Short and Simple and Not So Easy
Who hasn't looked at something other than what you're writing and thought, “Why am I not writing that?”
I’m not talking about the shiny new idea that tempts you while you’re slogging through the Act II doldrums. I’m talking about the writing equivalent of staying up all night memorizing reagents for your Chem final while your roommate, the Radio TV Film major, watches movies for her homework.
Whatever this thing is, it’s shorter than what you write. It’s simpler. It has less parts. So you ask yourself, “How hard can that sci fi short story/romance novel/sitcom script be?”
When I signed on to write a contemporary romance novella (Passionate Persuasion, available now at any ebook retailer for the low, low price of 99¢), I thought: Only twenty thousand words? Only one plot line? That will be easy.
The muses laughed.
Not because my books share shelf-space with Twilight, or because I’ve won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award. (Do you like how I worked that in there?) I know that writing romance is just as challenging as any other genre.
But it turns out that writing short and streamlined is hard.
Keeping it short: Shorter may be easier on your carpel tunnels, but it’s not necessarily a rest for your “little grey cells,” as Hercule Poirot would say. Every word has to count.
Think about writing a Tweet describing a funny encounter you had at the grocery store. In 140 characters, paint a picture of what happened. Now make it entertaining, with some kind of satisfying take away. There’s a knack to making more with less.
Keeping it simple but satisfying: With a small number of words to get the job done, you need a very straightforward through-line. I learned from watching Top Chef that if you throw in too many ingredients into one dish, nothing stands out. And who wouldn’t prefer a well-cooked meal of bacon and eggs than poorly prepared Eggs Benedict with reconstituted hollandaise sauce? (Now I’m hungry.)
Simple, like short, takes a lot of discipline. It doesn’t sound difficult--just come up with a great idea and don’t smother it! But then I ran into the next thing.
Keeping it what it is. Writing a realistic story is not easier just because it has fewer elements (i.e., mystery and supernatural) to juggle. In fact, as much as I love to write sexual tension and romantic banter, I found it very challenging to keep the tension high when all I had to work with was the characters and their baggage. Normally when energy sags, a ghost shows up, or the intrepid girl detective gets hit on the head. Heroine getting on too well with the love interest? Gosh, I hope he’s not secretly a vampire.
Genre plots supply complicating elements. But in a contemporary romance, the conflict has to come from the hero and heroine’s situations, psychology or backstories. The hard part is not keeping the couple apart, it’s making sure their primary conflict isn’t stupidity. (I imagine a literary story has it’s own unique problems within the constraints of reality.)
All characters need realistic and relatable motivations, of course. But in the limited space of a short story or novella, you don’t have the luxury of more plot elements or extra chapters or surprise vampires. (Well, maybe surprise vampires.)
The answer to “How hard can it be?” then is, “The same amount of hard as anything else.” Writing is a challenge but (hopefully!) rewarding, and every project—short, long, genre, literary, whatever—has unique challenges. So go conquer them!
--Rosemary Clement-Moore, DFWWW member since 2005
www.readrosemary.com
photo credit: Kathleen Tyler Conklin via photopin cc
I’m not talking about the shiny new idea that tempts you while you’re slogging through the Act II doldrums. I’m talking about the writing equivalent of staying up all night memorizing reagents for your Chem final while your roommate, the Radio TV Film major, watches movies for her homework.
Whatever this thing is, it’s shorter than what you write. It’s simpler. It has less parts. So you ask yourself, “How hard can that sci fi short story/romance novel/sitcom script be?”
When I signed on to write a contemporary romance novella (Passionate Persuasion, available now at any ebook retailer for the low, low price of 99¢), I thought: Only twenty thousand words? Only one plot line? That will be easy.
The muses laughed.
Not because my books share shelf-space with Twilight, or because I’ve won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award. (Do you like how I worked that in there?) I know that writing romance is just as challenging as any other genre.
But it turns out that writing short and streamlined is hard.
Keeping it short: Shorter may be easier on your carpel tunnels, but it’s not necessarily a rest for your “little grey cells,” as Hercule Poirot would say. Every word has to count.
Think about writing a Tweet describing a funny encounter you had at the grocery store. In 140 characters, paint a picture of what happened. Now make it entertaining, with some kind of satisfying take away. There’s a knack to making more with less.
Keeping it simple but satisfying: With a small number of words to get the job done, you need a very straightforward through-line. I learned from watching Top Chef that if you throw in too many ingredients into one dish, nothing stands out. And who wouldn’t prefer a well-cooked meal of bacon and eggs than poorly prepared Eggs Benedict with reconstituted hollandaise sauce? (Now I’m hungry.)
Simple, like short, takes a lot of discipline. It doesn’t sound difficult--just come up with a great idea and don’t smother it! But then I ran into the next thing.
