Plotting backwards.

As you've probably noticed, I haven't been in the head space to talk much about writing lately. Other than holiday ficlets, I haven't written anything new since The Atherton Vampire books.

But this weekend, I attended a couple of writing workshops at Bubonicon in Albuquerque: one on marketing for indie authors and the other one on plotting a novel. The plot workshop was supposed to be run by Connie Willis, an author of terrific fantasy novels. But she was sick and couldn't attend, so Michael A. Stackpole, who writes science fiction and other stuff, pinch-hit for her. 

nupix | Deposit Photos

I've discussed plotting and pantsing here on the blog before. To summarize: Plotting involves writing an outline (or something vaguely resembling an outline); pantsing involves writing without a plan -- just seeing where the story leads you.

I'm a plotter, as I've said before. A plot doesn't have to be the kind of numbered outline or set of bullet points that you learned to do in middle school; my method for novels (I'm more of a pantser for short stories) evolved over time into something resembling a story-beats outline (the classic how-to book on the method is Save the Cat!). 

I liked Mike's description yesterday about plotting a novel: you're not writing the story twice, as some writers fear; instead, the plot is the road map, and the writing is actually taking the journey.

We went through an exercise that I wasn't invested in -- the book we were supposedly plotting was a YA story about a boy who needed to learn how to hit a curve ball -- but I could see how the general principles would translate to a book in any genre. The framework he used is sometimes called the Hero's Journey. If you've read enough fiction or watched enough movies, you almost don't need to read up on it: the protagonist -- we'll call him Spike -- is called to the quest; Spike has a team to help him; Spike needs a Mentor, who helps him begin the transformation; something happens to bring Spike to his lowest point ever; he strives to overcome that adversity; and at last, he makes the final transformation to victory. Team trophy, pizza party, Mentor marries Spike's mom, everybody lives happily ever after.

But then Mike said something intriguing. Both plotters and pantsers start with an idea, or what's labeled in the Hero's Journey as the "call to adventure". But presumably even pantsers have some idea of where they see the story ending up. I mean, if the kid starts out wanting to learn how to hit a curve ball, then he needs to hit that curve ball by the end of the book, right? So you could actually start at the end of the journey and build your plot backward.

I'm not sure I personally would ever write a plot outline backward, but if you know where you're starting and where you're going, it's a technique to try if you're stuck.

This next bit of advice is from me: Keep in mind is that any plot you develop at the beginning of a project is never set in stone. That's what I like about the graphic at the top of this post. The letters are just clipped to the clothesline. You could move them around or add more letters and come up with a completely different way to get from P to T. If your characters hate what you're planning for them to do at plot point L, you can improvise with something they would rather do but that would still get them to plot point O. I've had to do that a number of times. As long as you eventually get to T, and as long as the story hangs together, it's all good.

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I'm still mulling over the marketing session. I'll keep you posted.

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These moments of bloggy plotting have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Save the cat!

Break free of the color recession!

 

Milkos | Deposit Photos

Why is this woman sad? I'd guess it's because she's wearing neutral-toned clothing in a neutral-toned room. But maybe that's just me.

Alert hearth/myth readers know I've complained about the neutralization of our interiors many times over the years. (I won't bore you with links. Trust me when I say there are a lot of them.) I've blamed it on HGTV, but it's not just me -- and it's not just interiors. I was chatting with a friend about textiles today. We talked about how in times long past, the rich and powerful dressed in purple and red because the dyes were so expensive. Clothing in saturated colors conveyed status; poor folks wore neutral colors. But nowadays, it's flipped: the wealthy are wearing black, grays and tans, and colorful clothes are for lesser folks.

Cars, too, have become endlessly neutral. An article in The Atlantic this week (that should be a gift link) quotes a study that tracks new car colors. In 2004, the share of new cars manufactured in greyscale colors was 60 percent; in 2023, it was 80 percent. Wonder why nearly every car you see on the road is some variation of black, gray, or white? Now you know.

The homogenization of the American color palette began around the end of World War II, according to The Atlantic article, when developers needed to build new housing stock fast for returning veterans. Limiting the housing styles in a subdivision and the colors of those new houses was a way to meet demand quickly. Then HOAs decreed that uniformity was best. (And doesn't it just figure that HOAs would be part of the problem?)

As for boring car colors, the article puts part of the blame on federal environmental legislation passed in the 1970s, including the Clean Air Act of 1970. Lacquer paints didn't meet the new pollution standards, and more ecologically acceptable paints were more expensive, so manufacturers began limiting the colors that cars came in. 

We've been convinced over the years that neutral colors are better for resale value for both cars and houses, but surveys have shown that colorful finishes actually sell better. Yet here we are, stuck in grayland, even though it could be taking a toll on our mental health. From the article: "A review last year of more than 100 studies of the effect of color on emotion found that gray consistently triggered fatigue, boredom, or sadness." 

This neutralization of our world has been going on for decades now. Color experts, according to the article, think the myths about bland colors being best have become self-fulfilling. They don't believe bright colors will be coming back to our environments anytime soon. 

My friends, you know what to do.

As for me, once my leaky solar windows are fixed next year and the damage from the leaks is repaired, I am drenching my living room in this specific shade of turquoise blue. I mean it.

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These moments of color-drenched blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. No more gray!

Why I haven't been collecting Navajo rugs.

I don't mean to turn this into a fiber arts blog, but here we are. I'll try to find something else to talk about next week.

