A popular post from April 2008
by Annette Lyon
There are moments when a writer feels blocked. No words come. The story stalls. You're staring at a brick wall. Every writer needs their own bag of tricks for overcoming Writer's Block. (One of the best: a deadline.)
Another writerly "condition" is similar to Writer's Block, but it differs in a significant way. We'll call it Writer's Speed Bump.
Writer's Speed Bump slows you down. It can make the words harder to come, but you can still write. This can take place during drafting or during revisions.
The trick, however, is that unlike with Writer's Block, sometimes you really do need to pay attention to the speed bump and back off. In my experience, the "bump" is a moment where you could keep going, but something doesn't feel right. However, you don't know what's wrong or how to fix it.
Worse, if you keep plowing forward, you may just run the story off into a ditch that will require a backhoe to get you out of.
I've learned to trust the feeling that I've just hit a bump. Over the last several days as I worked on a rewrite of my latest novel, I hit many such moments. While I was tempted to drive right over them (I was on deadline, after all), I knew I'd better stop and take a break.
Walking away from the computer at those points was the best thing I could have done. I'd go do something else for a while and let my mind drift and wander to the story. I wouldn't sit down and concentrate on what the problem was. Sometimes I'd pick my husband's brain for ideas. Other times I'd let the issue percolate and simmer.
Stories are like shy animals; you try to grab them, and they'll elude you. You have to wait for them to come to you. Hold out your hand as an invitation, call to them sweetly, and don't make any sudden movements.
Without fail, each time I left the computer and thought a bit about the story while doing something else (nothing exciting--maybe emptying the dishwasher or sweeping the kitchen), I'd have an "aha" moment and know where to pick things up next time I sat down. I ended up taking the story in directions I hadn't anticipated--directions that never would have occurred to me if I hadn't paid attention to the "bump."
The resulting manuscript is a tighter, more focused story that works far better than the original version.
A caveat: Part of the writer brain is hesitant and fearful. Don't interpret the messages from that area as Speed Bumps, or you'll walk away from the keyboard with your fears wrapped around you like a parka, and when you return, you won't have anything new to add to the table.
But next time you're sitting at your computer and you feel that gentle nudge that . . . hmm, something's not quite clicking into place . . . listen. Walk away. Think about it. The answers will come.
Showing posts with label drafting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drafting. Show all posts
Friday, June 16, 2017
Friday, May 5, 2017
Sketching and Shading
A popular post from February 2008
by Annette Lyon
When an artist draws a picture, he begins with basic sketches: the general shapes of the objects in the piece. Gradually he adds more details here and there, and eventually he'll finish up with subtle shading.
To expect those nuances of color and light right up front would be ridiculous.
The same goes for writing. Drafting is akin to sketching. You write out the bare bones, the general shape of the story. As you go through various rewrites, you'll add the shading, fleshing it out so now we can see the details on the leaf, the individual hairs on the woman's head, so to speak.
So many writers feel like failures when their drafts don't have those subtle shadings that make a work come alive, not realizing that what they're looking at is a sketch of their story. It's not the final draft. It might look a little flat. It might lack texture and depth.
That's what rewriting . . . shading . . . is all about.
At a writing conference years ago, one of the presenters (a successful novelist) admitted:
"I'm a terrible writer. But I'm a great rewriter."
I have to remind myself of this sometimes when I see drafts of friends which blow mine out of the water. It's all right if my rough drafts are, well, rough.
I can rewrite. Polish. Shade.
That's the key. A good writer is a rewriter.
by Annette Lyon
When an artist draws a picture, he begins with basic sketches: the general shapes of the objects in the piece. Gradually he adds more details here and there, and eventually he'll finish up with subtle shading.
To expect those nuances of color and light right up front would be ridiculous.
The same goes for writing. Drafting is akin to sketching. You write out the bare bones, the general shape of the story. As you go through various rewrites, you'll add the shading, fleshing it out so now we can see the details on the leaf, the individual hairs on the woman's head, so to speak.
So many writers feel like failures when their drafts don't have those subtle shadings that make a work come alive, not realizing that what they're looking at is a sketch of their story. It's not the final draft. It might look a little flat. It might lack texture and depth.
That's what rewriting . . . shading . . . is all about.
At a writing conference years ago, one of the presenters (a successful novelist) admitted:
"I'm a terrible writer. But I'm a great rewriter."
I have to remind myself of this sometimes when I see drafts of friends which blow mine out of the water. It's all right if my rough drafts are, well, rough.
I can rewrite. Polish. Shade.
That's the key. A good writer is a rewriter.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Plotting with Mythic Structure
A popular post from February 2008
by Annette Lyon
I've discussed elements in Vogler's book The Writer's Journey, which is all about the classic mythical structure of "The Hero's Journey" here and here.
Those earlier posts discussed character archetypes and one particular element of the journey (death and rebirth, or the "Resurrection" scene). I thought it was time to discuss the journey itself.
Each step along the way could take up several posts (and indeed takes up its own chapter in Vogler's book). Every story won't use every step, and they aren't always in this order. But I've found the mythic Hero's Journey to be a great guideline, a template that you can refer to when creating an infinite number of brand new storylines.
The mythical story structure has helped me to pack a greater punch in my own writing. If you can read some of Vogler's work, I highly recommend it. I know I'll never read books or watch movies the same way again. Note that The Writer's Journey is out of print, but Vogler has published other works since, and you can likely find a used copy of this one.
Using the classic movie Star Wars, here are the basic elements of the Hero's Journey:
The Ordinary World
We are introduced to the Hero and his/her circumstances. We learn who he is, what he stands for, and possibly what problem is bothering him. Very often the problem we learn about in the beginning isn't the same one we end up solving by the end, because the final problem usually has much higher stakes.
SW: Farm boy Luke Skywalker living a releatively peaceful existence. Although he's an orphan, he lives with his loving aunt and uncle.
Call to Adventure
We learn that the status quo is being upset and that our Hero must take action and go on an adventure. Often a person delivers this call (Gandalf), but sometimes it's an object (the letters from Hogwarts).
SW: We have two calls. First is for the audience, where we learn that Princess Leia has been kidnapped. The second is when Obi Wan wants Luke's help with C-3PO and R2-D2, because they hold the plans to the dangerous Death Star.
Refusal of the Call
The Hero declines the adventure, whether from a character flaw or other reason. He lacks the motivation to leave the Ordinary World, and the call must be issued again.
SW: Luke refuses to help Obi Wan. Luke's motivation changes when until Storm Troopers destroy his village and kill everyone in it, including his aunt and uncle. Now the stakes are higher, and he has a reason to fight.
Meeting with the MentorThis may happen earlier if the Mentor is acting as the Herald and delivering the Call to Adventure. Alternately, the Mentor can give the Hero a "kick in the pants" (as Vogler puts it) to get the Hero movitated and the story off to its real start.
The Mentor trains and/or teaches the Hero and often bestows a tangible gift to the Hero as well.
SW: As a Jedi himself, Obi Wan trains Luke to use the force. He give Luke his father’s light saber.
Crossing the First Threshold
The Hero leaves the comfort of the Ordinary World and enters the unfamiliar territory of the Special World. Once he crosses over, he has committed to the adventure, life (and The Ordinary World) will never be the same again.
Often the Hero will be tested by a Threshold Guardian (a character or situation) blocking his path, which he must get beyond to prove that he's committed and worthy of being the Hero. Arriving in the Special World can be another test, as we see how quickly the Hero adapts to the rules of the new World.
A "Watering Hole" scene is common after arrival, where the Hero meets locals in a tavern or other public place of food and refreshment. A brawl or other test may appear.
SW: Luke travels to find a pilot to help, and he meets Han Solo in a tavern.
Test, Allies, EnemiesThis portion covers a good chunk of the middle portion of the story. The Hero is tested in increasingly challenging ways. He learns who are his allies and who are his enemies.
SW: Han Solo & Chewbacca become Allies to aid in the rescue of Princess Leia. They get through an Imperial blockade, discover that the Princess's home planet of Alderaan has been destroyed by the Death Star, etc.
Approach to the Inmost CaveThe Hero is given an even greater test as he gets through more obstacles and must use his recently-learned skills as he approaches the darkest place that will hold the greatest danger and his ultimate Ordeal.
SW: They are pulled into the Death Star.
ResurrectionThe Hero dies or appears to die and is "reborn" with new life and determination, new lessons learned. This propels him into the final act.
SW: Luke appears to die in the Death Star's trash compactor, but reemerges triumphant and ready to fight again.
OrdealA true test of the Hero, that challenges him to draw upon all the lessons he's learned and all the skills he's acquired on the journey. He often battles the Shadow (the villain) and will have to sacrifice, often allies.
SW: The huge battle at the Death Star.
Reward—Seizing the SwordThe Hero emerges from the Ordeal triumphant, carrying the "sword," or whatever symbolizes that success, whether it's accomplishment of a mission or capture of a treasure.
SW: The Death Star is destroyed
The Road Back
The Hero begins heading back to the Ordinary World, but encounters new struggles along the way (chases are common here). He must cleanse himself of the battles he's been through.
SW: Darth Vader & his henchmen chase the heroes as they try to make their escape.
Return with the ElixirThe Hero returns triumphant, having proven himself a true Hero. He has the Elixer, which is a something valuble he has learned, acquired, or accomplished that he shares with others.
SW: Luke has (for now) defeated Darth Vader and restored peace to the galaxy.
That's a brief overview, but it should be enough to get you thinking of some of the plot structures in your own work. Do you have a death/rebirth? What is the Elixer your Hero will return with? Does your Hero have enough Threshold Guardians, blocking his way and proving his mettle?
Play with the forms and analyze some of your favorite stories to see what elements fit where. It's a great structural exercise that will enhance your writing.
by Annette Lyon
I've discussed elements in Vogler's book The Writer's Journey, which is all about the classic mythical structure of "The Hero's Journey" here and here.
Those earlier posts discussed character archetypes and one particular element of the journey (death and rebirth, or the "Resurrection" scene). I thought it was time to discuss the journey itself.
Each step along the way could take up several posts (and indeed takes up its own chapter in Vogler's book). Every story won't use every step, and they aren't always in this order. But I've found the mythic Hero's Journey to be a great guideline, a template that you can refer to when creating an infinite number of brand new storylines.
The mythical story structure has helped me to pack a greater punch in my own writing. If you can read some of Vogler's work, I highly recommend it. I know I'll never read books or watch movies the same way again. Note that The Writer's Journey is out of print, but Vogler has published other works since, and you can likely find a used copy of this one.
Using the classic movie Star Wars, here are the basic elements of the Hero's Journey:
The Ordinary World
We are introduced to the Hero and his/her circumstances. We learn who he is, what he stands for, and possibly what problem is bothering him. Very often the problem we learn about in the beginning isn't the same one we end up solving by the end, because the final problem usually has much higher stakes.
SW: Farm boy Luke Skywalker living a releatively peaceful existence. Although he's an orphan, he lives with his loving aunt and uncle.
Call to Adventure
We learn that the status quo is being upset and that our Hero must take action and go on an adventure. Often a person delivers this call (Gandalf), but sometimes it's an object (the letters from Hogwarts).
SW: We have two calls. First is for the audience, where we learn that Princess Leia has been kidnapped. The second is when Obi Wan wants Luke's help with C-3PO and R2-D2, because they hold the plans to the dangerous Death Star.
Refusal of the Call
The Hero declines the adventure, whether from a character flaw or other reason. He lacks the motivation to leave the Ordinary World, and the call must be issued again.