Keeping it what it is. Writing a realistic story is not easier just because it has fewer elements (i.e., mystery and supernatural) to juggle. In fact, as much as I love to write sexual tension and romantic banter, I found it very challenging to keep the tension high when all I had to work with was the characters and their baggage. Normally when energy sags, a ghost shows up, or the intrepid girl detective gets hit on the head. Heroine getting on too well with the love interest? Gosh, I hope he’s not secretly a vampire.
Genre plots supply complicating elements. But in a contemporary romance, the conflict has to come from the hero and heroine’s situations, psychology or backstories. The hard part is not keeping the couple apart, it’s making sure their primary conflict isn’t stupidity. (I imagine a literary story has it’s own unique problems within the constraints of reality.)
All characters need realistic and relatable motivations, of course. But in the limited space of a short story or novella, you don’t have the luxury of more plot elements or extra chapters or surprise vampires. (Well, maybe surprise vampires.)
The answer to “How hard can it be?” then is, “The same amount of hard as anything else.” Writing is a challenge but (hopefully!) rewarding, and every project—short, long, genre, literary, whatever—has unique challenges. So go conquer them!
--Rosemary Clement-Moore, DFWWW member since 2005
www.readrosemary.com
photo credit: Kathleen Tyler Conklin via photopin cc
O' Fickle Muse
I never have more ideas, really good exciting ideas, than when I'm stuck on a project. Right now, for instance, I should be writing my novel about a modern office worker caught up in the machinations of the gods of Olympus. Instead, in the past few days I've had a really great idea for a short story (finished), four children's books (three of which I finished…the fourth languishes because I'm having trouble coming up with monsters that grade-schoolers would recognize for every letter of the alphabet), and two other novels (which I'm trying really hard to ignore).
I also have ideas for a bunch of craft projects, and an urge to redecorate my bedroom. (‘Redecorate’ implies that it was ever decorated in the first place, which might not be altogether accurate.)
Basically, I'm inspired to do just about anything other than figure out the plot snarl in chapter 15 and finish the dang novel.
And that's because inspiration is (to paraphrase Thomas Edison) only one percent of creation. The idea is the easy thing. When it's shiny and new, all made of potential and dream-stuff, it’s fun to hang around with your creative endeavor. But trying to turn that dream into reality is HARD. The words don't come out right. The plot you thought would just flow onto the page instead dribbles out in contradictory fits and starts. The characters you hoped would practically write themselves turn out to be cardboard cutouts with no motivation. And you can't remember how to spell ‘volunteer’, or whichever other word you can never remember how to spell. Bonus points if it's one spell-check doesn't recognize.
Here's the part where you were probably hoping to find a simple, easy solution for this conundrum. But you no doubt realize that if I had one, I wouldn't be writing this essay. I'd be writing my novel, which is what I'm supposed to be doing. Or better yet, I'd have already finished my novel since I have a simple, easy solution for overcoming writer’s block. Then I'd slap together a book on how to write your novel in six easy steps.
All I have is persistence, and I don't always have that. You're never going to get past the block by ignoring it or fleeing from it. I try really hard to write every day, and at least some of that time I try to work on my book. Some days I get a little done. Most days, I get practically nothing done. Every once in a while, my muse graces me with her blessing and I get one of those days where my inspiration overwhelms my keyboard buffer. Those are beautiful days, all the more so because they're so rare.
Most days, it's a hard slog with little reward, just like anything else worthwhile. Writing, if you want to be good at it, is hard work. It's not always fun. It's hardly ever easy. But at the end you get to turn your dreams into reality so other people can experience them.
That's worth a little existential agony.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I should be getting back to my novel. It's not going to write itself.
--David Goodner, DFWWW member since 2012
photo credit: _Untitled-1 via photopin cc
I also have ideas for a bunch of craft projects, and an urge to redecorate my bedroom. (‘Redecorate’ implies that it was ever decorated in the first place, which might not be altogether accurate.)
Basically, I'm inspired to do just about anything other than figure out the plot snarl in chapter 15 and finish the dang novel.
And that's because inspiration is (to paraphrase Thomas Edison) only one percent of creation. The idea is the easy thing. When it's shiny and new, all made of potential and dream-stuff, it’s fun to hang around with your creative endeavor. But trying to turn that dream into reality is HARD. The words don't come out right. The plot you thought would just flow onto the page instead dribbles out in contradictory fits and starts. The characters you hoped would practically write themselves turn out to be cardboard cutouts with no motivation. And you can't remember how to spell ‘volunteer’, or whichever other word you can never remember how to spell. Bonus points if it's one spell-check doesn't recognize.
Here's the part where you were probably hoping to find a simple, easy solution for this conundrum. But you no doubt realize that if I had one, I wouldn't be writing this essay. I'd be writing my novel, which is what I'm supposed to be doing. Or better yet, I'd have already finished my novel since I have a simple, easy solution for overcoming writer’s block. Then I'd slap together a book on how to write your novel in six easy steps.
