L’espirit d’escalier: A conversational remark or rejoinder that only occurs to someone after the opportunity to make it has passed. Also known as l‘espirit de l’escalier. But I think the first scans better. Literally ‘the spirit of the staircase’.
I was on the bus the other day. I was reading. Neither of these things are especially noteworthy or unusual. And then I had an idea.
Now I’ve written before on ideas. Slippery, untrustworthy things that wriggle and convulse, sneer and mock. Generally they’re more trouble than they’re worth, and this one will probably turn out to be the same. Despite – or possibly because of – it seeming like a good one.
This particular idea relates to an off-the-cuff comment made my one of my beta-readers in our Oneiromancer-shakedown. To paraphrase: ‘Halfway through the novel I thought [character] was going to be a traitor.’ What I didn’t say was that I’d been toying with that very idea; if not actually making them a betrayer then trying to make the reader think they were. It was one of maybe a half-dozen ideas that I tried to seed as subplots; and, like the rest, it was dropped because the novel was already getting way out of hand length-wise.
And so I reined in my ambition. I cut out plans for a general election. I skipped the gangland elements and the peasant uprising. And, because I couldn’t work out how to do it properly, I omitted the ‘betrayal’ aspect. The story was supposed to be 100-120k: the first draft actually ended up around 140k before I trimmed it back to 133k or thereabouts.
And then I had this idea. A vision of a single scene just before the climax. A trick, an illusion, a cantrip to make the audience – and my main character – doubt everything they’d previously experienced.
Trouble is it came to me 18 months too late.
Now I’m wedded, chained, welded to the conclusion I’ve already devised. My characters have walked into their destinies. The sheer fact of existence has altered my mind, frozen my hands in their cruel deformity. The wind has changed. I’m stuck this way.
Now I have two choices. I can try and crowbar this scene in; I can try and shatter the ice and do a major rewrite, shifting my conclusion to God-knows-where. Or I can sheath this idea, add it to my mental toolbox and cannibilise it for future works. Right now I don’t which road is best.
But at least that choice is mine. One of the problems with the instant-fix of self-publishing is that work is pushed out too soon, is half-baked, phony. The staircase is too short and the apples hang too close. Would a little more time allow quality to shine through?
Or is it best to get a piece finished, out there and move on to the next as soon as possible?