SW: Luke refuses to help Obi Wan. Luke's motivation changes when until Storm Troopers destroy his village and kill everyone in it, including his aunt and uncle. Now the stakes are higher, and he has a reason to fight.
Meeting with the MentorThis may happen earlier if the Mentor is acting as the Herald and delivering the Call to Adventure. Alternately, the Mentor can give the Hero a "kick in the pants" (as Vogler puts it) to get the Hero movitated and the story off to its real start.
The Mentor trains and/or teaches the Hero and often bestows a tangible gift to the Hero as well.
SW: As a Jedi himself, Obi Wan trains Luke to use the force. He give Luke his father’s light saber.
Crossing the First Threshold
The Hero leaves the comfort of the Ordinary World and enters the unfamiliar territory of the Special World. Once he crosses over, he has committed to the adventure, life (and The Ordinary World) will never be the same again.
Often the Hero will be tested by a Threshold Guardian (a character or situation) blocking his path, which he must get beyond to prove that he's committed and worthy of being the Hero. Arriving in the Special World can be another test, as we see how quickly the Hero adapts to the rules of the new World.
A "Watering Hole" scene is common after arrival, where the Hero meets locals in a tavern or other public place of food and refreshment. A brawl or other test may appear.
SW: Luke travels to find a pilot to help, and he meets Han Solo in a tavern.
Test, Allies, EnemiesThis portion covers a good chunk of the middle portion of the story. The Hero is tested in increasingly challenging ways. He learns who are his allies and who are his enemies.
SW: Han Solo & Chewbacca become Allies to aid in the rescue of Princess Leia. They get through an Imperial blockade, discover that the Princess's home planet of Alderaan has been destroyed by the Death Star, etc.
Approach to the Inmost CaveThe Hero is given an even greater test as he gets through more obstacles and must use his recently-learned skills as he approaches the darkest place that will hold the greatest danger and his ultimate Ordeal.
SW: They are pulled into the Death Star.
ResurrectionThe Hero dies or appears to die and is "reborn" with new life and determination, new lessons learned. This propels him into the final act.
SW: Luke appears to die in the Death Star's trash compactor, but reemerges triumphant and ready to fight again.
OrdealA true test of the Hero, that challenges him to draw upon all the lessons he's learned and all the skills he's acquired on the journey. He often battles the Shadow (the villain) and will have to sacrifice, often allies.
SW: The huge battle at the Death Star.
Reward—Seizing the SwordThe Hero emerges from the Ordeal triumphant, carrying the "sword," or whatever symbolizes that success, whether it's accomplishment of a mission or capture of a treasure.
SW: The Death Star is destroyed
The Road Back
The Hero begins heading back to the Ordinary World, but encounters new struggles along the way (chases are common here). He must cleanse himself of the battles he's been through.
SW: Darth Vader & his henchmen chase the heroes as they try to make their escape.
Return with the ElixirThe Hero returns triumphant, having proven himself a true Hero. He has the Elixer, which is a something valuble he has learned, acquired, or accomplished that he shares with others.
SW: Luke has (for now) defeated Darth Vader and restored peace to the galaxy.
That's a brief overview, but it should be enough to get you thinking of some of the plot structures in your own work. Do you have a death/rebirth? What is the Elixer your Hero will return with? Does your Hero have enough Threshold Guardians, blocking his way and proving his mettle?
Play with the forms and analyze some of your favorite stories to see what elements fit where. It's a great structural exercise that will enhance your writing.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
This Year, Go Big or Go Home
A popular post from January 2014
by Annette Lyon
Last month, as I have for well over a decade, I attended another Christmas dance recital to watch my daughter light up on stage. As usual, her grace performing (this time ballet) didn't disappoint.
A different dance number jumped out at me for a different reason, however. Most likely, it jumped out at every member of the audience: a hip-hop piece. The number was well choreographed, and the star dancer, a sixth grade black boy, stayed front and center, and for good reason. He was nothing short of jaw-droppingly amazing.
Every move he made was powerful and precise. He exuded joy and energy and attitude and got the audience excited, returning his energy a thousand-fold.
The few times my eyes strayed from him, I regretted it.
Why? The other hip-hop dancers on stage with him weren't anywhere in the realm of his league, for starters. But that in and of itself wasn't the problem. The real problem was that the other dancers didn't seem to be trying at all.
In dance speak, they were marking the routine rather than dancing full out, as if they were afraid of looking stupid doing the moves, so, hey, I'll do them small and weak, and maybe no one will notice.
To be honest, the other dancers looked almost embarrassed to be up there. Surely they knew they weren't as good as the star, but by not doing their best, by not going full out, they looked even worse. Their movements looked sloppy and weak. They looked unsure and had so little energy that as an audience member, I found watching them to be total yawn fest. At least, when I wasn't cringing.
Worst of all, I made the discovery that when hip hop is performed halfway, it does look really, really silly, which I can almost guarantee was the dancers' (and, I'd wager, every artist's) worst fear. Do it halfway, and you'll look ridiculous. Do it full-out, and you're on to something.
As I sat in the audience, it dawned on me that writing is somewhat the same way.
Writing and putting your work out for an audience can be downright terrifying. But you can't play into that fear. If a writer backs away from being as strong and powerful and in control of their work as they can and should be, that is the moment when the work looks sloppy, weak, and chaotic. It's as if the writer wasn't at the helm, had no idea what to do next, and simply hoped no one noticed the missteps.
And yes, there will be times a writer is unsure. We have all taken risks in our work (or we should have). We all have grown, so we've all had our weaker moments, and will continue as we (hopefully) keep growing. The risks that have the best shot of working are the ones we commit to: the ones we write full-out. The minute we start marking a risk or a new technique, hoping no one will notice we're unsure and scared? That is the moment our work looks sloppy and weak.
Watching that hip-hop routine, I thought back to times where I've seen writers who have poured their souls into their work, even into a first draft, when maybe they weren't entirely at the skill level they wanted to be at. But they were trying with everything in their souls. The result: riveting and exciting writing anyway. As a reader, I find myself forgiving errors or weak spots because I see the passion and power that lies behind the writing. On the flip side, I'm far more likely to give up on prose that happens to be free of typos but lacks any heart.
So however you write, whether it's sitting at the keyboard or curling up with a notebook and pen, don't hold back. Yes, you may have some missteps along the way; that's to be expected. Maybe you aren't (yet) as good as other writers you're "on stage" with.
But chances are, if you hold back, your work will only draw negative attention to itself, and you won't grow. You'll never reach that glorious point where the eyes are all on you, where people's jaws drop in awe and admiration at the feats you just pulled off.
And remember: Every time a writer steps on stage, he or she is writing all by themselves. We must write full out, every single time.
Is baring your soul, pouring your all into your work, easy? No. Unequivocally no. But I'm convinced that doing so is the only way to ever be great.
So for this new year, here's my challenge for a resolution:
Get in the game, all the way. Write full-out every time. Leave the fear on the wings of the stage.
When you write, be that amazing kid in the front who made the dance look cool and amazing and awesome instead of the ones in the back who made it look, well, silly.
In other words, go all the way. Go big, or go home.
(I don't really want you to go home. Just decide to go big!)
by Annette Lyon
Last month, as I have for well over a decade, I attended another Christmas dance recital to watch my daughter light up on stage. As usual, her grace performing (this time ballet) didn't disappoint.
A different dance number jumped out at me for a different reason, however. Most likely, it jumped out at every member of the audience: a hip-hop piece. The number was well choreographed, and the star dancer, a sixth grade black boy, stayed front and center, and for good reason. He was nothing short of jaw-droppingly amazing.
Every move he made was powerful and precise. He exuded joy and energy and attitude and got the audience excited, returning his energy a thousand-fold.
The few times my eyes strayed from him, I regretted it.
Why? The other hip-hop dancers on stage with him weren't anywhere in the realm of his league, for starters. But that in and of itself wasn't the problem. The real problem was that the other dancers didn't seem to be trying at all.
In dance speak, they were marking the routine rather than dancing full out, as if they were afraid of looking stupid doing the moves, so, hey, I'll do them small and weak, and maybe no one will notice.
To be honest, the other dancers looked almost embarrassed to be up there. Surely they knew they weren't as good as the star, but by not doing their best, by not going full out, they looked even worse. Their movements looked sloppy and weak. They looked unsure and had so little energy that as an audience member, I found watching them to be total yawn fest. At least, when I wasn't cringing.
Worst of all, I made the discovery that when hip hop is performed halfway, it does look really, really silly, which I can almost guarantee was the dancers' (and, I'd wager, every artist's) worst fear. Do it halfway, and you'll look ridiculous. Do it full-out, and you're on to something.
As I sat in the audience, it dawned on me that writing is somewhat the same way.
Writing and putting your work out for an audience can be downright terrifying. But you can't play into that fear. If a writer backs away from being as strong and powerful and in control of their work as they can and should be, that is the moment when the work looks sloppy, weak, and chaotic. It's as if the writer wasn't at the helm, had no idea what to do next, and simply hoped no one noticed the missteps.
And yes, there will be times a writer is unsure. We have all taken risks in our work (or we should have). We all have grown, so we've all had our weaker moments, and will continue as we (hopefully) keep growing. The risks that have the best shot of working are the ones we commit to: the ones we write full-out. The minute we start marking a risk or a new technique, hoping no one will notice we're unsure and scared? That is the moment our work looks sloppy and weak.
Watching that hip-hop routine, I thought back to times where I've seen writers who have poured their souls into their work, even into a first draft, when maybe they weren't entirely at the skill level they wanted to be at. But they were trying with everything in their souls. The result: riveting and exciting writing anyway. As a reader, I find myself forgiving errors or weak spots because I see the passion and power that lies behind the writing. On the flip side, I'm far more likely to give up on prose that happens to be free of typos but lacks any heart.
So however you write, whether it's sitting at the keyboard or curling up with a notebook and pen, don't hold back. Yes, you may have some missteps along the way; that's to be expected. Maybe you aren't (yet) as good as other writers you're "on stage" with.
But chances are, if you hold back, your work will only draw negative attention to itself, and you won't grow. You'll never reach that glorious point where the eyes are all on you, where people's jaws drop in awe and admiration at the feats you just pulled off.
And remember: Every time a writer steps on stage, he or she is writing all by themselves. We must write full out, every single time.
Is baring your soul, pouring your all into your work, easy? No. Unequivocally no. But I'm convinced that doing so is the only way to ever be great.
So for this new year, here's my challenge for a resolution:
Get in the game, all the way. Write full-out every time. Leave the fear on the wings of the stage.
When you write, be that amazing kid in the front who made the dance look cool and amazing and awesome instead of the ones in the back who made it look, well, silly.
In other words, go all the way. Go big, or go home.
(I don't really want you to go home. Just decide to go big!)
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
The Great Debate: Outline or Discover?
A popular post from March 2009
by Annette Lyon
You've likely heard the debate between two basic camps of writers: those who swear by outlining and those who shun it, instead discovering their story organically as they go.
Which is right?
Well, both. And neither.
Outliners swear by the idea that if you think through the entire story from start to finish, you'll be able to write a pretty solid book in your first draft. The story will have a better shape, it won't be directionless, and you won't waste time wandering around and driving into ruts and having to back up. A lot of Outliners say that thanks to detailed outlining, by the time they've finish a first draft of the actual book, it's pretty darn close to the final version.
Discoverers, on the flip side, don't want to be held down by a strict structure. They feel like half the joy in writing is finding out what happens right along with the characters. They do end up with several drafts this way as they find their way, and yes, a lot of what they might be considered a waste of time by Outliners, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
Do you have to pick a camp and set up your writing tent there? The good news is that no, you don't. There aren't just two camps, because the Outliner/Discoverer techniques are really two ends of one big spectrum. Most writers fall somewhere in the middle.
