I’ve taken the plunge. Synthetic Empires is no longer a TV show. At least the aim is to reshape it into something different. I’ve carved up the original pilot episode and used it as an intro to what I hope will soon be my debut novel.

I’ve even gone so far as to map out where the entire story goes. I’ve dedicated the last handful of my days writing out a detailed outline for the novel. It wasn’t a disciplined write up, I must confess. It was the word processing equivalent of a toddler shouting “and then!” whilst improvising a story she’d made up on the fly. I decided to conduct a write and see what comes to mind kind of affair. 

Following guidelines was drilled into us back at university. I was trained in the craft of Hollywood script writing, which often talks about the three act structure and The Hero’s Journey.  Except one thing my screenwriting tutor also advised us on was the power of creative thinking.  He encouraged us to let stories spill out onto the page before we began the process of structuring. He believed it would help us figure out what our stories were about, giving us something more concrete to work with.

So that’s exactly what I did. I took Michelle and Quinn, and improvised.  I plonked them in the midst of a fictional future, then let their voices take flight.

In terms of figuring out a beginning and middle for my duo’s journey, it’s worked a ruddy charm. Quinn and Michelle now have character arcs. They have lives that they live and people they interact with on a daily basis. Quinn is trying to figure out her identity in a world that expects her to merely serve. Except she’s far too playful and rebellious to dish out meals and trim garden edges on a 24/7 basis. She’s fascinated by nature, and finds reality an impossible beauty. She’s a wide-eyed toddler with a scholar’s mind. Michelle, meanwhile, is struggling to cope with a guilt brought on in response to a love forbidden in her land. When we open this story, she’s dealing with the fallout of that. She’s being punished by her collage classmates, as well as the authorities for her actions. While she’s got off “lightly” (for want of a better phrase) compared to most in her world, her life is far from rosy as a result.  As I penned these outlines, I noticed a lot of themes surrounding guilt, suppression, identity and the loss of innocence cropping up throughout. This is good. This is the process in which I was hoping for.

One glaring problem does still remain, however. I can’t quite figure out how to end this outline. I do have a vague idea how I want it to close out, which is promising, yet I don’t quite know how to get my characters into that particular place. I don’t know how to pull the endgame trigger. It’s a bombshell of a closure, that hurtles our heroes into a place far removed from the one they started in. I just can’t figure out how to get them there in a way that’s believable, organic, or paced.

The truth is, I’ve always struggle with endings. Even in my non-fiction essays, I never quite know how to wrap things up. It’s why much of my work ends up going over by thousands of words. This is a particular problem when it comes to producing fictional climaxes. I love the quieter moments in stories. I like people getting to know one another, deepening their connections, and bonding over the shared experiences of the story in question. As much as I love to write kinetic action sequence that goes off like a cluster of fireworks, I always find them difficult to initiate. They always feel so tonally jarring from the rest of my stories. To go from naught to a hundred can be debilitating.

Perhaps the answer is that the ending of this story doesn’t need to be big and bombastic. Then again, when you have an advanced authoritarian empire with a military powerhouse waiting in the wings at the heart of your story, it’s quite hard for the stakes to be subtle. Quinn and Michelle aren’t just going to get a slap on the wrists for rejecting their society. There’s going to have to be some sort of extreme pursuit.

There are certainly some seeds planted throughout the first two thirds of this outline which can justify the endpoint. Quinn and Michelle are searching for someone who has essentially been banished from their hometown. That pretty much goes against their government’s warped code of conduct. Michelle’s mum is also up to all sorts of risky business throughout, all of which is putting the entire family at risk. These moments are all in there, waiting for the wrong authority figure to catch on. 4000 words into the outline, and it feels as though the hammer could drop at any given moment.

But when to drop that hammer? That is the question. I keep writing new scenes and plot developments, yet I never know when to call that moment. Heck, I’ve even just introduced a new character, two thirds into the story! A character who I suspect might be the main villain of the piece. That doesn’t feel right. I can’t trigger the final act when he’s barely been developed. Surely I need to flesh out his relationship with Quinn and Michelle before venturing toward the endgame. I guess I’m going to have to find a way to introduce him earlier. The logistics of that are going to be a nightmare. I guess I’ll figure that out later.

I sense that my hesitance is born out of anxiety. It’s the fear of having an end-point in mind. Writing a treatment for the sake of exploring a story is a lot of fun. It feels like a low-risk exercise. I can throw ideas into the mix as and when they pop into my brain. There’s a lack of consequence to them. But to actually draft out the final act is to serve as an end to that process. Once I’ve done that, I’ll need to get down to the dirty work of making this story work in a practical sense. I’ll need to start making all the chaos flow. Plot developments will need to be shuffled around, tone has to to be established, and chapter structures will need to be considered. Suddenly, the abstract must become more concrete. I’ll need to crystalise those penned daydreams further.

All of which leads me to say I think I do have my ending ready. I know where Quinn and Michelle need to be by the time the story ends. I’ve put all the pieces in place. I’m just scared to reach that stage. Therefore I delay. I tell myself not yet. Keep writing, keep throwing ideas into the ring. This story doesn’t have to close yet. Let’s chuck a couple more subplots and characters into the mix, then see where things go. I’m just kicking the can down the road, anxious to actually move on to the next stage.

I know how this ends, so pull the plug. Finish the outline then figure out the nuances when all is said and done.