas. This little elf is named Alpert, and he was the loneliest elf in the North Pole. Alpert needed a friend, and so I have brought him to you. Like all elves, Alpert has very long ears; he can hear very well. He will hear everything you have to tell him, even the most softly whispered secret. His little hands are open, waiting to be held. If you squeeze them, they will squeeze back. He is very ticklish; if you poke him in the tummy he will giggle. Alpert has a big heart, and loves to be hugged. When you hug him close, he will whisper in your ear. Keep Alpert close, and he will always be your friend.

          Love,

          Santa

            Nadia smiled and picked up the toy elf, sitting him in her lap. “Hello, Alpert,” she said. The stuffed elf looked at her, a shy smile stitched on his kind face. Nadia poked a finger in the toy’s soft belly, and it actually made a giggling sound! Nadia laughed with glee, and hugged the elf tight. As she did so the little stuffed elf whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

            “I love you, too!” Nadia said, hugging the elf even tighter.

            “Do you like him?” Mommy asked, admiring the craftsmanship of the little stuffed toy.

            “I love him,” Nadia said. “He’s the best friend I could ever ask for.”

            Nadia received other gifts that Christmas, but none that she loved more than Alpert the Loneliest Elf. She kept him close to her all the day long, and sat him next to her pillow that night when she went to bed and every night after that. From that day on, neither Nadia nor Alpert was ever alone again.

When the time finally came, many years later, that Nadia no longer needed Alpert, he was placed in a box, wrapped, and placed beneath another Christmas tree. That year the box was opened and another child, Nadia’s son, lifted the stuffed toy elf out of the box and read the letter attached to the collar of his green shirt, “Merry Christmas. This little elf is named Alpert, and he was the loneliest elf in the North Pole…”

The Woods of Arreth cover

The cover of my book!
http://www.amazon.com/The-Woods-Arreth-M-C-Woodruff/dp/1462688179/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365874883&sr=8-1&keywords=the+woods+of+arreth

My Rules of Writing: Rule Number One

        I am starting a new blog. I love talking about reading and writing, so I am going to use this blog to do so. I am also going to use it to post updates and tidbits about the book series I am currently working on, The Woods of Arreth. The first book in the series, The Woods of Arreth, has already been published. I'll include a link or two where you can buy a copy! The second book in the series, currently titled The Dwarves of Ancor, will hopefully be available sometime this year. I am currently on the second rewrite of the manuscript. The third and fourth books that will complete the story of the Woods children are in the planning stage. The outline for the third book, The Guardians of Griffinholme, is almost complete and I will begin writing it soon. Hopefully it will be ready next year, but no promises on that. Writing takes time and right now I don't have a lot of it (I am also working on a Masters Degree in education. Can't wait for that to be over with). 


        Okay, so on to today's blog. Matt's (aka M.C. Woodruff's) Rules of Writing #1: Write about what you know. If you really want to write, begin with what is familiar to you. The first big mistake in trying to become a writer is to try and write what's popular. Zombies are big right now, last year it was vampires, next year it will be Frankenstein's Monster. Last year while at a book fair I was listening to this young woman talk to a publisher. She was explaining how her method for getting story ideas is to go to a book store, see what is popular and then write her version of it. "I'm working on a vampire story right now, to capitalize on the Twilight craze," she explained. She went on to say, "But my vampires are totally different; they don't glitter in the sun." She was trying to capitalize on what was popular at the moment. If your goal is simply to write something that sells, trying to capitalize on what is currently popular is not gonna do it. That may be what the publishers are looking for at the moment, but they are looking for stories that have already been written. By the time you get your manuscript ready to publish they will be looking for something else.

       So don't try and write your version of whatever is popular at the moment. Instead, be the next big thing. Better yet, just write for yourself. Write the stories that are most familiar to you and that you would enjoy reading. Better yet, write about yourself. I'm not saying be autobiographical, although that can be interesting too, but write about a version of yourself. Let your characters be a reflection of you, both the good and the flawed in you. If you enjoy reading Fantasy, write about Fantasy, but make it familiar to you. The original idea for The Woods stories came from me wanting to write something that would teach my children the need to act like a family, to trust and help each other. I'll talk more in detail about this someday, but a lot of the story ideas for The Woods of Arreth came from my real life experiences. I just set it all in a fantasy setting and added in those aspects of Fantasy that I love the most, namely griffins and fairy creatures. I'm not saying you never have to do research for a story either. You may find yourself wanting to write a particular story, say one set in the future, but don't know much about the actual science behind, say, cyborgs. So you do some research, find out what is actually going on in that particular field, and then mix it with your own ideas. Or maybe you want a story set in another country, Uruguay perhaps, and want names of towns other than Montevideo. So you research it. Research is good; it helps you be accurate, and you learn something new. By the way, my favorite town outside of Montevideo is Treinta y Tres. How many towns can you name that are a number?

        So, rule number one, write about what you know. Now, go write something. And leave me some comments about your own writing. Leave any questions you might have. I cannot read and edit your story for you, sorry, but my plate is pretty full. But, I can help you find someone who actually could do it for you, but probably not for free. There is another rule for you; never do for free what you could get paid to do. But that is another rule for another time. Now go and let your imagination flow.

         Long live the Riders. Here is a link to Amazon to buy my book: