I found a plot hole during my first read-through. One I can only repair by pulling another veil over the eyes of my society. I’m not sure I’ve ever had this kind of power, though my words would disagree.
I hate plot holes. And they hate me.
When I find a plot hole, it climbs up my arm and into my ear, where it whispers: your idea is invalid. Then, when I try to reason with it, it dives deeper and makes a nest in the squishiest part of my brain, where it begins to write on my amygdala: You screwed up. Give up on this one. Then it draws a cat or something, because it gets distracted.
Why, Plot Hole? Why are you here? Surely you’ve never visited the greats…
With six weeks’ worth of recuperation time, you’ll also be able to see any glaring holes in the plot or character development. I’m talking about holes big enough to drive a truck through…if you spot a few of these big holes, you are forbidden to feel depressed about them or to beat up on yourself. Screw-ups happen to the best of us…remember this: someone really did design the Titanic and then label it unsinkable.
~Stephen King (On Writing)
Several days later…
It’s 6:35am to the dot. The squiggly line in my eye has taken the form of a whale floating atop the Atlantic. Zero 7 is the only thing that can make any sense right now.
I’ve since smothered two wide-ruled sheets of paper with logic and reason and doodles of monkeys with top hats. Now that I’m no longer in “crisis mode,” I can fold my arms and frown at the Picasso on the wall. Soon I’ll fill the hole with some putty, then sand it down and add a fresh layer of paint (Gulf Coast Blue).
If you need help, here is the equation I used:
I suppose I’ll have to come back to this another day, remind myself that a plot hole–no matter how mouthy–is never the end of a book. The equation may change (Toasted Graham lattes are limited time) but it will always equal a monkey with a top hat. That may or may not be a metaphor for paint putty.
Time to reheat the coffee.