I personally lean just a teeny, tiny bit toward the Outliner side, but I'm pretty close to center.
I can't truly "outline" a book in detail. I tried once, and when I started the actual writing, the story fell flat. I'd already "lived" it, so to speak. The spark was gone.
On the other hand, any time I've gone into a story blind, without a clear idea of where I was heading, it's turned into unstructured mush.
The way I work is first having a clear story concept (what is this book about?). I need to know roughly where the story starts. I need to know where it'll end up. I must know several major landmarks along the way, including the major conflict/s, main characters, and several pivotal scenes.
That's it. I don't necessarily know how I'll get from one landmark to the next. My "outline" is pretty skeletal, but it's there in some form. As I write and "discover" an upcoming scene, I'll add it to the outline, such as it is.
This method is my writing method. Every writer's will be slightly different. The trick is finding what works for you. Let yourself discover where you fall on the spectrum.
Try outlining and see if it works for you. Remember that outlining is a spectrum concept. You don't have to write down every detail. Try different levels of outlines. Maybe you do need an outline--just not one as fleshed out as another writer's would be.
For example, if you don't know how you'll get your characters from scene B to scene C, no worries. Figure that out later. Not knowing the bridges doesn't mean you can't benefit from an outline.
On the other hand, maybe you'd benefit from trying your hand at Discovery writing. Maybe that works for you.
Or maybe you're a mixture of the two styles, falling slightly to one side over the other, like I am.
Try several styles and learn what "clicks."
Wherever you fall, don't let anyone tell you that your way is wrong or inferior. It's just different. It's YOU.
by Annette Lyon
You've likely heard the debate between two basic camps of writers: those who swear by outlining and those who shun it, instead discovering their story organically as they go.
Which is right?
Well, both. And neither.
Outliners swear by the idea that if you think through the entire story from start to finish, you'll be able to write a pretty solid book in your first draft. The story will have a better shape, it won't be directionless, and you won't waste time wandering around and driving into ruts and having to back up. A lot of Outliners say that thanks to detailed outlining, by the time they've finish a first draft of the actual book, it's pretty darn close to the final version.
Discoverers, on the flip side, don't want to be held down by a strict structure. They feel like half the joy in writing is finding out what happens right along with the characters. They do end up with several drafts this way as they find their way, and yes, a lot of what they might be considered a waste of time by Outliners, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
Do you have to pick a camp and set up your writing tent there? The good news is that no, you don't. There aren't just two camps, because the Outliner/Discoverer techniques are really two ends of one big spectrum. Most writers fall somewhere in the middle.
I personally lean just a teeny, tiny bit toward the Outliner side, but I'm pretty close to center.
I can't truly "outline" a book in detail. I tried once, and when I started the actual writing, the story fell flat. I'd already "lived" it, so to speak. The spark was gone.
On the other hand, any time I've gone into a story blind, without a clear idea of where I was heading, it's turned into unstructured mush.
The way I work is first having a clear story concept (what is this book about?). I need to know roughly where the story starts. I need to know where it'll end up. I must know several major landmarks along the way, including the major conflict/s, main characters, and several pivotal scenes.
That's it. I don't necessarily know how I'll get from one landmark to the next. My "outline" is pretty skeletal, but it's there in some form. As I write and "discover" an upcoming scene, I'll add it to the outline, such as it is.
This method is my writing method. Every writer's will be slightly different. The trick is finding what works for you. Let yourself discover where you fall on the spectrum.
Try outlining and see if it works for you. Remember that outlining is a spectrum concept. You don't have to write down every detail. Try different levels of outlines. Maybe you do need an outline--just not one as fleshed out as another writer's would be.
For example, if you don't know how you'll get your characters from scene B to scene C, no worries. Figure that out later. Not knowing the bridges doesn't mean you can't benefit from an outline.
On the other hand, maybe you'd benefit from trying your hand at Discovery writing. Maybe that works for you.
Or maybe you're a mixture of the two styles, falling slightly to one side over the other, like I am.
Try several styles and learn what "clicks."
Wherever you fall, don't let anyone tell you that your way is wrong or inferior. It's just different. It's YOU.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Starting Your Book
A popular post from August 2009
By Heather Moore
When I meet writers who are looking to get published, they often ask me how I decide where to start my story, who the characters will be, and how I plot.
So as I’m preparing to write my next book, I thought I’d give you some insight into my process.
1. Thinking. Maybe mulling is the more correct word. I have to have the main character pretty well defined in my mind before starting to write. The secondary characters come into the story to support the main character—and sometimes they surprise even me.
2. Creating a schedule. Writing, of course, is not always controlled by that effervescent muse (Annette—I’m probably using effervescent wrong). Writing is part creativity, and part science. Editing definitely falls into the science category, as well as actually completing a book. Like any writer, I’m constantly pulled in different directions. But once I decide on a book, I need to create the schedule to get it completed, and limit any other stories in my head that are trying to derail priority number 1. For example, if I decide to turn in a book on December 1st to my publisher and I start on August 1st, I divide the word count by the number of writing days. And I leave a couple of weeks in for editing. August: 25,000 words (average 1,000 words a day, 5 days/week). September: 25,000 words, October: 25,000 words, November: 10,000 (2 weeks), 2 weeks of edits.
3. Character sketching. This is an evolving process and changes and grows as I get further into the writing process. For instance, when I write my first draft, my character motivations aren’t usually ironed out. I’m writing mostly plot and dialog. About half-way through draft 1, I’ve had to make solid decisions about my characters, so I’m adding information to my character sketches as I go. So during the 2nd draft, I’m inserting more characterization to the beginning of the book.
4. Point of view & tense: I take into consideration who my audience will be and who the most important characters are. Will the story happen in real time (present tense) or past tense? Will my characters speak in first person (ideal for YA), or third person? It’s a lot of work to change this part of the process, so doing your research beforehand will save you a lot of time later.
5. Conflict. This goes hand in hand with character sketching. I have to ask myself what is the main conflict of the book, and of each character.
6. Beginning. Now that I have some basics going and I actually sit down to write, I usually concentrate on where I want the story to begin. Not to say that the first chapter I write will be the actual first chapter of the book, but I start pretty near the beginning. Before I start a chapter/scene, I ask myself: “What is the point of the chapter? What will be accomplished? What will it show that may/may not be relevant to the story as a whole?”
7. Creating a scene. I create scenes in several phases. Phase 1: writing and not caring too much about “fleshing out” the characters or the description, but I am nailing down the direction of the scene. Phase 2: revising the scene and inserting more description, making more concrete decisions about the character. Phase 3: this will happen when the whole book is drafted and maybe new developments have happened along the way. So I now have to go back through each scene to make sure the story is properly directed. As you can see, creativity has just been replaced by careful analysis (science).
Okay, looking over this list makes me wonder why I even start a new book. Every writer has what works for them. My style might be convoluted, but you never know, it might work for you as well.
By Heather Moore
When I meet writers who are looking to get published, they often ask me how I decide where to start my story, who the characters will be, and how I plot.
So as I’m preparing to write my next book, I thought I’d give you some insight into my process.
1. Thinking. Maybe mulling is the more correct word. I have to have the main character pretty well defined in my mind before starting to write. The secondary characters come into the story to support the main character—and sometimes they surprise even me.
2. Creating a schedule. Writing, of course, is not always controlled by that effervescent muse (Annette—I’m probably using effervescent wrong). Writing is part creativity, and part science. Editing definitely falls into the science category, as well as actually completing a book. Like any writer, I’m constantly pulled in different directions. But once I decide on a book, I need to create the schedule to get it completed, and limit any other stories in my head that are trying to derail priority number 1. For example, if I decide to turn in a book on December 1st to my publisher and I start on August 1st, I divide the word count by the number of writing days. And I leave a couple of weeks in for editing. August: 25,000 words (average 1,000 words a day, 5 days/week). September: 25,000 words, October: 25,000 words, November: 10,000 (2 weeks), 2 weeks of edits.
3. Character sketching. This is an evolving process and changes and grows as I get further into the writing process. For instance, when I write my first draft, my character motivations aren’t usually ironed out. I’m writing mostly plot and dialog. About half-way through draft 1, I’ve had to make solid decisions about my characters, so I’m adding information to my character sketches as I go. So during the 2nd draft, I’m inserting more characterization to the beginning of the book.
4. Point of view & tense: I take into consideration who my audience will be and who the most important characters are. Will the story happen in real time (present tense) or past tense? Will my characters speak in first person (ideal for YA), or third person? It’s a lot of work to change this part of the process, so doing your research beforehand will save you a lot of time later.
5. Conflict. This goes hand in hand with character sketching. I have to ask myself what is the main conflict of the book, and of each character.
6. Beginning. Now that I have some basics going and I actually sit down to write, I usually concentrate on where I want the story to begin. Not to say that the first chapter I write will be the actual first chapter of the book, but I start pretty near the beginning. Before I start a chapter/scene, I ask myself: “What is the point of the chapter? What will be accomplished? What will it show that may/may not be relevant to the story as a whole?”
7. Creating a scene. I create scenes in several phases. Phase 1: writing and not caring too much about “fleshing out” the characters or the description, but I am nailing down the direction of the scene. Phase 2: revising the scene and inserting more description, making more concrete decisions about the character. Phase 3: this will happen when the whole book is drafted and maybe new developments have happened along the way. So I now have to go back through each scene to make sure the story is properly directed. As you can see, creativity has just been replaced by careful analysis (science).
Okay, looking over this list makes me wonder why I even start a new book. Every writer has what works for them. My style might be convoluted, but you never know, it might work for you as well.
Friday, November 18, 2016
What's My Story Question?
A popular post from October 2008
by Annette Lyon
About writing a good story, Lewis Carroll reportedly said something like:
"Begin at the beginning and go on to the end: then stop."
Nice advice, but it's harder than it looks. How do you know where to begin and when to end?
Here's a good place to look: uncover your major story question.
Sure, your book will have subplots and conflicts along the way, but there needs to be one over-arching question. It needs to be posed, or at least reflected, in the first chapter. It'll then be answered in last chapter.
Sometimes the story question might be just hinted at in the beginning. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, the main question is: Will Dorothy will ever get home from Oz.?
In the opening sequence, she's not in Oz. But she is unhappy at home and tries to run away. She wants to be anywhere but home. So that sets up the ultimate question: by the end, she wants to be home more than anything else. So by the time we get the question, "Will Dorothy get home?" we all want the same thing for her. Everything she does is aimed at that one goal.
After she returns to Kansas, the movie has a brief wrap-up ("You were there. And so were you!") and it's over. The credits roll. We don't need to see her interacting with her aunt, where we see how much better things are now. The question is answered.
Often you can identify the kind of story question your book should have based on the genre you're writing in. For example, a mystery's question is who committed the murder? and a romance asks, will the boy and girl ever get together?
Some books have easily identified questions:
With your own writing, it's important for you to know what your story question is, for two reasons:
1) It tells you where to begin.
2) It tells you when to stop.
Without a good beginning, your reader (or editor or agent) won't get past page twelve (or, realistically, past page three).
And without a satisfying ending, they'll never pick up your next book (or this one will never get published).
It's not uncommon for me to see beginning writers' work where they're obviously not sure of the major story question. I can tell because the chapters flounder around with back story dumps, characters who aren't quite themselves yet, a plot that meanders without a clear conflict (or a conflict that's too thin), and a story that doesn't end when it's supposed to.
