Sagging Middles

As Bonnie explained on Monday, June 23, we are re-running some of our favorite posts from the past few years. This post first appeared May 30, 2012.

A novel, at its basic reduction, is a series of scenes cohesively held
together by narrative. Picture what we used to call a "granny quilt." It's a collection of crocheted circles or squares attached in rows by basic crochet stitches. Then the rows are connected by another basic stitch. When completed, it's a lovely work of art, that serves a useful purpose.

Scenes in a novel are like those circles and squares. According to The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, by Sandra Scofield, "The scene is the most vivid and immediate part of the story, the place where the reader is the most emotionally involved, the part that leaves the reader with images and a memory of the action" (pg. 3).

That's not to say the narrative is unimportant. Remember, narrative is the stitch that holds the scenes together. It should be written with as much care as the scenes themselves, and should be as engaging as possible. One of my favorite authors is Jamie Langston Turner, who uses a lot of narrative in her novels. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoy her writing very much because her narrative is written with such care, and with such an engaging voice.

But back to scenes. Scenes are immediate. They happen in the present as you read them. Scenes are mini-stories, self-contained, each with a beginning, middle and end. Each scene should contain new and pertinent information, should have a degree of tension, and most importantly, should move the story along. If a scene doesn't accomplish these things it should be re-written with those goals in mind, or if it's entirely superfluous it should be cut altogether. Elizabeth George, in Write Away, has this to say: "Be careful that the scene adds something necessary to the story's development: information, revelation, discovery, sudden change" (pg. 139).

The middle section of a novel is most vulnerable to bogging down the story. If you find your WIP falling victim to a sagging middle, evaluate the story, scene by scene. Is the scene itself tight, adding ever-increasing tension, and moving the story forward? Are the stakes raised with each succeeding scene, resolutely moving toward the climax? If not, re-work your scenes until they are. And if they can't be rewritten to that end, don't hesitate to cut them. "Each scene has a dilemma or a pressure on the POV character, and it is sufficient in its importance that it drives the action and feeling" (The Scene Book, pg. 60).

The antagonist should oppose the protagonist at every turn. The tautness of a scene can be likened to a cord held tightly at one end by the protagonist, and held just as tightly at the other end by the antagonist. One is always pulling against the other. That's what creates the type of tension that makes a book impossible to put down. Tension is built by "holding back information from the reader; introducing questions and then intensifying concerns about the answers; making the reader uneasy about the harmony of relationships" (The Scene Book, pg. 73). Sol Stein in Stein on Writing acknowledges that, "Our instinct as human beings is to provide answers, to ease tension. As writers our job is the opposite, to create tension and not dispel it immediately ... and when it comes to moments of tension, to stretch them out as long as possible" (pg. 106). Elizabeth George says, "And make that conflict rise, as all good conflict should. Don't jump into it with people yelling, screaming, shooting, and having swords drawn" (pg. 139). Stein adds this great piece of writing advice: "The most important moment of tension in a novel is its first use, which should be as close to the beginning of the book as possible. It puts the writer in charge of the reader's emotions" (pg. 107), and that is an important goal of the author.

The narrative between scenes gives the reader a moment to catch her breath. So it too serves an important part. But remember, the narrative shouldn't be expendable, but should be as engaging as any scene.

I'm the type of reader who doesn't ever skip over anything in a novel. I read every word, every time. I love being rewarded with scenes that draw me in and raise my heart rate. And I love narrative that takes me back to level ground without a sense of let-down.

There's so much more to writing scenes that keep the middle from sagging. I recommend all three of these books, but especially the great little primer by Sandra Scofield.

What problems do you run into in the middle section of your novel? How do you evaluate the problems, and what do you do to resolve them?

Where do I begin??

Patti began our Roundtable discussion on Monday talking about what to cut from your novel, particularly at the beginning of a piece. In the Comments section it was asked, how do you know where a story truly begins? And is there a rule about when backstory comes in?

Well, let's see what the pros have to say in reply.

Sol Stein in Stein on Writing (pg. 15), says:

Elia Kazan, brilliant director of stage and screen as well as a late-blooming novelist, told me that audiences give a film seven minutes. If the viewer is not intrigued by character or incident within that time, the film and its viewer are at odds. The viewer came for an experience. The film is disappointing him.