All I have is persistence, and I don't always have that. You're never going to get past the block by ignoring it or fleeing from it. I try really hard to write every day, and at least some of that time I try to work on my book. Some days I get a little done. Most days, I get practically nothing done. Every once in a while, my muse graces me with her blessing and I get one of those days where my inspiration overwhelms my keyboard buffer. Those are beautiful days, all the more so because they're so rare.
Most days, it's a hard slog with little reward, just like anything else worthwhile. Writing, if you want to be good at it, is hard work. It's not always fun. It's hardly ever easy. But at the end you get to turn your dreams into reality so other people can experience them.
That's worth a little existential agony.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I should be getting back to my novel. It's not going to write itself.
--David Goodner, DFWWW member since 2012
photo credit: _Untitled-1 via photopin cc
Redlights and Rejections
My husband hates red lights. He will take a longer route through lesser-used roads to avoid a traffic signal. Red lights don’t bother me. They only last for thirty seconds, or maybe a minute at busier intersections. Sometimes, they even give me time to check the map, freshen my lipstick, or make a phone call before the light changes.
We need to view rejections like red lights—a temporary stop on our journey to publishing a book. Sometimes, we need to find another way to continue our journey.
When I’ve really got my hopes up, rejection hurts. The DFW Writers’ Workshop claps for rejections because they know that writer has finished a manuscript and had the courage to send it out. And sometimes I celebrate rejections with my favorite dessert, a hot fudge sundae, before I get back to writing the best book I can.
Recently, I just got stopped by the biggest deterrent of all. My publishing company--which had sent me a contract, edited my manuscript, and sent me a copy of my cover—went out of business. Now that’s red light with a capital R. (I had an extra large hot fudge sundae, by the way.)
Did I decide I wasn’t fated to be published? Did I quit writing? No. The next day I examined my options and sent a query letter to the best one.
But I haven’t pinned all my hopes on that one book. As a productive writer, I have several manuscripts that have made the rounds and I’m working on others. In response to a positive rejection by a Harlequin editor who suggested I submit to a different Harlequin line, I’m polishing a trilogy I’ve been working on. I will submit it with a copy of the editors’ positive comments.
And the sequel to my ill-fated novel is about to be critiqued by a published author (a nice benefit offered by the local chapter of my romance writer’s organization). I’ll use that author’s comments to revise my sequel before entering the prestigious Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Contest. Since I’m not published, I am now eligible for the contest. How’s that for a silver lining?
As I’ve written several novels (that have garnered several rejections), I am also exploring self-publishing, where being able to put out my collection of books in a short time is a decided advantage. Of course, if I go that route, I will hire an editor to help me fine-tune the story and a cover artist to make it look as professional as possible. A good package is very important to help sell a book.
In the end, though, what can rejections teach you? You can get praise for your writing that uplifts your spirits, even though the editor is ultimately rejecting you. Sometimes you receive good feedback about what editors don’t like and then know not to send that type of story to them. If you get a scathing rejection, you may realize how your story needs revising so it will get better results next time.
What else can you gain from rejection? A fighting spirit. Don’t get even, get mad. Show the editors of the publishing world that you can do better, that you are a force to be reckoned with, and that you have what it takes to entertain a reader. So forge ahead and let red light rejections be damned. Nothing can stop a hardworking, determined writer who keeps at it from achieving that dream.
--Carolyn Williamson, DFWWW Member since 1977
photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc
We need to view rejections like red lights—a temporary stop on our journey to publishing a book. Sometimes, we need to find another way to continue our journey.
When I’ve really got my hopes up, rejection hurts. The DFW Writers’ Workshop claps for rejections because they know that writer has finished a manuscript and had the courage to send it out. And sometimes I celebrate rejections with my favorite dessert, a hot fudge sundae, before I get back to writing the best book I can.
Recently, I just got stopped by the biggest deterrent of all. My publishing company--which had sent me a contract, edited my manuscript, and sent me a copy of my cover—went out of business. Now that’s red light with a capital R. (I had an extra large hot fudge sundae, by the way.)
Did I decide I wasn’t fated to be published? Did I quit writing? No. The next day I examined my options and sent a query letter to the best one.
But I haven’t pinned all my hopes on that one book. As a productive writer, I have several manuscripts that have made the rounds and I’m working on others. In response to a positive rejection by a Harlequin editor who suggested I submit to a different Harlequin line, I’m polishing a trilogy I’ve been working on. I will submit it with a copy of the editors’ positive comments.
And the sequel to my ill-fated novel is about to be critiqued by a published author (a nice benefit offered by the local chapter of my romance writer’s organization). I’ll use that author’s comments to revise my sequel before entering the prestigious Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Contest. Since I’m not published, I am now eligible for the contest. How’s that for a silver lining?
As I’ve written several novels (that have garnered several rejections), I am also exploring self-publishing, where being able to put out my collection of books in a short time is a decided advantage. Of course, if I go that route, I will hire an editor to help me fine-tune the story and a cover artist to make it look as professional as possible. A good package is very important to help sell a book.