There is a reason that The Da Vinci Code ends where it does: the puzzle is solved, the characters are safe, and the bad guys are caught. All the story questions are answered.
It would be silly for Dan Brown to have continued the story so Langdon goes home, takes a shower, makes himself breakfast, and then realizes that he's rather troubled by the events of the last while and he needs therapy. And then we watch him go through therapy.
Ack! That's a new story, with new story questions. It's also a new genre. We'd no longer be looking at a symbology-based thriller.
This may be an over-the-top example, but the point is valid. Do you know when your story is over? You might not know the details of the final scene, but do you have a general idea that when X happens, it leads to Y, which answers the story question, so the story ends?
It's hard sometimes to write that last page. We love our characters, and sometimes we know what comes next, so we want to write it. But if that isn't part of the story you were originally telling, don't include it.
Maybe you can write a sequel to tell the next part . . . so long as you start at the right place and end when that story is over!
by Annette Lyon
About writing a good story, Lewis Carroll reportedly said something like:
"Begin at the beginning and go on to the end: then stop."
Nice advice, but it's harder than it looks. How do you know where to begin and when to end?
Here's a good place to look: uncover your major story question.
Sure, your book will have subplots and conflicts along the way, but there needs to be one over-arching question. It needs to be posed, or at least reflected, in the first chapter. It'll then be answered in last chapter.
Sometimes the story question might be just hinted at in the beginning. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, the main question is: Will Dorothy will ever get home from Oz.?
In the opening sequence, she's not in Oz. But she is unhappy at home and tries to run away. She wants to be anywhere but home. So that sets up the ultimate question: by the end, she wants to be home more than anything else. So by the time we get the question, "Will Dorothy get home?" we all want the same thing for her. Everything she does is aimed at that one goal.
After she returns to Kansas, the movie has a brief wrap-up ("You were there. And so were you!") and it's over. The credits roll. We don't need to see her interacting with her aunt, where we see how much better things are now. The question is answered.
Often you can identify the kind of story question your book should have based on the genre you're writing in. For example, a mystery's question is who committed the murder? and a romance asks, will the boy and girl ever get together?
Some books have easily identified questions:
- Will Harry defeat Voldemort?
- Will Lizzy and Darcy get together?
- Will Montag stay true to books and escape with his life?
- Will Langdon solve the puzzle before the bad guys do?
- Will Poirot find the murderer?
- Will Luke destroy the Death Star?
With your own writing, it's important for you to know what your story question is, for two reasons:
1) It tells you where to begin.
2) It tells you when to stop.
Without a good beginning, your reader (or editor or agent) won't get past page twelve (or, realistically, past page three).
And without a satisfying ending, they'll never pick up your next book (or this one will never get published).
It's not uncommon for me to see beginning writers' work where they're obviously not sure of the major story question. I can tell because the chapters flounder around with back story dumps, characters who aren't quite themselves yet, a plot that meanders without a clear conflict (or a conflict that's too thin), and a story that doesn't end when it's supposed to.
There is a reason that The Da Vinci Code ends where it does: the puzzle is solved, the characters are safe, and the bad guys are caught. All the story questions are answered.
It would be silly for Dan Brown to have continued the story so Langdon goes home, takes a shower, makes himself breakfast, and then realizes that he's rather troubled by the events of the last while and he needs therapy. And then we watch him go through therapy.
Ack! That's a new story, with new story questions. It's also a new genre. We'd no longer be looking at a symbology-based thriller.
This may be an over-the-top example, but the point is valid. Do you know when your story is over? You might not know the details of the final scene, but do you have a general idea that when X happens, it leads to Y, which answers the story question, so the story ends?
It's hard sometimes to write that last page. We love our characters, and sometimes we know what comes next, so we want to write it. But if that isn't part of the story you were originally telling, don't include it.
Maybe you can write a sequel to tell the next part . . . so long as you start at the right place and end when that story is over!
Friday, November 11, 2016
Moving Past the Re-editing Block
A popular post from October 2008
by Annette Lyon
Reader question:
I've been having the same problem for a long time. Whenever I write a few pages, I cannot resist the urge to re-write them again and again to the point that I end up throwing them out and starting over. I know I'm not going to get anywhere with my manuscript if I keep this up, but I still can't resist doing it.
I was wondering if I could get a little advice on how to curb my desire to edit and re-edit and re-edit.
On one hand, it's not uncommon for writers to reread what they wrote yesterday, tweak it a bit, and get into the groove again before going on to the next scene. But of course, doing so is useless if you don't keep going. Getting back into the groove is a different animal from reworking chapters to death and then throwing it out and never making progress.
First and foremost, it sounds like your internal editor/censor is yelling at you all the time. If that's the case, your editor will continue to hold back your creative side. The critic isn't a good writer. It's a good editor. Your writer brain needs freedom and creativity, but it's being strangled by your critic.
You do need your critic, obviously. But at the right time, not all the time, and most definitely NOT when you're trying to get out of the gate and finish a manuscript in the first place.
Just like every writer finds their own way to get into "flow," every writer has to discover their own way to silence the critic when it's not time to edit. I wrote about the inner critic here, and that post might have some ideas to help you out.
But there are other things you can do as well. The creative brain is difficult to tame, and at times, you have to trick it to behave.
Here are a few ways to trick the critic into going back into its cave:
Give yourself permission to write garbage. In fact, make a point of writing garbage for a day or two (or a page every day), just to prove you're capable of it. This kind of exercise stumps the critic (Wait, it's supposed to be bad? Then what can I yell about?) and gets him to move aside.
Write out of order. If you have a basic idea of where your story is going, there's no reason you're obligated to write chapter one and then two and then three. Do you know what the exciting climax will be? Write it today. Have a scene you're especially excited about getting to? Put it down now. You can always bridge the scenes together later. And sure, the parts you write this way may need changing when you reach them the "real" way. But who cares? You're making progress.
This trick is another way of putting the critic off-guard. He has a hard time knowing what to do with the situation (and how to yell at you because of it), because it's not what's "supposed" to come next.
Write on a different computer than the one holding your manuscript. Walk away from your PC and borrow a laptop. Heck, use plain old notebook paper. Use whatever, just so long as it doesn't have the rest of your manuscript on it. Forcibly cut yourself off from the rest of the book so you can't keep tweaking it. Instead, you have a fresh screen or piece of paper waiting for the next part of the story. Paste the new scene/s into the file later. (Then save and close the file. Do not tweak!)
Even better, use an AlphaSmart Neo or Dana. The Neo does the same things as above (keeping you away from the rest of the file), but it has an additional perk: since you can see only a few lines of text at a time, you're less likely to go back for tweaking even during today's drafting session. As you type away, you're mostly oblivious to how many words or pages you've written, and you get lost into the story itself.
Set specific goals and attach rewards to them. It's shocking how well this works. While you do want an overall goal ("Finish this book by my birthday"), getting past the re-edit-treadmill type of block takes smaller goals. ("I'm going to write 1,000 words a day.") Reward yourself with something small and concrete whenever you reach a goal. It can be your favorite treat from Cold Stone, a DVD rental, a nap, or the latest episode of The Office. Whatever is enough of a carrot to keep you going.
Withhold something. This is the flip side of rewards. Our own Julie Wright often puts a book she's dying to read on top of her desk but doesn't let herself crack the cover until she reaches a writing goal. Once when I was bemoaning a big revision, my husband challenged me to have no chocolate until I got through a six-inch stack of manuscript critiques. That one got me moving fast! Something I'd been avoiding for weeks was suddenly done during a weekend. Motivation is an amazing thing.
Best of luck getting off the re-editing treadmill and reaching the end of your book! You can do it.
Readers: Have additional ideas? Let us know in the comments!
by Annette Lyon
Reader question:
I've been having the same problem for a long time. Whenever I write a few pages, I cannot resist the urge to re-write them again and again to the point that I end up throwing them out and starting over. I know I'm not going to get anywhere with my manuscript if I keep this up, but I still can't resist doing it.
I was wondering if I could get a little advice on how to curb my desire to edit and re-edit and re-edit.
On one hand, it's not uncommon for writers to reread what they wrote yesterday, tweak it a bit, and get into the groove again before going on to the next scene. But of course, doing so is useless if you don't keep going. Getting back into the groove is a different animal from reworking chapters to death and then throwing it out and never making progress.
First and foremost, it sounds like your internal editor/censor is yelling at you all the time. If that's the case, your editor will continue to hold back your creative side. The critic isn't a good writer. It's a good editor. Your writer brain needs freedom and creativity, but it's being strangled by your critic.
You do need your critic, obviously. But at the right time, not all the time, and most definitely NOT when you're trying to get out of the gate and finish a manuscript in the first place.
Just like every writer finds their own way to get into "flow," every writer has to discover their own way to silence the critic when it's not time to edit. I wrote about the inner critic here, and that post might have some ideas to help you out.
But there are other things you can do as well. The creative brain is difficult to tame, and at times, you have to trick it to behave.
Here are a few ways to trick the critic into going back into its cave:
Give yourself permission to write garbage. In fact, make a point of writing garbage for a day or two (or a page every day), just to prove you're capable of it. This kind of exercise stumps the critic (Wait, it's supposed to be bad? Then what can I yell about?) and gets him to move aside.
Write out of order. If you have a basic idea of where your story is going, there's no reason you're obligated to write chapter one and then two and then three. Do you know what the exciting climax will be? Write it today. Have a scene you're especially excited about getting to? Put it down now. You can always bridge the scenes together later. And sure, the parts you write this way may need changing when you reach them the "real" way. But who cares? You're making progress.
This trick is another way of putting the critic off-guard. He has a hard time knowing what to do with the situation (and how to yell at you because of it), because it's not what's "supposed" to come next.
Write on a different computer than the one holding your manuscript. Walk away from your PC and borrow a laptop. Heck, use plain old notebook paper. Use whatever, just so long as it doesn't have the rest of your manuscript on it. Forcibly cut yourself off from the rest of the book so you can't keep tweaking it. Instead, you have a fresh screen or piece of paper waiting for the next part of the story. Paste the new scene/s into the file later. (Then save and close the file. Do not tweak!)
Even better, use an AlphaSmart Neo or Dana. The Neo does the same things as above (keeping you away from the rest of the file), but it has an additional perk: since you can see only a few lines of text at a time, you're less likely to go back for tweaking even during today's drafting session. As you type away, you're mostly oblivious to how many words or pages you've written, and you get lost into the story itself.
Set specific goals and attach rewards to them. It's shocking how well this works. While you do want an overall goal ("Finish this book by my birthday"), getting past the re-edit-treadmill type of block takes smaller goals. ("I'm going to write 1,000 words a day.") Reward yourself with something small and concrete whenever you reach a goal. It can be your favorite treat from Cold Stone, a DVD rental, a nap, or the latest episode of The Office. Whatever is enough of a carrot to keep you going.
Withhold something. This is the flip side of rewards. Our own Julie Wright often puts a book she's dying to read on top of her desk but doesn't let herself crack the cover until she reaches a writing goal. Once when I was bemoaning a big revision, my husband challenged me to have no chocolate until I got through a six-inch stack of manuscript critiques. That one got me moving fast! Something I'd been avoiding for weeks was suddenly done during a weekend. Motivation is an amazing thing.
Best of luck getting off the re-editing treadmill and reaching the end of your book! You can do it.
Readers: Have additional ideas? Let us know in the comments!
Friday, October 28, 2016
Step Away from the Manuscript
A popular post from October 2009
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
I know of writers who claim there is no such thing as writer's block. In a sense, that's true. No matter what the situation, you can sit down, put your hands on the keyboard, and plunk out some words.