Today's impatient readers give a novelist fewer than seven minutes. Some years ago I was involved in an informal study of the behavior of lunch-hour browsers in mid-Manhattan bookstores. In the fiction section, the most common pattern was for the browser to read the front flap of the book's jacket and then go to page one. No browser went beyond page three before either taking the book to the cashier or putting the book down and picking up another to sample ... first sentences and first paragraphs ... are increasingly important for arousing the restless reader.

I can attest to the truth of the study. If page one of a novel doesn't engage me, I move on. My reading time is precious to me. I don't have time to waste or wade through a slow beginning.

Elizabeth George in Write Away (pg. 65), which is one of my personal favorites, wrote in her journal:

...I'm beginning to have more clarity on the novel. What I haven't seen yet is precisely how or where in the story to begin.

Then, regarding the decision of where to open, she goes on to say:

The way I see it, you have three alternatives. You can begin the story just before the beginning; you can begin it right at the beginning; or you can begin it after the beginning.


Huh?

Well, she actually makes sense as she continues:

Starting just before the beginning, you ... have to come up with a scene that illustrates the status quo of the main characters before the primary event occurs.

If you choose to start your novel right at the beginning, you are making the choice to introduce simultaneously both the characters and the primary event that gets the ball rolling ...

Beginning your novel after the beginning of the story means that you are choosing to start after the primary event has occurred. The ball, in other words, is already in motion and the reader is plunked down in the middle of the action.

James Scott Bell in Plot & Structure (pg. 56), cuts right to the chase and gives us a nice check list:

• Get the reader hooked.
• Establish a bond between the reader and the Lead character.
• Present the story world---tell us something about the setting, the time, and the immediate context.
• Establish the general tone of the novel.
• Compel the reader to move on to the middle. Just why should the reader care to continue?
• Introduce the opposition.

This is all great advice, and by examining our beginnings we can see if we're hitting any of these targets, but it can still be difficult to know if we've hit on the right place to start. Elmore Leonard, who wrote among other things Get Shorty and 3:10 to Yuma, once said, "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." Yeah, me too. That's especially important when it comes to those opening paragraphs and pages, because, like Sol Stein discovered, if a reader isn't engaged by then, he's not going to be.

As an exercise, turn to the beginnings of half a dozen of your favorite novels and study the openings. What was it about those first few paragraphs that kept you reading? Conversely, was there something that nearly derailed you---even if you're glad you kept reading? Judging by the advice of our pros, did those beginnings line up with the advice they gave?

I'll give an example from one of my favorite novels, Blue Hole Back Home, by Joy Jordan Lake. First of all, it was the cover that got me to pick up the book, which was a title I'd never heard of, by an author I'd never heard of. But the cover intrigued me, so I opened to the first page and read:

Likely it was only two dreams crisscrossing paths, one snagging on the other in passing, but somehow the face that walked by me this morning, not four feet away, got tangled up with one from my past ... And I swear time backstitched on itself ...

I loved that last line, loved how it sounded, loved the picture it drew in my mind. But this is what took me straight to the cashier:

In that moment, the smell of espresso got overpowered by the scents of my past: pine needles and boy-sweat, salted peanuts and Coke. I heard bluegrass guitar and banjo all mixed up with rhythm and blues and a rope swing ticking forward and back, keeping time. I was barefoot in the back of a pickup, believing that it was love that makes people brave and gorgeous and clever and kind. Believing, and being wrong.

Man, oh man, that was the line that hooked me. I've read the book several times and recommend it to anyone who will listen, and I grow fonder of it each time.

Besides Blue Hole Back Home, I highly recommend the three books I cited today. I've read each of them more than once, and I learn something new every single time. Write Away has so many notes and sticky tabs it's getting difficult to wade through. It may be time for another copy.

I'd like to hear your observations on the passages I cited. We'll talk about backstory when I post in a couple of weeks.

Resisting Perfection

Katy began our discussion last week talking about the hazards of reading our old manuscripts. We all pretty much agree, even the most successful writers we can name, it's not necessarily a pleasant stroll down memory lane. Patti asked the question, "Can we see our own writing for what it is? I'm beginning to have my doubts." I'm right there with her. As I'm writing a novel I like to think it's pretty darn good, but golly. But by the time I'm finished with it I'm usually so saturated with the project that I can't begin to be objective. It seems completely flat to me. I often ask myself, "Who in their right mind is going to want to read this?" Or worse, publish it? That's when it helps to have a critique partner, someone to talk you down off the ledge, another writer who can objectively evaluate the writing, the plot, the character development, etc. Someone who will also give praise where praise is due, but is not afraid to point out the weaknesses as well. I am beyond blessed to have had Katy as that critique partner with my last three books, and now I have my other Novel Matters pals to lend their wisdom, knowledge and expertise to my writing.