In the end, though, what can rejections teach you? You can get praise for your writing that uplifts your spirits, even though the editor is ultimately rejecting you. Sometimes you receive good feedback about what editors don’t like and then know not to send that type of story to them. If you get a scathing rejection, you may realize how your story needs revising so it will get better results next time.
What else can you gain from rejection? A fighting spirit. Don’t get even, get mad. Show the editors of the publishing world that you can do better, that you are a force to be reckoned with, and that you have what it takes to entertain a reader. So forge ahead and let red light rejections be damned. Nothing can stop a hardworking, determined writer who keeps at it from achieving that dream.
--Carolyn Williamson, DFWWW Member since 1977
photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc
The Writer's Watchword: Patience
Shortly after graduating from Goucher College’s MFA program in 2010, I was contacted by an agent interested in reading my thesis. This filled me with equal amounts of panic and joy, as I still didn’t feel like a real writer. A few months later he wrote that he loved my voice, but felt that I needed to take the story in a different direction—something that was less about me and more about the people I met. (Yes, this stung. Imagine if you will, dear writers of fiction, what it would be like to hear “we want you to change the main character” and the MC is you!) The insecure part of me wanted to do whatever it took to gain his approval and representation, but the realist in me said “no.”
I am not a journalist. I am a personal storyteller. It’s what I do and I knew in my heart that if I wrote his version, I would fail. I thanked him for the time he’d already invested and told him that I wasn’t the right kind of writer to deliver a journalistic exploration of death. He appreciated my honesty.
Fast forward three years. I turned my thesis into a memoir, Death Becomes Us, and entered it into the Mayborn’s writing competition. Not that I expected it, but I figured if I didn’t win first place with publication from UNT, my plan was to self publish.
On award’s night, it was announced that I’d won second place. When I returned to my table, David Patterson of Foundry Media asked if I would send him my proposal. The following Monday, I did. Thursday, I received a wonderfully flattering email from David that I now have taped to my desk. He got it/me. He understood what I was trying to do and, by golly, he liked it! I felt like Bridget Jones when Mark Darcy says, “I like you just the way you are.”
Isn’t that what we all want both personally and professionally?
So what’s the moral of this story? First, be true to yourself. Realize what your strengths are as a writer and let your anxiety-filled freak flag fly. (Okay, that’s just me.)
Second is patience. Yes, yes, I know. We all want things to happen as quickly as a Twitter post, but sometimes it’s better if we wait and work on our craft.
That’s the third lesson. Even with the proper MFA document in my hand, I probably learned more in my weekly critiques at the DFW Writers’ Workshop. I remember one session quite vividly as it changed my manuscript for the better. A. Lee Martinez said, “You need to decide who this story is about because it’s not working as it is.” Yep, it stung. But he was right.
So, has my world changed now that I have an agent? No, not really. I still can’t eat crayons and write rainbows, but now my morning writing sessions are a little sweeter. When I’m feeling stuck, I look at that email and think, someone got me.
And I have to admit, that’s a pretty cool feeling.
--Pam Skjolsvik, DFWWW Members since 2010
photo credit: WasabiDoobie via photopin cc
Gut it Like a Fish
So, I just ripped the guts out of my first fifty pages. It needed to be done. I'd written them over two years ago and they were nowhere close to the lean, mean, fighting machine they should be. They didn’t really represent what I now have to offer as a writer.
Did it hurt? Sort of. I wasn't as attached to some of it as I once was since I'd put distance and time between the story and me. Honestly, a lot of what I removed was just, "Look, I don't know how to start this, so here is everything you will ever need to know about the main character and six other people whom you will have a whole book to get to know."
And to think, I queried those pages for months before I came to the realization at the DFW Writers' Conference that I wasn’t doing myself any favors by sending out the weakest part of my book.
So I did something that I had never considered before: I redrafted. Blank page, baby. My first fifty pages became twenty-seven. I got the same stuff done, but way less boring.
I'm not a plotter, I'm a pantser. I only knew the end of my novel once I finished it, and that allowed me to ‘fix’ the beginning. I figured out what I needed and what I didn't. (Oh hey, a three paragraph tangent about a college the reader will never see? Yoink!)
I certainly don't think everyone should pick at, revise, and prod their manuscripts over and over again. No, no. Onward and upward. Working on another book and taking the lessons from the previous one is what enabled me to 'fix' my last one.
Sure, I still have to get it to my beta readers. There is also the not-so-small matter of then sending it out to the nice agents who asked for it at the conference. But in the mean time, I'll keep writing my new novel. And then one after that. Who knows? In two years I may look back on my super tight first fifty pages and say, "Eh…it's not that great."
But that's the thing about writing, it evolves with the writer.
--Sally Hamilton, DFWWW member since 2009
Did it hurt? Sort of. I wasn't as attached to some of it as I once was since I'd put distance and time between the story and me. Honestly, a lot of what I removed was just, "Look, I don't know how to start this, so here is everything you will ever need to know about the main character and six other people whom you will have a whole book to get to know."