But will they be any good?
I've also heard people say that claiming you have writer's block is akin to a plumber saying he's got plumber's block.
To me, that comparison is ridiculous, because a plumber doesn't have to come up with a fresh, new way of fixing a pipe every time. He's got the exact same wrenches and other tools, and a pretty clear-cut list of leaks, clogs, and other issues he'll likely need to fix on any given day.
He doesn't need to find a unique voice, a fresh metaphor, a brand new way to plot a wrench, for Pete's sake. For that matter, if he's good at what he does, he can probably do most of his work without giving it too much thought. He might enjoy a periodic challenge because it's a change in his daily routine.
On the flip side, writers must come up with something new and different each time we sit down. Using the same proverbial wrench every day would be boring or, worse, cliche.
Sure, we can force ourselves to show up at the keyboard, but frankly, sometimes, showing up isn't the best thing to do. Sometimes our creative side needs a break to figure out where we've gone wrong, where to head next, what our character is trying to accomplish, where the plot has gone off into a ditch, what's missing.
And that means walking away from the keyboard.
Paraphrasing an interview I recently read with Audrey Niffenegger (author of The Time Traveler's Wife), writers can often solve problems by coming at them sideways, while working on something else creative. She paints and lets her mind drift. She doesn't force herself to think about her characters or story, but sometimes her mind goes there, and her characters decide to come slip into her mind, showing up with their own answers.
I've found the same thing happening when I let go and stop trying to chase the answers down. The more I try to force the story or the characters to face me head-on, they more they elude me just as I'm about to grab hold of them.
But if let them roam free and I do something else with my mind, letting them come to me, I find that eventually, they will.
For me, sometimes that means setting up my sewing machine and tackling the giant pile of mending my children's clothing. Other times it might be cleaning out a closet or pulling out my knitting needles for a new project.
Maybe I'll go on a walk several days in a row to let my brain think all the messy thoughts it wants to and eventually "unkink" and drift.
Often I find answers while driving, but only if I'm alone in the car and I turn off the radio and drive in silence.
In the summers, weeding a garden or mowing a lawn can do the same thing. Or scrubbing a kitchen floor. In the winter, try shoveling snow.
Do the dishes. Hand-washing is particularly effective for overcoming blocks. So is folding laundry.
I know that it's a pain in some ways that so many of these techniques are chores. (Darn it.) But the reality is that they work. You accomplish something without using a lot of mental energy.
That's the key, because you trick your mind: it knows it's getting something valuable done, yet it's not under pressure to be productive by itself, to be "on" and creative.
Therefore, as you work, your mind gives itself permission to play . . . and a tiny part of it drifts (sometimes you aren't even aware that your mind is working) . . . and then it becomes creative (again, you may not even know it) . . . and then WHAM! the answers come.
Sometimes all it takes is a couple of hours of a different activity. Sometimes it's a few days or even a week or two. But it works.
I'm always amazed when the answers show up. They're clear. They're vivid. They sparkle. And they're always something so much better than I could have come up with on my own by forcing my behind to stay in the chair and by pounding out my word count goal for the day.
That's not to say that writing goals don't have their place; they're very effective, and I use them regularly when drafting. But when occasional blocks smack you in the face, pause and take stock.
If you think it's time, step away from the manuscript. Don't feel guilty about doing so.
Wait for the answers to come while you darn a sock or bake a cake.
(If it's chocolate, save some for me.)
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
Don't Rush It
A popular post from December 2009
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
'Tis the season for many a writer to query and submit.
Many reasons about for this sudden rash of submissions, and some of them are great. I'm referring specifically to fiction here, not to non-fiction proposals, which are a different animal.
If you have done all of the following, submit away. If you have not, back away from the "send" key. You must have:
- written an entire novel. Not 50 pages. Not 100 or 150. An entire book, start to finish. You've reached the end.
- revised that novel.
- revised it again.
- let other people (who are not you mother or your best friend but people with writing and critiquing experience) read the manuscript and tear it apart, showing you its strengths and weaknesses.
- not ignored those people's advice.
- weighed that advice, decided what to apply, and have done more revisions.
- possibly done several more revisions.
- possibly given the manuscript out to even more readers.
- done another round of revisions based on those suggestions.
- researched agents.
- taken your time writing an amazing query letter.
- revised that query letter.
- revised it again.
- taken that query letter to similar readers as above to get feedback on it.
- revised it again.
At this point and only at this point are you ready to query.
From what I've read on agent blogs, they experience a huge influx of queries this time of year, and most of them are, to put it gently, um, not ready to be accepted.
Some of that is a result of what happened last month. Remember that big event so many writers were part of? I'm talking about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writer's Month), something thousands of writers participate in annually.
It's a tremendous accomplishment to have pounded out 50,000 words in 30 days (especially when Thanksgiving lands during those days).
But the point of NaNo isn't to produce a polished, publishable novel. It's not even to necessarily reach the end of your story. It's to produce a lot of words in a short period, to show that you can break through writer's block and get the words down.
Submitting what you wrote last month is a really, really BAAAAD idea. (Apparently, not everyone thinks so, based on how many agents get queries based on NaNo projects.)
Submitting anything that hasn't had time to sit, gather mental dust, and go through the peer review and revision process is a bad idea.
There's also the fact that New York pretty much shuts down the second half of December, so really, what's the point of querying then? You might as well spend that time working on those revisions, getting those peer reviews, and getting that query ready.
All of the same agents and editors will still be ready for you come January. (Or February. Or March. Or later, whenever it is your manuscript is ready.)
Just don't rush the process. The cleaner the manuscript you hand over, the better your chances of getting that golden contract.
Remember: you want the agent or editor to see the brilliance of your writing and your story. Anything that pulls them from that experience is to your detriment, and creating such a clean manuscript can't be rushed.
It takes time. But it's worth the wait.
Monday, August 22, 2016
What's the Point?
A popular post from January 2010
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
Yes, I know you love your characters and that they're real to you, but we don't need every single detail about their lives. After they get home from work, do we really need to have a 4-page scene with several of them sitting around discussing what they ate for dinner?
You'd be surprised at how often I come across that kind of thing in my freelance work: long, exhaustive scenes that serve no absolutely point (besides, maybe, as a substitute for Ambien). They may be well-written on the sentence level, but they accomplish nothing.
The entire section could be deleted, and from a story standpoint, you'd never know it.
As a writer, it's easy to inadvertently drop in useless scenes. Like I said, we love our characters. They're real, at least in our heads. And just about anything they do is interesting . . . to their creator.
But you've got an audience to keep entertained. That's why every scene needs to accomplish something. Preferably, more than one something.
Here are six potential goals for a scene:
1) Advance the plot.
This is one of the most important goals for a scene. If the story isn't moving forward, a reader is going to get bored. Keep the story moving, progressing, advancing.
2) Create or show conflict.
Tension is what propels the plot. Without conflict, you have no story. Conflict holds the reader's interest. Plus, it's what most of your story should be based on anyway, right?
3) Set the setting.
Few scenes should have this as a purpose exclusively, but it is a valid one. Often we need to see and experience where the characters are, especially in genre books where the location is just as important as the rest of the story, such as in historical, science fiction, and fantasy works. Just don't belabor the setting. Make sure something else is going on as well. Eight pages dwelling on the unusual sunsets, architecture, or clothing get old.
4) Reveal character.
Do this through actions, thoughts, and dialogue of your POV character as well as their interpretations of others' actions and dialogue. Use this one a lot.
5) Show back story.
I mention this one with a bit of trepidation, because too many writers go, "Yippee! My purpose is to show back story!" and then we end up with long sections of info dumps, making the story stall and the reader fall asleep. Show back story in snippets and with a purpose. Never halt the story and then go into a 5-page history of a character. BORING.
6) Lay groundwork for later plot.
At times, you'll need to set-up a location, event, or something else that'll show up again or be relevant later. Same goes for foreshadowing. Just don't get too carried away here. Make sure you keep things interesting.
As a general rule of thumb, try to make every single scene accomplish at least two of the six purposes. If a scene isn't doing at least one of the six, delete it. It's fluff, and you don't need the scene.
If it's doing one of the six, see if you can add another one or two to punch it up.
Another good idea is to aim for the vast majority of your scenes to have at least one the purposes be either #1 or #2 (advance the plot or create conflict). Then add another one, say character or setting.
Don't try to cram all six purposes into a single scene. That's overload, and readers like that just as much as they like fluff (they don't).
As you read over your work-in-progress, note your scenes and the why. You might not have written the scene with a why in mind, but you can go back to see if there is one now. If not, revise and put one in.
Bottom line, every scene needs one of two things:
1) A purpose
OR
2) The delete key.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Tips on the First Draft
A popular post from June 2010
I stumbled across this fantastic vlog made by Joanna Penn, writer, speaker, and aspiring novelist, as she chronicles her progress and lessons learned as she writes the first draft of her novel.
I stumbled across this fantastic vlog made by Joanna Penn, writer, speaker, and aspiring novelist, as she chronicles her progress and lessons learned as she writes the first draft of her novel.
It's about 5 minutes long and definitely worth the time.
A few things to note as you watch:
- You may not need a strict outline, but some kind of outline or idea of where you're headed helps.
- You may get an "aha" moment that changes your outline. That's OKAY. (And probably fantastic.)
- Set specific goals for yourself. Personal deadlines are awesome.
- Be realistic. Even though she's thousands of words from crossing the first-draft finish line, Joanna is fully aware that it's a first draft and that after crossing one finish line, there are more ahead: revisions and editing. Lots of both.
- Push yourself to write. Don't wait for the muse. The muse may well show up in the middle of a session you forced yourself into.
- Research can not only make your story more accurate, but it can make it come alive and even spark plot and character ideas.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Wait. Where Are We?
A popular post from March 2011
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
One part of writing that I love is when I'm really in the groove and the story simply flows from my fingers, through the keyboard, onto the screen. It's like I'm watching and creating a movie simultaneously.
Sometimes those great bursts of creativity produce good work. Other times, well, the section needs revision.
Remember: What's in your head and what's on the page aren't always the same thing.
A common problem I see in beginning writers' work is not grounding the reader at the beginning of a new scene or chapter. The writer knows what the new scene looks like, but they haven't put it on the page. The reader may end up spending a page or two figuring out who all is present, where we are, how much time has passed since the last scene, and who's head we're in.
A good writer can jump right into the story, keep the pace going, and not leave the reader in the dust. It's a balancing act of giving out enough information but not too much.
The key is to remember as you write that your reader isn't in your head. They have no idea where or when this new scene is compared to the last one. The story could have jumped two minutes, two hours, or two years. We could be in the same room, outdoors, or on another continent.
If the writer doesn't orient us quickly, we're liable to close the book, annoyed and confused. This is especially important for speculative works, where one chapter could literally be in another world or time.
An example: John and James have a conversation. With speech tags, they're both identified. So far, so good. They're talking along for a couple of pages, when John signals and turns left into a grocery store.
Wait, what? When did we get into a car? Last time we saw John, he was at work.
Shake the head to clear it. Create new mental picture: John and James are in a car. John is driving. He pulls into a grocery store parking lot. Got it.
They keep talking, go into the store, and as they reach the produce section, Jennifer adds her two bits to the conversation.
Whoa. Where did she come from? Oh, she was in the car with them? The writer didn't show us that. We redraw the entire scene in our heads, adding Jennifer to the car as a passenger.
And so on.
As the writer, you're seeing it all. You know who's present. You know what everyone is saying and doing. Heck, you probably know what they're all wearing and had for lunch. You know precisely what the environment looks like and could describe the sights, sounds, smells.