So reading our previous work can cause us some anxiety, but in a way that's a good thing, because it helps us recognize growth. It lets us see where we've strengthened our writing and where we still fall short. Because, sorry to say, we'll never arrive.

One of my favorite books on writing is Elizabeth George's Write Away. I have so many tabs on the pages I can't see the edge of the book. The tabs are even color coded. Alas, I can't remember what the colors mean. No matter. This is a resource book I go back to time and time again, and one I highly recommend.

In Chapter 1, "Story is Character," she touches on our subject in regards to character development, citing a problem that new writers in particular tend to fall into. She says:

I try to keep some basic guidelines in mind when I'm creating my characters. First, I try to remember that real people have flaws. We're all works in progress ... and not one of us possesses physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological perfection. This should be true of our characters as well ... As individuals we're all riddled with issues of self-doubt in one area or another. This is the great commonality of mankind. So in literature, we want to see characters who make mistakes, who have lapses in judgment, who experience weakness from time to time.

If I had my first manuscript to look back on -- the one I discarded in a recent move -- I know I'd see just how badly I fell victim to that error early on. It wasn't quite the "silent movie" depiction of good characters and bad characters, where the heroine is all perfection and the villain is a cigar-smoking jerk who spends most of his time twirling his black handlebar mustache, but it was close. My protagonist was an angelic creature, bearing her many trials and tribulations with quiet dignity, while the antagonist was cruel and rigid in her opposition to the heroine.

To quote Megan: B-O-R-I-N-G.

Well, I tend not to do that with my characters now, which hopefully shows some growth in my writing. I actually had fun creating the character of Aria Winters in Unraveled, a young woman flawed in so many interesting ways. A character who was relatable. And it was the flaws that gave me the story. Elizabeth George confirms this when she says:

... characters are interesting in their conflict, their misery, their unhappiness, and their confusion. They are not, alas, interesting in their joy and security. The first gives them a pit out of which to climb during the course of a novel. The second robs them of story.

She gives an entertaining example of this from the writing of one of her students, who was creating a private investigator in the story she was writing:

[In the first 10 pages] ... we met the PI, his sister, their mother, and their stepfather. the PI was from a large Irish family. His sister worked for him. He and his sister got along well; they were practically best friends, and they loved each other to pieces. On the night in question ... the PI and his sister -- loving each other to pieces -- are going over to their mother's house for St. Patrick's Day dinner. They adore their mother and wouldn't miss a St. Patrick's Day dinner for all the corned beef and cabbage in County Clare. Plus, their mother is a superb cook, the best cook ever, in fact ... So they go over to their mom's house, and the first person they see is their stepfather. He's a wonderful man. They worship him. He made their childhood bliss.

At this point in the chapter, one was praying for someone to come along and put all of these characters out of the reader's misery. Why? Because there was no conflict. There was nothing but happiness, joy and familial bliss. Alas. There was no story

.
No kidding.

Ms. George goes on to talk about the importance of giving your characters flaws. And she's absolutely right. There's no dimension to a perfect character, nothing the reader can connect to. And nothing on which to hang a plot.

Have you ever found yourself writing flawless characters? Been hesitant to show your characters' imperfections? And conversely, not allowed your antagonists to have any good qualities? Have you seen growth in your writing when it comes to character development -- or any aspect of creating story? What helped you see the importance of letting your characters' humanity show through?
 

Shore Up Your Sagging Middle

A novel, at its basic reduction, is a series of scenes cohesively held together by narrative. Picture what we used to call a "granny quilt." It's a collection of crocheted circles or squares attached in rows by basic crochet stitches. Then the rows are connected by another basic stitch. When completed, it's a lovely work of art, that serves a useful purpose.

Scenes in a novel are like those circles and squares. According to The Scene Book: A Primer for the Fiction Writer, by Sandra Scofield, "The scene is the most vivid and immediate part of the story, the place where the reader is the most emotionally involved, the part that leaves the reader with images and a memory of the action" (pg. 3).