And to think, I queried those pages for months before I came to the realization at the DFW Writers' Conference that I wasn’t doing myself any favors by sending out the weakest part of my book.
So I did something that I had never considered before: I redrafted. Blank page, baby. My first fifty pages became twenty-seven. I got the same stuff done, but way less boring.
I'm not a plotter, I'm a pantser. I only knew the end of my novel once I finished it, and that allowed me to ‘fix’ the beginning. I figured out what I needed and what I didn't. (Oh hey, a three paragraph tangent about a college the reader will never see? Yoink!)
I certainly don't think everyone should pick at, revise, and prod their manuscripts over and over again. No, no. Onward and upward. Working on another book and taking the lessons from the previous one is what enabled me to 'fix' my last one.
Sure, I still have to get it to my beta readers. There is also the not-so-small matter of then sending it out to the nice agents who asked for it at the conference. But in the mean time, I'll keep writing my new novel. And then one after that. Who knows? In two years I may look back on my super tight first fifty pages and say, "Eh…it's not that great."
But that's the thing about writing, it evolves with the writer.
--Sally Hamilton, DFWWW member since 2009
Baby, I'm Your Man
I dialed in the local college radio station the other day as I made my way down a Texas country road. A singer with a twang crooned Baby I’m your man. For a few beats I sang along, and even allowed for the audacious fantasy of repeating those words in a honky-tonk to a big-haired, big-eyed blonde, then leading her to the dance floor. One hour of boot scooting and then five years later, we’d look back on that night with fond memories, eternally blissful in our newfound relationship.
The reality, of course, is that she’d be much more likely to empty her drink in my face or, worse yet, simply laugh and saunter away. Which is why I don’t generally go around strutting my stuff and puffing out my feathers. But as writers, this is what we need to do. We need to shout Baby I’m your writer from every mountaintop.
For some of us, this comes easy. For others, and I suspect it’s a majority of us, this is not a natural thing to do. It’s important, though. If a novel falls in the woods and nobody is there to catch it, to read it, to dig their feet in the sand, and put the book down because they don’t want it to end just yet, was it ever actually written?
Well, yes, it was written. That’s a stupid question. Of course it was written. Somebody, maybe you, spent months, maybe years, throwing words on paper, taking them off, then putting them back. Crafting a work of art. Moving characters in and out of trouble. But if nobody is ever going to know about it, why bother?
So, write, then write some more, then a little more and once you have something worth reading, get out there, on every street corner, and shout your message. Send out queries. Join a writer’s group, tell people what you’ve written, make contacts, attend conferences, hobnob with agents and editors. Talk to other writers, the ones who’ve made it and those who are still running up that hill. Use social media. Get the word out.
You’ll get knocked down. Many times. But dust yourself off, slip your spurs back on, hop back on that horse of yours, and head off into the woods, shouting Baby I’m your writer. Perseverance, my friend. It will pay off. Just make sure people have heard of you, and what you’ve written.
-- John Bartell, DFWWW Member since 2009
photo credit: alphadesigner
The reality, of course, is that she’d be much more likely to empty her drink in my face or, worse yet, simply laugh and saunter away. Which is why I don’t generally go around strutting my stuff and puffing out my feathers. But as writers, this is what we need to do. We need to shout Baby I’m your writer from every mountaintop.
For some of us, this comes easy. For others, and I suspect it’s a majority of us, this is not a natural thing to do. It’s important, though. If a novel falls in the woods and nobody is there to catch it, to read it, to dig their feet in the sand, and put the book down because they don’t want it to end just yet, was it ever actually written?
Well, yes, it was written. That’s a stupid question. Of course it was written. Somebody, maybe you, spent months, maybe years, throwing words on paper, taking them off, then putting them back. Crafting a work of art. Moving characters in and out of trouble. But if nobody is ever going to know about it, why bother?
So, write, then write some more, then a little more and once you have something worth reading, get out there, on every street corner, and shout your message. Send out queries. Join a writer’s group, tell people what you’ve written, make contacts, attend conferences, hobnob with agents and editors. Talk to other writers, the ones who’ve made it and those who are still running up that hill. Use social media. Get the word out.
You’ll get knocked down. Many times. But dust yourself off, slip your spurs back on, hop back on that horse of yours, and head off into the woods, shouting Baby I’m your writer. Perseverance, my friend. It will pay off. Just make sure people have heard of you, and what you’ve written.
-- John Bartell, DFWWW Member since 2009
photo credit: alphadesigner
The Agent Wrangler
Prior to attending the 2013 DFW Writers Conference, I was asked to be an Agent Wrangler. The job description was simple enough. Pick an agent that you’re interested in working with and take care of them while they’re here. This primarily consisted of transporting them to and from the airport, making sure they were fed and hydrated, and above all, making sure they had a great experience.
I perused the agent list and chose Michelle L. Johnson of Inklings Literary Agency for no other reason than she represented the genre of Magical Realism and I still wasn’t sure of what the difference was between it and Urban Fantasy.