But if you don't describe those things, we don't know any of it.
A similar problem with a scene opener is when we're put into a character's head, thinking about the current situation and what to do next. But we're not in a scene. There's no location, no action. We're just floating around in someone's head. That's not only confusing, it's boring.
So create a scene from line one. A scene requires, at the very least, a character, a location, and action (and preferably conflict). Then we can get into someone's head and think. (But not for long, flowing paragraphs, unless you're looking at literary fiction.)
The tricky part, of course, is knowing how much to show on the page. You don't want to bog down the narrative showing every turn the car makes, every detail of the dashboard, or the color, style, and designer of each passenger's shirt, and every business they pass on the road.
But we do need to know we're in a car, driving somewhere. A few specifics about the type of car, plus a sight, a sound, or smell, are all great additions that help make a scene pop. Sprinkle those in with care.
Likewise, there's no reason to spend paragraphs on every character present, but the reader must know who's there. And make sure we are somewhere doing something.
Remember: set a scene, which means having both location and action.
You'd be surprised at how easy it is to open a chapter or scene without either. Don't.
By the same token, avoid simply stating who's present, plus where they are and where they're going. That's telling, not showing.
Fixing this kind of problem really comes down to show, don't tell (as so many writing problems seem to).
In our example scene, where John and James are talking (and we have no idea where they are), we have a "talking heads" situation. That means we hear voices that might as well be disembodied, because we don't have solid details that ground the "movie" in our heads. Talking heads = telling.
We can fix the dialogue by adding "beats," such as facial expressions, gestures, thoughts from the POV character, and more. That breaks up the talking heads, and it creates a showing environment. The movie in the writer's head is more fully on the page.
The reader figures out the location not by being told what it is but by watching how the characters react to and interact with their environment. If every character is reacting and interacting, we get no surprises when Jennifer speaks in the produce section.
Perhaps James nervously flips the lock/unlock button back and forth. John moves the visor to block the sun then gets annoyed at the guy in the Lamborghini who cut him off. Jennifer tells James to stop it with the lock button already, because it's driving her crazy. All of those details show us where they are (and we get a peek into their characters to boot).
A challenge: Open your WIP to any scene. Read half a page of the opening. Is it clear where, when, and with whom we are? For that matter, are we in a scene or just floating in a character's head?
Look at every scene opener in your story. Revise them as needed to be sure the reader will come away with a clear movie in their heads: the one you want them to be watching.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Time Warps
A popular post from 2011
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
Throughout your story, time will pass. Story time, that is. (Even more time will pass as you write it, but that's another topic.)
Handling time can be tricky, and if it's done poorly, your reader may get confused, annoyed, and, quite possibly, put the story down. Here are the most common ways writers mishandle time that I see as an editor:
Back Story Dumps
This is one of the most common ways to mismanage time: dwelling on back story, especially in the first couple of chapters. Get to the now of the story right away. Give us whatever information we need from the past in small bites (usually later), and probably less back story than you think we need. We've talked about this one elsewhere, so we'll jump to the other time problems.
Flashbacks
While I'd never say you can't use a flashback (few writing rules are so solid you can actually say "never" to them), I would say to be wary of them and, when using them, learn to do so well.
A few flashback tips:
1) Make the transitions into and out of the flashback crystal clear so the reader can follow easily. We need to know where and when we are at all times.
2) Keep the flashbacks short and few. Lots of flashbacks aren't a story. You don't want your novel to get mired in what led up to this point; tell us what's happening now. That's where the current conflict (and therefore, what your reader will care about) lies.
3) Use flashbacks with a clear purpose, deliberately, when you've gone through other techniques and are sure that there's no other way to effectively accomplish what your story needs. Don't fall back on this technique as your default. Chances are, the easiest way to tell the story isn't going to be the most effective.
Flashbacks Within Flashbacks
Laugh if you will, but I do see this. A flashback all by itself has the potential for confusing the reader about what happened and when. Adding a second flashback inside the first is doubly confusing. If the second flashback includes time words like "two weeks ago," we have no idea what's going on; is that two weeks prior to the second flashback? Is the second flashback two weeks prior to the first? Or is this two weeks before the main story line? Confusing? You bet. It's also sloppy.
Rewinding.
This is when, for example, Scene A covers the time from 3 to 6PM, and then the writer goes on to write Scene B, but backs up in time and repeats some or most of what happened in scene A, only from a different POV.
Here's the problem: After reading scene A, which ends at 6PM, most readers (understandably, since in our lives, time moves forward) will assume the time is 6PM (or later).
Rewinding is jarring in the extreme. Readers expect time to flow one direction unless clearly told otherwise. So if that expectation is violated, the reader gets pulled out, has to reorient, and only then move forward. You've just given the reader the perfect chance to close the cover and walk away.
In one rewinding case I saw, two characters see one another for the second time. We first see the brief meeting from the man's point of view. He went on to have a pretty long scene with other events. So when the next scene began, from the woman's point of view, I assumed an hour or two (at least) had passed.
The scene read fine that way at first. But halfway through, the door opens, and she sees the man. I assumed this was their third meeting. It wasn't until a page or two later that I realized that oh, this is meeting #2, and we're seeing it for a second time.
Among the problems with this particular story: The second viewing didn't add a thing.
As with flashbacks, there's no hard and fast rule to avoid this technique, but I'd caution against it even more than with flashbacks.
Rewinding: A Caveat
As an editor, I have seen rewinding done well . . . a total of one time.
In that case, it worked for several reasons:
1) When we jumped from Character A to Character B, the section was labeled with the B character's name clearly identified as the POV character. I knew right away that we'd changed locations and POV, and when the time shifted too, I was ready for it.
2) Although we were reliving a time period, a significant amount of Character B's story didn't feature Character A at all. For the most part, we weren't seeing the same scenes, just the same time period.
3) During the moments where we were repeating a scene, we got a brand new perspective with new, important information. Both perspectives were crucial to the story.
4) We weren't ping ponging back and forth; each section was several chapters long, so we had a significant amount of time with each POV before swapping to the other.
In the first case (that didn't work), none of these items were present.
1) We simply moved to the next scene with no marker or header telling us where (or when!) we were.
2) We relived not only the same time period, but the exact same moment.
And the kicker:
3) The two characters' perspectives weren't different enough to add a single thing to the story.
A rule of thumb regarding POV:
Use the point of view of the character who has the most to lose in any given scene.
A corollary:
That means you can't pick two characters to use and then show the scene twice.
As an exercise, feel free to write both. Then see which is the most effective and choose the better scene. I can guarantee that one of the two will be better than the other. Use that.
Then throw the other one away.
Handling time in fiction, especially in something as lengthy as a novel, can be tricky. Avoid the pitfalls of back story dumps, flashbacks (plus flashbacks within flashbacks), and rewinding, and you'll have eliminated a lot of potholes, making your story much smoother reading.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Time: Friend or Foe?
A popular post from February 2011
by Annette Lyon
by Annette Lyon
Recently on a forum, I saw a question from a struggling writer that amounted to, "How do I know if my writing is any good?"
The man had reread what he thought was good yesterday, and suddenly it didn't sound so good.
Was it good?
Was it garbage?
Several people gave great advice. Here's mine.
When you first draft something, it's "hot off the press" as they say. You're too close to the piece to view it objectively. It really might be atrocious. Or a diamond. But you can't tell. At least, not yet.
This is when time is your best friend. Keep writing, and when you've finished the draft, put it away. For some people, a week or so is enough. For others, it could be a month or months.
However it long it takes for you, let it cool off. Let yourself forget parts, including that paragraph you slaved over and the one you thought was sheer brilliance.
When it's cooled off and you open the file again, you'll be reading it with completely new eyes, almost as if someone else had written the piece. This is one part of writing I love: inevitably, I do find parts I forgot I'd written (but there they are!) and I might even love them.
And sure, I'll find glaring problems as well: clunky prose, lame character motivations, sagging conflict, and more. But because I'm no longer so emotionally tied to the work, two great things happen:
1) I can see clearly where it needs improvement.
2) I can make big revisions without wanting to sit in a corner and cry while eating a dozen chocolate-chip cookies.
What do you do while a piece is resting, cooling off? You write something else.
After you've come back to the old piece and made whatever revisions you can, you're still not done. Send it out to other people, trusted beta readers who will see more ways to change (and improve!) your work.
Time is certainly a frustrating element of being a writer. During the submission process we wait for rejections and requests. If we're lucky, we wait on a contract and editorial notes. We wait on press dates and more.
Don't let all of that make you rush things. Take your time early on. Create a fantastic piece.
If you rush things, you'll submit sub-par work. And the end result: you won't have the opportunity of pulling your hair out while waiting for your release date.
Time can most definitely be your friend.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sculpting to Perfection
By Julie Wright
A friend of mine, Matthew Buckley, posed a thought to a writing group we belong to.
I am one of those authors who could "tweak until it's weak." I could, but I don't. I'd love to say it's because I'm brilliant enough to know when to say, "when," but really I think it is my lack of patience that is to blame. I want to see my book on a bookstore shelf NOW, never later.
So the fine line we walk is knowing when to stop tweaking and whittling away, and when to start putting it out for public consumption. For every person I daresay the answer is different. But for me, after several years of stupid manuscripts, I came up with a five reader rule. If my book hasn't been workshopped through five readers, then it isn't ready to hit the desk of someone with buying power. And I don't mean five readers who like you and are afraid of hurting your feelings. And typically, I don't recommend your mother ever being one of your five. Pick five readers who you trust to be straight shooters.
How many drafts should you write?
I write two initially, rework the manuscript several more times as reader reports come in and once more for the publisher. My attention span isn't long enough to do more than that. What's right for you? I could not say. Maybe more, maybe less.
But I know people who have been working on their masterpiece for years, tweaking, adding commas, changing modifiers, removing adverbs and dead words. I wonder if they are tweaking because they are perfectionists, or are they tweaking because they are afraid of submitting?
It is a fine line, because you must turn in your best work--you MUST. The competition is fierce. But you also must actually get to a point where you let go and TURN IT IN, because if you don't, you will forever be a dabbler and never really an author.
This thought of sculpting to perfection, of whittling away until you are truly done is subjective. Every writer needs the luxury of having his own way of doing things. The freedom to create offers limitless possibilities. But if you're worried your whittling your manuscript to a pile of sawdust, you might just be guilty of being afraid to move on. Only you know the answer to that. But in my household we have a saying, "Courage is being afraid, but doing it anyway."
A friend of mine, Matthew Buckley, posed a thought to a writing group we belong to.
When you carve something, you are basically taking away what doesn't need to be there. First you start with a block and you take things away until they are just right. At that point, if you take off more, you are damaging the product. If you keep working, eventually you just have a pile of sawdust or marble shavings.
So at what point do you stop tweaking your writing? Is it easy for all of you to think, "Yep, that's done. It's perfect. If I change it anymore, it will be a weaker book."
I am one of those authors who could "tweak until it's weak." I could, but I don't. I'd love to say it's because I'm brilliant enough to know when to say, "when," but really I think it is my lack of patience that is to blame. I want to see my book on a bookstore shelf NOW, never later.
So the fine line we walk is knowing when to stop tweaking and whittling away, and when to start putting it out for public consumption. For every person I daresay the answer is different. But for me, after several years of stupid manuscripts, I came up with a five reader rule. If my book hasn't been workshopped through five readers, then it isn't ready to hit the desk of someone with buying power. And I don't mean five readers who like you and are afraid of hurting your feelings. And typically, I don't recommend your mother ever being one of your five. Pick five readers who you trust to be straight shooters.