That's not to say the narrative is unimportant. Remember, narrative is the stitch that holds the scenes together. It should be written with as much care as the scenes themselves, and should be as engaging as possible. One of my favorite authors is Jamie Langston Turner, who uses a lot of narrative in her novels. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoy her writing very much because her narrative is written with such care, and with such an engaging voice.

But back to scenes. Scenes are immediate. They happen in the present as you read them. Scenes are mini-stories, self-contained, each with a beginning, middle and end. Each scene should contain new and pertinent information, should have a degree of tension, and most importantly, should move the story along. If a scene doesn't accomplish these things it should be re-written with those goals in mind, or if it's entirely superfluous it should be cut altogether. Elizabeth George, in Write Away, has this to say: "Be careful that the scene adds something necessary to the story's development: information, revelation, discovery, sudden change" (pg. 139).

The middle section of a novel is most vulnerable to bogging down the story. If you find your WIP falling victim to a sagging middle, evaluate the story, scene by scene. Is the scene itself tight, adding ever-increasing tension, and moving the story forward? Are the stakes raised with each succeeding scene, resolutely moving toward the climax? If not, re-work your scenes until they are. And if they can't be rewritten to that end, don't hesitate to cut them. "Each scene has a dilemma or a pressure on the POV character, and it is sufficient in its importance that it drives the action and feeling" (The Scene Book, pg. 60).

The antagonist should oppose the protagonist at every turn. The tautness of a scene can be likened to a cord held tightly at one end by the protagonist, and held just as tightly at the other end by the antagonist. One is always pulling against the other. That's what creates the type of tension that makes a book impossible to put down. Tension is built by "holding back information from the reader; introducing questions and then intensifying concerns about the answers; making the reader uneasy about the harmony of relationships" (The Scene Book, pg. 73). Sol Stein in Stein on Writing acknowledges that, "Our instinct as human beings is to provide answers, to ease tension. As writers our job is the opposite, to create tension and not dispel it immediately ... and when it comes to moments of tension, to stretch them out as long as possible" (pg. 106). Elizabeth George says, "And make that conflict rise, as all good conflict should. Don't jump into it with people yelling, screaming, shooting, and having swords drawn" (pg. 139). Stein adds this great piece of writing advice: "The most important moment of tension in a novel is its first use, which should be as close to the beginning of the book as possible. It puts the writer in charge of the reader's emotions" (pg. 107), and that is an important goal of the author.

The narrative between scenes gives the reader a moment to catch her breath. So it too serves an important part. But remember, the narrative shouldn't be expendable, but should be as engaging as any scene.

I'm the type of reader who doesn't ever skip over anything in a novel. I read every word, every time. I love being rewarded with scenes that draw me in and raise my heart rate. And I love narrative that takes me back to level ground without a sense of let-down.

There's so much more to writing scenes that keep the middle from sagging. I recommend all three of these books, but especially the great little primer by Sandra Scofield.

What problems do you run into in the middle section of your novel? How do you evaluate the problems, and what do you do to resolve them?

"He Says ... or Does He?"

As Katy points out in Wednesday's post, Elizabeth George and Elmore Leonard -- and many other experts on the writing craft -- opine that "said" is the best choice when seeking a dialogue tag, for the very reason that it doesn't compete with or interfere with the flow of the dialogue. And I concur. Does that mean I -- or they -- believe a writer MUST ONLY use the word "said" in writing dialogue? Absolutely not. Nicole, in her comment to Katy's post, said, "You know, "said" is boring. Repeatedly "said" is annoying." I agree. The point is not to ply the page with one "said" after another. It's to find a way to make your dialogue sing, to stand out from the masses, by writing dialogue that needs minimal attribution, and by employing action tags that don't simply replace dialogue tags for the sake of replacing dialogue tags, but that add to the story and character development.

Another writing book I'm partial to is Shut Up! He Explained by William Noble. Is that the best title ever, or what? In Chapter 8, He Says ... or Does He? Noble writes that Harold Ross, unpredictable and somewhat zany editor of The New Yorker, developed editorial rules for manuscripts. Noble writes (forgive the lengthy passage):

One of the rules ... was that a passage of dialogue is best followed by "said." Anything else --"shouts" or "exclaims" or "retorts," for example -- is just wasted motion. No verb, in other words, should substitute for "said." It got me thinking ... "Stuff it in your ear!" he ... said? Wouldn't "retort" be better? ... I thought further ... A writer should be able to phrase dialogue so the impact of the words would be clear. "Go to [hades]!" he shouted -- could be redundancy. "Go to [hades]!" itself is a strongly worded statement, and why do we need "he shouted"? Of course, maybe we don't need any modifying phrase at all. "Go to [hades]!" could stand by itself. No "shout," no "said," no nothing. The reader's imagination could probably conjure a fitting modifier.