After I picked her up at the airport, I didn’t really know what to expect. Sitting in my car was a real, live literary agent, someone who could help me achieve my greatest dreams or crush them, just as easily.
We chatted idly for a bit before she asked me about my manuscript. Admittedly, I wasn’t 100% prepared to pitch my story, but I soldiered on and fought through it. When I finished, she did something I didn’t quite expect.
She critiqued me.
We walked through my pitch and she helped me tighten it up, moving my hook to the first 10 words, cutting out redundancies and unnecessary phrases and shortening it to a grand total of four sentences.
Now, it’s a streamlined thing of beauty.
During the rest of the weekend, I spent a lot of time with Michelle, acting as her personal assistant, making sure she was where she needed to be when she needed to be there and coordinating the ‘unofficial’ pitch sessions when writers found her in the halls or at the cocktail reception.
On Monday morning, before her flight home, we had a chance to talk about the conference experience as a whole.
“This is what aspiring writers don’t understand,” she told me. “This is why it’s important to attend conferences and meet with agents face to face. You and I’ve met now. We’ve become friends and because of that, I want to read your manuscript.”
“Yeah,” I responded sarcastically. “But what happens when it sucks?”
She smiled. “Then I’ll tell you how it sucks and you can fix it so it doesn’t suck anymore.”
How many agents have offered you that helpful bit of knowledge?
I’ve now attended two DFWCons. Both of them were wonderful experiences. My first one was great because I learned a lot from the classes I attended and I got to meet my favorite author, James Rollins. But this one was more important because I’ve gained something I didn’t think I would.
I now have a personal relationship with a literary agent, one who’s offered me representation because of that relationship. And being a decent writer didn’t hurt either.
Peace, Love and Naked Bunnies…
--David Justin, DFWWW Member since 2010
(David, a mild-mannered minion for the Evil Galactic Empire by day and an ink-slinging raconteur with 828 Web Design by night, can be found on Twitter under @davidcambron and online at TheNakedBunnyBlog.com.)
photo credit: Nuwandalice
I perused the agent list and chose Michelle L. Johnson of Inklings Literary Agency for no other reason than she represented the genre of Magical Realism and I still wasn’t sure of what the difference was between it and Urban Fantasy.
After I picked her up at the airport, I didn’t really know what to expect. Sitting in my car was a real, live literary agent, someone who could help me achieve my greatest dreams or crush them, just as easily.
We chatted idly for a bit before she asked me about my manuscript. Admittedly, I wasn’t 100% prepared to pitch my story, but I soldiered on and fought through it. When I finished, she did something I didn’t quite expect.
She critiqued me.
We walked through my pitch and she helped me tighten it up, moving my hook to the first 10 words, cutting out redundancies and unnecessary phrases and shortening it to a grand total of four sentences.
Now, it’s a streamlined thing of beauty.
During the rest of the weekend, I spent a lot of time with Michelle, acting as her personal assistant, making sure she was where she needed to be when she needed to be there and coordinating the ‘unofficial’ pitch sessions when writers found her in the halls or at the cocktail reception.
On Monday morning, before her flight home, we had a chance to talk about the conference experience as a whole.
“This is what aspiring writers don’t understand,” she told me. “This is why it’s important to attend conferences and meet with agents face to face. You and I’ve met now. We’ve become friends and because of that, I want to read your manuscript.”
“Yeah,” I responded sarcastically. “But what happens when it sucks?”
She smiled. “Then I’ll tell you how it sucks and you can fix it so it doesn’t suck anymore.”
How many agents have offered you that helpful bit of knowledge?
I’ve now attended two DFWCons. Both of them were wonderful experiences. My first one was great because I learned a lot from the classes I attended and I got to meet my favorite author, James Rollins. But this one was more important because I’ve gained something I didn’t think I would.
I now have a personal relationship with a literary agent, one who’s offered me representation because of that relationship. And being a decent writer didn’t hurt either.
Peace, Love and Naked Bunnies…
--David Justin, DFWWW Member since 2010
(David, a mild-mannered minion for the Evil Galactic Empire by day and an ink-slinging raconteur with 828 Web Design by night, can be found on Twitter under @davidcambron and online at TheNakedBunnyBlog.com.)
photo credit: Nuwandalice
The Art of Milking a Critique
A good critique group can take your writing to the next level. How can you assure your critique group is “good”?
- Practice your timed read. Choose a passage you can finish in your allotted time. Practice reading in a conversational tone and measured pace. It is difficult for listeners to give feedback if they cannot understand the monotone and rushed passage being mumbled from the other end of the table. Bonus- Hearing your own words makes errors and awkward passages more obvious. You can fix some of the problems before you even make it to the reading table.
- “Previously on Downton Abbey…” Provide a brief introduction that condenses the important info and gets you ready to pick up the action. You don’t have to review the previous 127 chapters, just genre, main character and recent action. This is also a great time to let listeners know if you are about to read erotica or potentially offensive material.