How many drafts should you write?
I write two initially, rework the manuscript several more times as reader reports come in and once more for the publisher. My attention span isn't long enough to do more than that. What's right for you? I could not say. Maybe more, maybe less.
But I know people who have been working on their masterpiece for years, tweaking, adding commas, changing modifiers, removing adverbs and dead words. I wonder if they are tweaking because they are perfectionists, or are they tweaking because they are afraid of submitting?
It is a fine line, because you must turn in your best work--you MUST. The competition is fierce. But you also must actually get to a point where you let go and TURN IT IN, because if you don't, you will forever be a dabbler and never really an author.
This thought of sculpting to perfection, of whittling away until you are truly done is subjective. Every writer needs the luxury of having his own way of doing things. The freedom to create offers limitless possibilities. But if you're worried your whittling your manuscript to a pile of sawdust, you might just be guilty of being afraid to move on. Only you know the answer to that. But in my household we have a saying, "Courage is being afraid, but doing it anyway."
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Revise for Impact
by Heather Moore
News Flash: Registration is open for the 2009 Storymaker Conference.
This fall I attended the League of Utah Writers conference and took a 6 hour editing seminar. I think it took me this long to recover. So now I'm ready to share the love.
The seminar was taught by Elizabeth Lyon, who has a half-dozen books published on writing and editing.
So today, I'd like to share the notes I took on "Revise for Impact" since every writer will enter the dark abyss of editing at least once or maybe one-hundred times on each manuscript produced.
Remember, this comes after your first draft is finished. Go through your manuscript with an eye for the following things--it will tighten up your story and prepare it for your beta readers.
1. One word sentences (to emphasize, as a question)
*One word sentences brings a reader to a complete halt.
*It’s a stop sign. Make it an important word.
2. Take out repetitive words
3. Watch out for common words: look/walk/saw/turn are the most used words.
*These have no emotional or descriptive value
4. Use synonyms for common words like "walk": sauntered, scuttled, stumbled, tromped, scurried, ambled, skip, trudged, side-step
* Or "look": stare, regard, view, peer, gazed, stared, glance, examine, study, glare, leer
5. Power positions. Words that will gain more impact at the beginning and the end
6. Alliteration—rhyme or several words in a sentence starting with same letter--only use when you are doing so for a purpose.
7. Clichés—take them out
8. Repetition: former/past/history: This comes with reading the second draft and having a beta reader go over your story. Watch for those ideas, a beliefs, or desires that are repeated too many times. Remember--your reader is smart.
9. Watch the Telling first, then Showing. This shows that the author doesn’t trust the reader. Keep the scene and dialog that shows. Get rid of the advance sentence of telling. (I see this A LOT in novice manuscripts.)
10. Imagery
*Similes: as/like
*Metaphors: complete substitution
(E. Lyon recommends that you have a simile or metaphor on your first page).
News Flash: Registration is open for the 2009 Storymaker Conference.
This fall I attended the League of Utah Writers conference and took a 6 hour editing seminar. I think it took me this long to recover. So now I'm ready to share the love.
The seminar was taught by Elizabeth Lyon, who has a half-dozen books published on writing and editing.
So today, I'd like to share the notes I took on "Revise for Impact" since every writer will enter the dark abyss of editing at least once or maybe one-hundred times on each manuscript produced.
Remember, this comes after your first draft is finished. Go through your manuscript with an eye for the following things--it will tighten up your story and prepare it for your beta readers.
1. One word sentences (to emphasize, as a question)
*One word sentences brings a reader to a complete halt.
*It’s a stop sign. Make it an important word.
2. Take out repetitive words
3. Watch out for common words: look/walk/saw/turn are the most used words.
*These have no emotional or descriptive value
4. Use synonyms for common words like "walk": sauntered, scuttled, stumbled, tromped, scurried, ambled, skip, trudged, side-step
* Or "look": stare, regard, view, peer, gazed, stared, glance, examine, study, glare, leer
5. Power positions. Words that will gain more impact at the beginning and the end
6. Alliteration—rhyme or several words in a sentence starting with same letter--only use when you are doing so for a purpose.
7. Clichés—take them out
8. Repetition: former/past/history: This comes with reading the second draft and having a beta reader go over your story. Watch for those ideas, a beliefs, or desires that are repeated too many times. Remember--your reader is smart.
9. Watch the Telling first, then Showing. This shows that the author doesn’t trust the reader. Keep the scene and dialog that shows. Get rid of the advance sentence of telling. (I see this A LOT in novice manuscripts.)
10. Imagery
*Similes: as/like
*Metaphors: complete substitution
(E. Lyon recommends that you have a simile or metaphor on your first page).
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The Inner Critic
by Annette Lyon
Everybody has one.
Whether it's the voice of that high school English teacher (a pox on her) who said you couldn't string two sentences together or simply your own insecurities piping up, I'm sure you know what yours sounds like.
The Critic is loud. It's bossy. It's an authority. And we tend to listen to it.
That isn't always a bad thing. At times, you do need to look at your work objectively. Does this scene work? Is this dialogue cheesy? Did I start in the right place? Am I showing so much the story drags? Is this character believable? Without the critic there on your shoulder, these kinds of questions are hard to answer.
On the other hand, there is a definite time and a place for the Critic, and a large portion of the time, he ain't wanted.
For example, imagine you're in the flow of a story, living and breathing the events. You're really there with your characters. Then your Critic creeps out of hiding and whispers four little words, "This is kinda lame."
POP! The creative balloon explodes and you return to reality with a thud.
Was the scene lame? Maybe. Maybe not. There's no way to know when you're in the middle of it. You're way too close to it when it's hot off the press (or not even off it yet!). The passage you're working on could be brilliant, and you'd still think it's lame at this point.
Ignore the Critic. Shove him back into his cave and lock the door. Keep writing. And then tomorrow, unlock the Critic and let him read it with you. At that point, you'll be able to somewhat trust what he has to say, since he's had to tame himself in solitary confinement.
It's important for writers to understand the two ways your brain works and be able to compartmentalize them—to bring out the shy, scared writer child and to lock the Critic in its cave for the duration of a writing session.
And then, yes, to know when that timid artist can go take a rest and it's time to bring out the Critic to take a hard look at what you produced.
Having them both out and active simultaneously can spell trouble. The creative flow will likely be filled with painful bumps and jolts. You'll second-guess yourself, keep going back to smooth out sentences instead of moving the story forward. You'll trash entire sections in the heat of the moment because the Critic is yelling so loudly that you're forced to believe its ranting. The artist side won't have a chance to be heard or listened to.
Most writers have their own pet ways of reining in their Critics. Some do Julia Cameron's morning pages—three hand-written pages of free writing first thing every day, which force the Critic to move over.
Others give the Critic a name, say Morris or Agnes, so they can "talk" to the Critic and tell it to get lost.
Sometimes a physical form, like a stuffed animal, can be helpful so you can physically put the Critic on the desk when it's at work and into the drawer when it's not wanted or needed.
I know writers who put on music to bring out the inner Artist and quiet the Critic.
For others, simply recognizing the fact that they have those two sides warring against one another is enough to tune in to the one voice and ignore the other.
So how do you deal with your inner Critic? What works for you? How do you quiet it when it's not wanted?
How do you manage your dual sides as a writer?
What works for one writer won't necessarily work for all, but the more tricks and tips we have to work around the paralyzing nature of the Critic, the better.
Please share!
Everybody has one.
Whether it's the voice of that high school English teacher (a pox on her) who said you couldn't string two sentences together or simply your own insecurities piping up, I'm sure you know what yours sounds like.
The Critic is loud. It's bossy. It's an authority. And we tend to listen to it.
That isn't always a bad thing. At times, you do need to look at your work objectively. Does this scene work? Is this dialogue cheesy? Did I start in the right place? Am I showing so much the story drags? Is this character believable? Without the critic there on your shoulder, these kinds of questions are hard to answer.
On the other hand, there is a definite time and a place for the Critic, and a large portion of the time, he ain't wanted.
For example, imagine you're in the flow of a story, living and breathing the events. You're really there with your characters. Then your Critic creeps out of hiding and whispers four little words, "This is kinda lame."
POP! The creative balloon explodes and you return to reality with a thud.
Was the scene lame? Maybe. Maybe not. There's no way to know when you're in the middle of it. You're way too close to it when it's hot off the press (or not even off it yet!). The passage you're working on could be brilliant, and you'd still think it's lame at this point.
Ignore the Critic. Shove him back into his cave and lock the door. Keep writing. And then tomorrow, unlock the Critic and let him read it with you. At that point, you'll be able to somewhat trust what he has to say, since he's had to tame himself in solitary confinement.
It's important for writers to understand the two ways your brain works and be able to compartmentalize them—to bring out the shy, scared writer child and to lock the Critic in its cave for the duration of a writing session.
And then, yes, to know when that timid artist can go take a rest and it's time to bring out the Critic to take a hard look at what you produced.
Having them both out and active simultaneously can spell trouble. The creative flow will likely be filled with painful bumps and jolts. You'll second-guess yourself, keep going back to smooth out sentences instead of moving the story forward. You'll trash entire sections in the heat of the moment because the Critic is yelling so loudly that you're forced to believe its ranting. The artist side won't have a chance to be heard or listened to.
Most writers have their own pet ways of reining in their Critics. Some do Julia Cameron's morning pages—three hand-written pages of free writing first thing every day, which force the Critic to move over.
Others give the Critic a name, say Morris or Agnes, so they can "talk" to the Critic and tell it to get lost.
Sometimes a physical form, like a stuffed animal, can be helpful so you can physically put the Critic on the desk when it's at work and into the drawer when it's not wanted or needed.
I know writers who put on music to bring out the inner Artist and quiet the Critic.
For others, simply recognizing the fact that they have those two sides warring against one another is enough to tune in to the one voice and ignore the other.
So how do you deal with your inner Critic? What works for you? How do you quiet it when it's not wanted?
How do you manage your dual sides as a writer?
What works for one writer won't necessarily work for all, but the more tricks and tips we have to work around the paralyzing nature of the Critic, the better.
Please share!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Hacking out the Dead Wood
by Annette Lyon
First off, a caveat:
What I'm about to talk about is something you shouldn't worry about until you reach the revision stage.
Don't get anxious over this kind of thing while you're drafting, or you'll drive yourself loony trying to make a perfectly clean first draft. Write that first version with as much dead wood as flows from your fingertips; you can always fix it later. Let that creative side have free rein.
For that matter, chopping out dead wood in a manuscript is something you deal with after the first or second revision. Really, don't stress about this stuff until you're at the clean-up stage, tightening things and spit-polishing so you really shine.
But do take the time for that spit polish. If you watch out for these kinds of things before you actually submit, your work will read smoother. You'll get your point across easier and more effectively. Your reader (potential editor/agent) will be more likely to notice your story, your voice, yes, even your brilliance, when the clumsy stuff is out of the way.
It's smooth writing that readers slip into without even realizing it.
So with all that said, here we go:
Most "dead wood" consists of extra words, padding that just isn't pulling any weight or adding anything to a sentence.
Sometimes it shows up as a redundancy, such as, "true fact," "fictional novel," or "famous celebrity." Or something else that's obvious, like the "shoe on his foot" or "the smile on her face." (Where else would the shoe or smile be? If the shoe is on his ear, that is worth mentioning.)
In those cases, cut the redundancy. In many cases, you'll be able to find simpler ways of saying the same thing to get the message across better.
For example, a good chunk of the time, things like "to go to" can be simplified or cut altogether.