Today, even The New Yorker allows substitutions for "said." Yet the rule shouldn't be dismissed because [it] ... had considerable merit. A writer should be able to create dialogue that doesn't rely on the descriptive modifier; the words a character speaks should carry the emotion in which the words are spoken:

"You-you aren't my dead uncle's long-lost great-great grandson!"

"Oh Everett, I love these children so ..."

In the first sentence do we need modifiers like he gasped, or he blurted out ...? Wouldn't he said work as well? Perhaps we don't need to say anything -- maybe that would work even better.

In the second sentence, do we need she purred, she whispered --? We could insert she said, and it wouldn't detract from the impact of the dialogue. Then, too, perhaps nothing at all would be even better.

There are no precise rules on when to use "he said," when to use a substitute, and when to use nothing ... Generally, however, we can say this:

"he/she said" is the basic modifier, and it should be used at least three-quarters of the time any modifier is used."

That is my belief, and the principle by which I write dialogue. I believe those 1% of writers that Katy mentioned in her post -- that 1% that outshines the average writer -- are not the ones that find a variety of substitutes for the word "said," but rather they are the ones who write dialogue so expertly that attributes are not simply unnecessary, they get in the way. Consider this passage from Kathryn Stockett's The Help:

My phone ring, making me jump. Before I can even say hello, I hear Minny. She working late tonight.

"Miss Hilly sending Miss Walters to the old lady home. I got to find myself a new job. And you know when she going? Next week."

"Oh, no, Minny."

"I been looking, call ten ladies today. Not even a speck a interest."

I am sorry to say I ain't surprised. "I ask Miss Leefolt first thing tomorrow do she know anybody need help."

"Hang on," Minny say. I hear old Miss Walter talking and Minny say, "What you think I am? A chauffeur? I ain't driving you to no country club in the pouring rain."

Sides stealing, worse thing you'n do for your career as a maid is have a smart mouth. Still, she such a good cook, sometimes it makes up for it.

"Don't you worry, Minny. We gone find you somebody deaf as a doe-knob, just like Miss Walter."

"Miss Hilly been hinting around for me to come work for her."

"What?" I talk stern as I can: "Now you look a here, Minny. I support you myself fore I let you work for that evil lady."

"Who you think you talking to, Aibileen? A monkey? I might as well go work for the KKK. And you know I never take Yule May's job away."

"I'm sorry, Lordy me." I just get so nervous when it come to Miss Hilly. "I call Miss Caroline over on Honeysuckle, see if she know somebody. And I call Miss Ruth, she so nice it near bout break your heart. Used to clean up the house ever morning so I didn't have nothing to do but keep her company. Her husband died a the scarlet fever, mm-hmm."

"Thank you, A. Now come on, Miss Walters, eat up a little green bean for me." Minny say goodbye and hang up the phone.

There's only one dialogue tag in that passage, yet it's not at all difficult to follow who's speaking. And the information gained by what's woven throughout the dialogue goes so far beyond what any dialogue tag could accomplish. That alone is my point, why I beat the drum so regularly about the careful use of dialogue tags.

We all want to rise above the masses. We all want our work to stand apart. Rules will never accomplish that. But Katy is 100% correct when she says, "An author who learns the rules takes a great first step away from amateur status toward publication. An author who learns when it's better than okay to break those rules makes great galumphing strides in the direction of art."

What Did You Say?

The book club I participate in just read Havah by Tosca Lee for our January selection. It's a remarkable novel about Adam and Eve, before and after the fall, from Eve's perspective. Tosca did an amazing job of filling in the gaps and telling a story of how it might have been to be the mother of all mankind. We all enjoyed the book, and gave it an A, but early in our discussion my daughter Mindy said, "I ended up loving the book, but it took me a while to get into it because I couldn't find her voice." Sometimes we just don't click with a story but we're not sure why, so I'm glad Mindy was able to identify the problem, and then to continue reading until she did find the character's voice, because ultimately she really enjoyed the novel.
~

Voice is such a vital element of fiction. Without it a story can be flat and one dimensional. We may see the words, but they don't come to life in our heads and hearts. As readers, we all bring something of ourselves to a character's voice. I may hear Harper Lee's "Scout" differently than you hear her, but there's no question that we'll hear her voice, because it's written with such texture and clarity. I could already hear Scout's voice by paragraph two of To Kill a Mockingbird when she said, "I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out. I said if he wanted to take a broad view of the thing, it really began with Andrew Jackson."