- Ask for what you need. Are you particularly worried that your vocabulary may be too advanced for a middle grade novel? Concerned that the dialogue is stilted? Don’t be afraid to let your listeners know if you are looking for specific feedback.
- Put on your big girl/big boy panties. Actively listen and take notes when listeners give their critiques. Do not argue, make faces or silently stew over their lack of literary genius. Comments are intended to help you, so take them in the spirit they are offered. Carefully consider all of the critiques and decide what is applicable to your writing. You may think that your character’s repeated use of “ya think!” is endearing, but if 9 out of 10 critique partners say it is annoying…maybe you should listen. Bonus- Listen to the comments given to other readers. You can learn from their mistakes and successes.
- Participate. The critique group only works if people critique. When you are not reading, listen carefully and offer constructive criticism and encouragement. If you never offer anything in critique group, don’t be surprised if the day comes that no one has a comment for you. No one likes a taker. The same principle applies to serving as moderator, timer, board member, cookie baker, etc… Find a way that you can give back to your group.
You may do all of these things and still find yourself in a horrible critique group. It happens; they are out there. In that case, take what you know and move along. Don’t poison yourself in a group that allows personal attacks, untimed reads/critiques or unprofessional behavior.
- Jodi Thompson, DFWWW Member since 2012
photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pupilasgustativas/2742294138/
See Jane Write Good
Here’s the fine print: I’m not an English savant; I don’t have an MFA. I know just enough to be dangerous, and that’s…well, dangerous.
Despite this, I’ve recently found myself dwelling on the nuances of sentence structure. I know what you’re thinking: boring. But stay with me. If you’re awake at the end of class, it means you’ve read my story about men and bras. (I’m nothing if not desperate for your attention.) In the meantime, let's talk about sentences.
Here it goes.
There are a million ways to arrange your subject and predicate, another million ways to splice and compound. It’s overwhelming, really. As authors, we’re on the hook to understand at least a modest portion of this mind-numbing subject in order to build our books. Personally, I hate writing crappy sentences. Out of context, that last one might qualify.
But anyway, how do we construct our 50,000+ word towers if, on the English-knowledge-scale, we merely qualify as dangerous? How can we appear to know more, from a literary perspective, than we actually do?
Here’s my trick: Don’t start every sentence the same way. Get away from what I like to call the “See Jane” syndrome. The moment you start your sentence with a new and different word is the moment you’ve begun to build a tiny literary masterpiece.
To illustrate this, I’ve written a story. Each sentence of this yarn starts in a distinctive way, and that’s important. An unabridged dictionary offers you 600,000 words to choose from, so it would be silly to always begin with “See”. Just saying. And for those who are interested in the scientific names for these syntaxes, they’re included. Perhaps you’ll be able to stomach that portion of the lesson if you consider the subject...
Bras! Men! Men! Bras!
Without further ado, here are eleven unique ways to start a sentence.
At the entrance to the mall’s brassiere shop stood a man with his hands jammed into his pockets. (A Prepositional Phrase)
He walked inside looking for his wife, but instead ran directly into a faceless mannequin who wore a leopard print teddy. (A pronoun)
Excusing himself, even though it was hardly necessary, he made his way to the counter. (A Participle Phrase)
As he did so, his cable knit sweater caught the clasp of a bra hanging from the nearest rack. (A Conjunction)
Panicked, he stepped away, but the bra stretched and followed him. (An Adjectival Participle)
Undergarments of all types began pointing to him as the rack tipped. (A Noun)
Swearing seemed reasonable enough, though he didn’t mean to yell quite so loud. (A Gerund)
To avoid any more unnecessary commotion, he righted the rack and gave it a well-meaning hug to ensure its stability. (An Infinite Phrase)
Meanwhile, his amused wife looked on from the entrance where she had been waiting all along. (A Transition Word and/or an Adverb)
Alas, he had proven her longstanding argument: Men are unnecessarily hung up on women’s unmentionables. (An Interjection)
The end. (An Article)
For real…the end. Wake up. Class dismissed. Go forth and put this little nugget into practice.
Let’s go write something not crappy!
- Brooke Fossey, DFWWW Member since 2010
Despite this, I’ve recently found myself dwelling on the nuances of sentence structure. I know what you’re thinking: boring. But stay with me. If you’re awake at the end of class, it means you’ve read my story about men and bras. (I’m nothing if not desperate for your attention.) In the meantime, let's talk about sentences.
Here it goes.
There are a million ways to arrange your subject and predicate, another million ways to splice and compound. It’s overwhelming, really. As authors, we’re on the hook to understand at least a modest portion of this mind-numbing subject in order to build our books. Personally, I hate writing crappy sentences. Out of context, that last one might qualify.
But anyway, how do we construct our 50,000+ word towers if, on the English-knowledge-scale, we merely qualify as dangerous? How can we appear to know more, from a literary perspective, than we actually do?