This is the 36th year that the Museum of New Mexico Foundation has run a Navajo rug auction as a fundraiser. It's always in the courtyard between the Palace of the Governors and the New Mexico History Museum (except for during COVID, when they did it virtually). This year's took place yesterday. 

I would love to own a Navajo rug. However, they are out of my budget. How far out, you ask? Well, I went to the preview yesterday morning to give you a taste. And also for the eye candy.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

I'm kind of looking for a new rug for my living room to replace the 8' by 10' polypropolene rug I have now. That blue one at the top of the rack could work, although it would be a little small at 52" by 72". Navajo rugs come in a number of different regional styles. This one is Moki (or Moqui) style, and the weaver is Deanna Begay. The price they estimated was between $6,000 and $9,000.

That's actually not bad for a rug that size. Here's a bigger one -- 56" by 100" -- that I liked a lot. It's Teec Nos Pos style. The tag shows the weaver, Elsie Begay, with the full rug.

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The cost? Between $20,000 and $30,000. But it's huge. And look at the work she put into it! It must have taken her forever to weave. Keep in mind that all of these rugs are handwoven.

I can do stripes. I can do solid colors. I'd go mad doing something like that one.

Or like this one. It's Chinle style. The colors aren't the same as more traditional rugs, but it's still beautiful, right? The weaver is Sylvia Baldwin, I think the tag says; the rug is not quite 2' by 3', and the estimated price is between $1,300 and $1,900. 

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All those little diamonds, yeesh. Totally worth the money.

Here are a couple of pictorial rugs. The bottom one features yei, or Navajo gods/spirits; the top one shows yeibichai, or humans acting as yei during a ceremony. The tag on the yeibichai rug says it's 17" by 38" and was priced between $700 and $1,300. I could almost afford that, if the auction price didn't go much higher. 

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There were so many beautiful rugs. The last one I'll share is this black, tan and blue one. I really liked it. Like, really liked it. It's Sanostee style, which Mama Google tells me is similar to Two Grey Hills, and it's 32" by 48". The weaver is Bessie Dan. That's her in the photo on the tag, holding up this rug. It's priced between $1,600 and $2,400.

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So maybe if I saved up for a year or two. Or in the case of something like that Teec Nos Pos rug, a lifetime or two.

After my tour of the auction preview, I checked out the history museum gift shop. At least they had stuff in my price range.

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If I were serious about getting a Navajo rug, there's a community auction every month in Crownpoint, NM, near Gallup, that I would probably check out. You buy directly from the weavers there.

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Navajo rugs are all wool. They are meant to be walked on, although the pictorials are often hung on a wall.

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These moments of beautiful but expensive blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Just appreciate the beauty; don't think about the price...

Molas: wearable Indigenous art.

I've been fascinated with molas since I first heard about them in a Spanish class in college. So when I heard an exhibit of molas had opened at El Museo Cultural here in Santa Fe, I had to go.

What's a mola? It's an intricately hand-sewn blouse panel created by the Guna (formerly known as the Kuna) Indians in Panama: 

Lynne Cantwell 2026

The person creating the top makes two more-or-less identical panels, one for the front of the blouse and one for the back. Usually today, you see the panels already separated from the rest of the blouse. The tops aren't everyday wear, and some of them have spiritual elements. But over the years, as the art form became better known, some artists began making molas for trade. I'm pretty sure these two musical panels fall into that category. 

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Here's a closeup of one of the stringed instruments in the lower panel above, so you can see why I think molas are so cool. The little squares and some of the strips are applique, or sewn on top separately. But a lot of the stripes are reverse applique -- that is, several pieces of fabric in different colors are stacked atop each other, the layers are cut away to reveal the color underneath, and the edges are hand-stitched down. The Guna also embroider some details. 

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Each shirt takes between 60 and 80 hours to sew. That's a lot of hand sewing.

Sometimes, as here, the work seems abstract until you look more closely. I'm definitely seeing birds and at least one frog.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

Most of the Guna live in Gunayala (the former San Blas Islands), but some live in the jungle on the mainland. These Guna haven't had as much contact with outsiders, so their work is wilder and less symmetrical. Here's one example. 

Lynne Cantwell 2026

This exhibit contains just a small selection from the collection of Kit and Valerie Kapp. Kit took tourists on sailboat tours in the Caribbean between 1960 and 1971, and while living in Panama, he became fascinated with Guna culture and art. In all, he and his wife Valerie collected more than 5,000 mola textiles, as well as hundreds of carved healing figurines and other items. It wasn't until after Kit died that Valerie realized the extent of the collection. She and her supporters are now raising money to fund a research center and museum for Indigenous art in Panama City. 

In the meantime, parts of the collection are shown in exhibits like this one. It's called "Angels, Mermaids and Umbrellas: The spiritual, whimsical, wonderful art of the Guna people of Panama", and it's open at El Museo Cultural de Santa Fe in the Railyard until the end of August.

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I can see parallels between the Gunas' use of color and the dyed yarn we make and use at El Rancho de las Golondrinas. Some people seem to think that folks in more primitive times and cultures lived in brown, black and white, but it's not true. The Guna obviously revel in brightly colored fabrics. And all of the natural dyes we use at the ranch today were available in the 1600s and even before that. Bright colors are not a modern thing.

Which makes it kind of ironic that interior decorators today want everything to be in shades of beige or gray (if "greige" isn't a made-up concept, I don't know what is), with maybe a "pop of color" here and there. To that, I say, ho-hum.

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These moments of fun-filled blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Use more color! Have more fun!