~

Who couldn't love a girl who talked like that? Who couldn't wait to hear the whole story? There's a wonderful cadence to her voice, and certainly an accent. And my very favorite "voice" is going to have a southern accent. Maybe it's my family roots (I'm California born and bred but my parents and grandparents were from the South) but I can get lost in a southern accent and forget entirely to come up for air. If you ever watched Ken Burns' Civil War series, I fell in love with author and historian Shelby Foote, who I could have listened to for hours on end, even if he was merely reading the dictionary. That's just me. So while we all bring something different to a reading experience, we as authors have to give our readers something to work with, and that's where cadence, word choice, sentence structure, etc., come into play.

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We agree that some writers books can be hard to understand, way too subjective, conflicting, and even elitest, but there are some exceptional ones we recommend (see our Resources page), as our Roundtable discussion this week bears out. Elizabeth George, in Write Away, says, "The narrative voice of your novel is the point-of-view character's defining way of speaking and thinking. Mind you, I'm not referring to the point-of-view character's style of dialogue, however. I'm referring to the tone that comes through the narrative itself ..." Case in point, the excerpt I used from To Kill a Mockingbird above is not a passage of dialogue; rather it's narrative. But it's as entertaining as dialogue thanks to Scout's distinctive voice.

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In The Help by Kathryn Stockett, it takes only a few chapters to be able to identify the three POV characters, even without the chapter headings, by their voice alone, because Ms. Stockett has given each her own distinct characteristics. Elizabeth George says voice comes from background, education or lack thereof, position in society, distinctive use of language, vocabulary, tone and "most important ... attitude. More than anything that you can do to illustrate voice for your reader, the character's attitude will differentiate one character from another."

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Jim Scott Bell, in Plot & Structure, says, "No two characters should sound exactly alike ... the words they use should tell us something about who they are." Think of the people you know. Most of the time you don't have to ask who's calling if they fail to identify themselves on the telephone. You know them by their voice. Characters should be as easily identifiable a good deal of the time. To accomplish this, you have to know your characters. They must be distinctive in your mind if they're to be distinctive to your readers. I've learned over time the value of writing character profiles before I begin writing a novel. Some writers create profiles of a character's life from cradle to grave, that go on for pages, even for minor characters. I have no doubt there's great benefit to that, but my profiles tend to be leaner, which allows me the great pleasure of learning new things about a character as I go along, but that new thing should enhance what I already know about that character, and not detract from it.

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Here's an exercise for you: Write a half-page passage that includes dialogue and narrative from a POV character. Don't use attributes or character description. Then write a similar passage for an entirely different character. Maybe someone of the opposite sex, twenty years younger or older, or who comes from a different part of the country or world. Ask someone to read the two passages and tell you what they know about the each person. How close are they to describing the character you created?

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What favorite fictional character springs to mind when you think of voice? Have you read anything lately that lacked voice, and if so, how did that impact your reading experience? (You don't have to name names.)

Writing Books We Have Loved - A Roundtable Discussion

Excuse me. Hello? I'm sorry for elbowing my way in here. I have a copy of Bird by Bird for Heidi, but I still need your address. Please click on "contacts" to send your snail mail address, and I'll mail the book right out. We start our discussion next Monday. You may now proceed.



Last week Patti gave Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird" away to five lucky readers, and I'm delighted for each of them. I too read the book several years before I published my first novel, and yes, it comforted and encouraged me, yes, I clutched it to my heart, and no, I won't loan it to you. Bless Anne. Bless Patti.

After I read her

post, I went to my bookshelf to find other books I won't loan to you, writing books that stirred me up to be not only a writer, but a certain, stubbornly individual kind of writer.

As I scanned the books, I caught sight of the smallest one, nestled in like a first beloved toy crowded to the back of the shelf.

The book was "Zen and the Art of Writing," by Ray Bradbury. It's not the small paperback you can buy at the store - and I suggest you do. It's the Chapra Chapbook Series edition published in 1973 that my professor made me buy in my freshman year of college. It consists of the title essay plus one more, The Joy of Writing. The price on the back reads, $2.50. I notice now, you can buy one on eBay for $25.00. I'm not selling.