Instead of: I started to go to school at NYU.
Try:
I started school at NYU.
I went to NYU.
Or several other variations that are more precise.
Another dead wood issue I see a lot of is "would" in sentences where it doesn't belong. A lot of times, "would" adds even more words so the sentence will make sense (like "that"), so you end up with significant meaningless padding.
Instead of: We would go to the movies every weekend.
Try: We went to the movies every weekend.
Instead of: If asked, I would tell people that I didn’t like pickles.
Try: If asked, I said I didn’t like pickles.
In the following example, we have a was -ing verb (note that on your "red flag" list of dead wood) as well as a "that":
Instead of: As I was looking for a pair of shoes that was comfortable
Try: As I looked for a pair of comfortable shoes
First off, a caveat:
What I'm about to talk about is something you shouldn't worry about until you reach the revision stage.
Don't get anxious over this kind of thing while you're drafting, or you'll drive yourself loony trying to make a perfectly clean first draft. Write that first version with as much dead wood as flows from your fingertips; you can always fix it later. Let that creative side have free rein.
For that matter, chopping out dead wood in a manuscript is something you deal with after the first or second revision. Really, don't stress about this stuff until you're at the clean-up stage, tightening things and spit-polishing so you really shine.
But do take the time for that spit polish. If you watch out for these kinds of things before you actually submit, your work will read smoother. You'll get your point across easier and more effectively. Your reader (potential editor/agent) will be more likely to notice your story, your voice, yes, even your brilliance, when the clumsy stuff is out of the way.
It's smooth writing that readers slip into without even realizing it.
So with all that said, here we go:
Most "dead wood" consists of extra words, padding that just isn't pulling any weight or adding anything to a sentence.
Sometimes it shows up as a redundancy, such as, "true fact," "fictional novel," or "famous celebrity." Or something else that's obvious, like the "shoe on his foot" or "the smile on her face." (Where else would the shoe or smile be? If the shoe is on his ear, that is worth mentioning.)
In those cases, cut the redundancy. In many cases, you'll be able to find simpler ways of saying the same thing to get the message across better.
For example, a good chunk of the time, things like "to go to" can be simplified or cut altogether.
Instead of: I started to go to school at NYU.
Try:
I started school at NYU.
I went to NYU.
Or several other variations that are more precise.
Another dead wood issue I see a lot of is "would" in sentences where it doesn't belong. A lot of times, "would" adds even more words so the sentence will make sense (like "that"), so you end up with significant meaningless padding.
Instead of: We would go to the movies every weekend.
Try: We went to the movies every weekend.
Instead of: If asked, I would tell people that I didn’t like pickles.
Try: If asked, I said I didn’t like pickles.
In the following example, we have a was -ing verb (note that on your "red flag" list of dead wood) as well as a "that":
Instead of: As I was looking for a pair of shoes that was comfortable
Try: As I looked for a pair of comfortable shoes
Here's another was -ing/that sentence. Note how it's has two uses of "was."
Instead of: I was wanting something that was unknown to me.
Try: I wanted something unknown to me.
Start and began are two more words that get thrown in a lot:
Instead of: She began describing the kinds of dessert she likes.
Try: She described the kinds of dessert she likes.
Here are more dead wood examples. As you read each one, see if you can rewrite each one in your head to make it cleaner before you read my rewrite.
Keep in mind that there is no right answer here. You might come up with a better way to cut the dead wood than I did.
Dead wood: There were two or three coaches who were eyeing me as a player for their teams.
Cleaned up: Two or three coaches eyed me as a recruit.
Dead wood: throughout this time
Cleaned up: now
Dead wood: the manner in which
Cleaned up: the way
Dead wood: I wasn’t successful in putting
Cleaned up: I couldn’t put
Dead wood: was the result of being embarrassed
Cleaned up: was from embarrassment
Dead wood: began to be
Cleaned up: became
Dead wood: I asked all of the questions that were troubling me
Cleaned up: I asked all the questions troubling me
Dead wood: Felt like . . . . to me.
Cleaned up: Felt like [cut “to me”]
Dead wood: Because of the love that I felt for them
Cleaned up: Because of my love for them OR Because I loved them
Dead wood: Struggled with the ability to
Cleaned up: Struggled to
Dead wood: At the time when
Cleaned up: When
Dead wood: Is going to
Cleaned up: Will
Dead wood: I wasn’t able to
Cleaned up: I couldn’t
Dead wood: throughout the duration of
Cleaned up: throughout OR during
To avoid the dead wood traps, do a search of your manuscript for words like would, was, that, start, began, there was, and any others you notice that have become "pet" words for you. (I tend to over use "just," for example. I had to cut a couple from this post!)
Try to rephrase each sentence you find, using new words that are more effective. A lot of the time, you'll be able to cut the problem words out altogether. Other times, you'll come up with powerful verbs that make a punch.
And in the end, your efforts will be obvious . . . because your readers won't notice your words.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Neo
by Annette Lyon
People often ask about how I write, what tools I use, so I thought I'd blog about it here.
My AlphaSmart NEO is a lifesaver for me. Without it, I wouldn't have drafted my last three books nearly as fast as I did, and I continue to draft with it. The NEO is how I squeeze writing into the daily chaos that is family life.
Begun as a way to teach grade school students how to type without the enormous cost of lots of computers, the AlphaSmart quickly found a cult following among writers, and for good reason.
At its most basic, an AlphaSmart is a portable word processor. It's got a sturdy shell, a small screen that holds 4 lines or so of text (depending on your model and the font size), and a full-size keyboard.
My NEO uses so little power that my rechargeable battery gets charged maybe three times a year. There's no saving involved. Once you type something in, it's there until you delete it. There's no boot-up time, either. You push a button, and it turns on. You push it again, and it turns off (or just wait a few minutes; if you don't type for a while, it'll turn off to conserve power).
The earlier versions (the AlphaSmart 2000 and 3000, no longer available) had slightly clunkier keyboards and design. The NEO is sleeker and requires a much lighter touch to type with. As a result, I can write much faster on the NEO than I could on my old 3000.
The NEO also has a word count feature, which I really missed on the 3000. The NEO has 8 files you can write in, and each one can hold something like 32 single-spaced pages worth of material. I've never yet filled a file because I transfer my data to the computer quickly, but I like being able to have several things going at once.
Also new with the NEO is the ability to remove (but save) a file from being active and use that spot for another work, essentially giving you several times more than 8 files to work with. I've never needed to use this function, but it's another plus for writers who might fill up a lot of text before getting to back to their computers.
The AlphaSmart DANA version has a few bells and whistles, but also a few drawbacks, like how you have to save, and I know of a couple of DANAs that have had problems like fatal errors, things I've never heard of with a NEO.
Very minor drawbacks withthe NEO are how quotes and apostrophes come out straight from the NEO, while my word processor has them curly, so to make it all match, I have to search and replace all those marks. Same with em dashes. I make them with a double hyphen on the Neo, then search for them and pop in the em dash.
Such minor fixing after transferring the data over is no big deal to me because the NEO is such a lifesaver in so many other ways.
If you're looking for a high-powered laptop, this isn't it.
But if you're looking for something light-weight, easy to transport, easy to turn on, that won't lose power after hours and hours and HOURS of writing, that keeps your work without any effort on your part, something that costs a fraction of a decent laptop, this is your toy.
I mean tool.
Mine has been dropped and stepped on (which happens when you've four children and their friends running around), and it's taken the abuse.
We inherited a 2000 recently, and I passed it on to the kids so they'd stop trying to use my NEO. They love writing their own stories, and with 8 files, they each get to "own" two of them. It's perfect.
When it's time to transfer my work to the computer, I just launch the "get" utility program and push the "send" button. The infrared does the rest.
I can also transfer from the computer to the NEO, but since, at least for me, the NEO is best for drafting rather than revising (that little screen is tough to revise on), I rarely send anything the other direction.
My NEO has let me draft on car trips, in hotel rooms, in the lobby of the dance studio, in the doctor's office, on the deck swing as the kids play outside, poolside while the kids are in swimming lessons, on a bench at the park, and tons of other places when I'm on the go.
It's literally how I cram a lot of my drafting into family life. Without it, I wouldn't get nearly as much done.
To learn more about AlphaSmart's products, visit their website here.
People often ask about how I write, what tools I use, so I thought I'd blog about it here.
My AlphaSmart NEO is a lifesaver for me. Without it, I wouldn't have drafted my last three books nearly as fast as I did, and I continue to draft with it. The NEO is how I squeeze writing into the daily chaos that is family life.
Begun as a way to teach grade school students how to type without the enormous cost of lots of computers, the AlphaSmart quickly found a cult following among writers, and for good reason.
At its most basic, an AlphaSmart is a portable word processor. It's got a sturdy shell, a small screen that holds 4 lines or so of text (depending on your model and the font size), and a full-size keyboard.
My NEO uses so little power that my rechargeable battery gets charged maybe three times a year. There's no saving involved. Once you type something in, it's there until you delete it. There's no boot-up time, either. You push a button, and it turns on. You push it again, and it turns off (or just wait a few minutes; if you don't type for a while, it'll turn off to conserve power).
The earlier versions (the AlphaSmart 2000 and 3000, no longer available) had slightly clunkier keyboards and design. The NEO is sleeker and requires a much lighter touch to type with. As a result, I can write much faster on the NEO than I could on my old 3000.
The NEO also has a word count feature, which I really missed on the 3000. The NEO has 8 files you can write in, and each one can hold something like 32 single-spaced pages worth of material. I've never yet filled a file because I transfer my data to the computer quickly, but I like being able to have several things going at once.
Also new with the NEO is the ability to remove (but save) a file from being active and use that spot for another work, essentially giving you several times more than 8 files to work with. I've never needed to use this function, but it's another plus for writers who might fill up a lot of text before getting to back to their computers.
The AlphaSmart DANA version has a few bells and whistles, but also a few drawbacks, like how you have to save, and I know of a couple of DANAs that have had problems like fatal errors, things I've never heard of with a NEO.
Very minor drawbacks withthe NEO are how quotes and apostrophes come out straight from the NEO, while my word processor has them curly, so to make it all match, I have to search and replace all those marks. Same with em dashes. I make them with a double hyphen on the Neo, then search for them and pop in the em dash.
Such minor fixing after transferring the data over is no big deal to me because the NEO is such a lifesaver in so many other ways.
If you're looking for a high-powered laptop, this isn't it.
But if you're looking for something light-weight, easy to transport, easy to turn on, that won't lose power after hours and hours and HOURS of writing, that keeps your work without any effort on your part, something that costs a fraction of a decent laptop, this is your toy.
I mean tool.
Mine has been dropped and stepped on (which happens when you've four children and their friends running around), and it's taken the abuse.
We inherited a 2000 recently, and I passed it on to the kids so they'd stop trying to use my NEO. They love writing their own stories, and with 8 files, they each get to "own" two of them. It's perfect.
When it's time to transfer my work to the computer, I just launch the "get" utility program and push the "send" button. The infrared does the rest.
I can also transfer from the computer to the NEO, but since, at least for me, the NEO is best for drafting rather than revising (that little screen is tough to revise on), I rarely send anything the other direction.
My NEO has let me draft on car trips, in hotel rooms, in the lobby of the dance studio, in the doctor's office, on the deck swing as the kids play outside, poolside while the kids are in swimming lessons, on a bench at the park, and tons of other places when I'm on the go.
It's literally how I cram a lot of my drafting into family life. Without it, I wouldn't get nearly as much done.
To learn more about AlphaSmart's products, visit their website here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