Here’s my trick: Don’t start every sentence the same way. Get away from what I like to call the “See Jane” syndrome. The moment you start your sentence with a new and different word is the moment you’ve begun to build a tiny literary masterpiece.
To illustrate this, I’ve written a story. Each sentence of this yarn starts in a distinctive way, and that’s important. An unabridged dictionary offers you 600,000 words to choose from, so it would be silly to always begin with “See”. Just saying. And for those who are interested in the scientific names for these syntaxes, they’re included. Perhaps you’ll be able to stomach that portion of the lesson if you consider the subject...
Bras! Men! Men! Bras!
Without further ado, here are eleven unique ways to start a sentence.
At the entrance to the mall’s brassiere shop stood a man with his hands jammed into his pockets. (A Prepositional Phrase)
He walked inside looking for his wife, but instead ran directly into a faceless mannequin who wore a leopard print teddy. (A pronoun)
Excusing himself, even though it was hardly necessary, he made his way to the counter. (A Participle Phrase)
As he did so, his cable knit sweater caught the clasp of a bra hanging from the nearest rack. (A Conjunction)
Panicked, he stepped away, but the bra stretched and followed him. (An Adjectival Participle)
Undergarments of all types began pointing to him as the rack tipped. (A Noun)
Swearing seemed reasonable enough, though he didn’t mean to yell quite so loud. (A Gerund)
To avoid any more unnecessary commotion, he righted the rack and gave it a well-meaning hug to ensure its stability. (An Infinite Phrase)
Meanwhile, his amused wife looked on from the entrance where she had been waiting all along. (A Transition Word and/or an Adverb)
Alas, he had proven her longstanding argument: Men are unnecessarily hung up on women’s unmentionables. (An Interjection)
The end. (An Article)
For real…the end. Wake up. Class dismissed. Go forth and put this little nugget into practice.
Let’s go write something not crappy!
- Brooke Fossey, DFWWW Member since 2010
The Rocket Science of Writing
Being complicated doesn’t make your story good. It isn’t said often enough, but a Byzantine plot doesn’t equal a complex story. Who really wants a complicated story anyway? What we want are characters we can care about, events that are worth watching, and maybe a setting that keeps us engaged.
That’s writing in a nutshell. If you need a deeper analysis than that then you are probably trying too hard.
Writing is hard enough without putting undue pressure on yourself. Just sitting down and creating a single interesting character is hard enough. The notion that you have to come up with something complicated for them to do is something we’re taught because . . . well, I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because as simple and obvious as the idea of creating an engaging character sounds, it isn’t all that simple. It is where I feel most aspiring writers fail when writing their stories. Give me someone to care about, first and foremost. Without that, you’re almost always wasting my time.
The problem is that it’s very difficult to nail down what makes a character sympathetic or interesting. Plot is simple. Plot is a series of events that lead from the beginning to the end. Plot can be crafted with incredible care, charted out, mapped like a road leading us on a path we’ve traveled a thousand times, yet somehow still worth walking. Plot isn’t easy, but it is easier to understand, easier to nail down. Yet many a book completely neglects plot and somehow still works.
This is the truth I always share with aspiring writers. Stop worrying about your story. Start worrying about your characters. Give them life. Care about their future. Make them worth reading about, and the audience will be happy to travel with them. Neglect this, and it doesn’t matter how well-researched your story is or how elaborate your outline is.
It’s not the ride we care about. It’s the company.
Unless your story stinks, in which case you should probably fix that.
-- A. Lee Martinez, DFWWW Member since 1995
photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bk1bennett/2533718691/
That’s writing in a nutshell. If you need a deeper analysis than that then you are probably trying too hard.
Writing is hard enough without putting undue pressure on yourself. Just sitting down and creating a single interesting character is hard enough. The notion that you have to come up with something complicated for them to do is something we’re taught because . . . well, I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because as simple and obvious as the idea of creating an engaging character sounds, it isn’t all that simple. It is where I feel most aspiring writers fail when writing their stories. Give me someone to care about, first and foremost. Without that, you’re almost always wasting my time.
The problem is that it’s very difficult to nail down what makes a character sympathetic or interesting. Plot is simple. Plot is a series of events that lead from the beginning to the end. Plot can be crafted with incredible care, charted out, mapped like a road leading us on a path we’ve traveled a thousand times, yet somehow still worth walking. Plot isn’t easy, but it is easier to understand, easier to nail down. Yet many a book completely neglects plot and somehow still works.
This is the truth I always share with aspiring writers. Stop worrying about your story. Start worrying about your characters. Give them life. Care about their future. Make them worth reading about, and the audience will be happy to travel with them. Neglect this, and it doesn’t matter how well-researched your story is or how elaborate your outline is.
It’s not the ride we care about. It’s the company.
Unless your story stinks, in which case you should probably fix that.
-- A. Lee Martinez, DFWWW Member since 1995
photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bk1bennett/2533718691/