Here's a sample, to remind you that good writing is not about money or reputation. It's about juici

ng out what you and you alone can give the reader:

"Notoriety and a fat bank balance must come after everything else is finished and done. That means that they cannot even be considered while you are at the typewriter. The man who considers them, lies one of two ways, to please a tiny audience that can only beat an idea insensible and then to death, or a large audience that wouldn't know an idea if it came up and bit them."

Yet another writing book to add to my list. Thanks, Katy!

I own an embarrassing number of writing books, but I only return to a few. One is by one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Berg--Escaping Into the Open: The Art of Writing True. I enjoy Ms. Berg's writing, because her narrators are so stinking honest. Laughingly so. Gut-wrenchingly so. And that's the kind of writer I want to be, honest. That honest is born of passion and courage.

She says it like this:

Passion is everywhere: in love, in religion and politics, in cooking and gardening, in learning, in art, in d

evotion to one's family, in solitude and the search for self. But if I had to come up with one word to describe what writing passionately is all about, the work would be "risk." Because that's what emotionally intense communication requires: You must be willing (and courageous enough) to show others the most private parts of yourself, holding back nothing. But first you must be willing to show those parts to yourself, to acknowledge in a conscious way their presence in you.

Confession time: Most writing books make me nervous. They spend a lot of time on helping new writers find ideas and that's not my problem: Ideas stalk me and mug me in the middle of other things I should be doing.

For me, a writing book has to be practical. Nuts and bolts. And the book that helped me the most in that regard is an actual workbook with tear-out pages where I learned, by filling in those pages, how to pace the action of those ideas.

The book is Evan Marshall's The Marshall Plan Workbook: Writing Your Novel from Start to Finish. I'm sorry to say it is out of print but even the copies you can get second-hand (be sure and get a new one-- you need those pages!) makes it worth the money. Here's my favorite quote from Marshall:

". . .In general, the key is to keep characters' emotions at the forefront; write about issues, whether large or small, that people care about; tell your story in an interesting manner; pay attention to your story's pacing; and wind up your novel on a satisfying note. You will be writing the kind of novel you most like to read, but you will also be writing to please your readers."

And the workbook showed me how to do that.

I have 5 writing books that, like Katy, I wouldn't loan out. They're the ones I go to time and again and never fail to find what I need. But since our assignment is to choose one and only one, I went with the book that has a boatload of multi-colored tabs stuck to page after page. That book is Write Away by Elizabeth George. The jacket boasts that "bestselling author Elizabeth George offers would-be writers exactly what they need to know about how to construct a novel." And the book certainly delivers. As a bonus, each chapter begins with an entry by Ms. George from Journal of a Novel. The entry that begins the chapter titled "The Value of Bum Glue" reads:

~

"This is the moment when faith is called for. Faith in the creative spirit within me, which is part of what I've been given by God; faith in the process; faith in my intelligence and my imagination. If I've managed to imagine these characters and this situation into being, doesn't it follow that I should also be able to imagine my way through to the end of the book? It seems so. Thus . . . I suit up and show up. I sit down at the computer and I do the work, moving it forward a sentence at a time, which is ultimately the only way there is to write a book."

I'm torn between two lovers (feeling like a fool. . . loving both of you is breaking all the rules) - at least when it comes to waxing eloquent about writing books. I've read several (skimmed most), but only two have rocked my writing world. When I started writing I lacked no hutzpah. But I didn't know how to wield it. Enter Arthur Plotnik's risque Spunk & Bite: A writer's guide to punchier, more engaging language and style. This is the modern response to Strunk and White's Elements of Style. Art gives practical, gutsy advice and examples of how to write out in style - the kind that gets noticed, even published. Here's a sample from his introduction: "With so many gifted authors already sniffing their way to publication, with so man diversions grabbing mass attention, no writer can afford a writing-as-usual attitude. Language or style that is less engaging, less stimulating than the competition is, frankly, dead on arrival. Whether you strive as a journalist, novelist, poet, copywriter, corporate communicator, student -- or even as a yearning presence on Match.com -- something distinctive, some umami-like deliciousness has to emanate from your words or off they go to oblivion."

After that pep talk, Art's book emboldens the writer to unthink, bend some rules, and embrace her inner hutzpah. (A side note: since I read his book several years ago, he and I have struck up a writing friendship of sorts. He even quotes me twice in his upcoming book. Yep. Little ol' me!)

My second book o' choice is the meaty goodness of John Truby's The Anatomy of Story. I applied myself to this book as I have to university courses. It was painful, but worth every jabbing chest pain. It's not a book to encourage yourself with, it's a textbook and includes the looming impression that there will be an exam at the end. And, of course, there is. It's called your novel.

John states the mission of the book in three succinct points (but don't let that fool you).

• "Show that a great story is organic -- not a machine but a living body that develops.

• Treat storytelling as an exacting craft with precise techniques that will help you be successful, regardless of the medium or genre you choose.
  
  
• Work through a writing process that is also organic, meaning that we will develop characters and plot that grow naturally our of your original story idea."

Both these books have moved me as a writer. They made me plop at the authors' feet and say, "Guru me , baby!"

Well, Katy stole my thunder. My all-time favorite how-to book is Ray Bradbury's "Zen" so I chose a little blue book by Les Edgerton titled Hooked. In particular, his chapter on story-worthy problems vs. surface problems gets to the heart of what hooks a reader:

A story-worthy problem always relates more to the psychology of the protagonist and has to be big enough, dramatic enough, to change the protagonist's world and force him on a journey of change. Surface problems, on the other hand, are more like bad situations that reflect the actual story-worthy problem.

What transforms a story is the inner psychological problem of the protagonist being laid bare on the page.

The best sources for significant story problems reside within yourself in the form of your personal demons.

Seriously good stuff. The book is easy to read with loads of examples and ends with insights, titled, "Agents and Editors Speak Out on Beginnings." Now, get thee to the bookstore.

Project! The Art of Voice in Fiction

I’m eyeball-deep in a writing challenge, a sort of shark tank for the ever-developing writer. I’m writing in four—count ‘em!—four voices. My greatest fear is making them all sound alike. And so, I’ve been studying the topic of voice, reading The Fire in Fiction by Donald Maass and Write Away by Elizabeth George, and listening to a podcast with Anne Lamott. Allow me to share what I've gleaned from these skilled teachers.

Elizabeth George defines voice (how brave of her) like this: “The narrative voice of your novel is the point-of-view character’s defining way of speaking and thinking.” Voice is the tone that comes through the narrative, and tone is the product of knowing my characters better than myself.

Before I started writing my current work in progress, I knew all about Lucy, Ada, Mercy, and Pete. I'd created very detailed backgrounds for each. Their voices were determined by their level of education, formal or acquired. And even though they are American-born, they have positions in society and family histories wrought with material. They're nice, of course, to a point (no anti-heroes this week), but the better I get to know them, I discover their prejudices and biases, their inclinations and desires, their bad habits and poor hygiene habits. Each of them has a well-developed belief system, even if they can’t express it. It's my job to know this about them. Once my characters are fully developed, they have unique, powerful voices.

Maass is especially adamant that characters must offer strong opinions to have a voice worth appreciating. This made a little light glow over my writer head. A character who makes judgments about her world is far more engaging. Consider the importance of opinion in your narrative, your story. Perhaps you've walked past a window of mannequins and thought something like this: Good grief, ugly must be the new black this year. No one older than eight could squeeze into that skirt. They must be selling fashion design diplomas on QVC.

Seeing in your head is fun, interesting, provocative. We give that same thrill to our readers by sounding opinions through our POV narrator.

I’ve rambled on. Indulge me another point.

Donald Maass also has this to say about details in relation to voice: “Even the most ordinary people have a life that’s unique. The details that make it so are a secret source of what critics glibly refer to as voice…Details are an automatic voice all in themselves.”

Here’s an example of details fueling voice from Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See:

Three days before my wedding, I began the ceremonies associated with the Day of Sorrow and Worry. Mama sat on the fourth step leading to the upstairs chamber, the women of our village came to witness the laments, and everyone went ku, ku, ku with much sobbing all around. Once Mama and I finished our crying and singing to each other, I repeated the process with my father, my uncle and aunt, and my brothers. I may have been brave and looking forward to my new life, but my body and soul were weak from hunger, because a bride is not allowed to eat for the final ten days of her wedding festivities. Do we follow this custom to make us sadder at leaving our families, to make us more yielding when we go to our husbands’ homes, or to make us appear more pure to our husbands? How can I know the answer? All I know is that Mama—like most mothers—hid a few hard-boiled eggs for me in the women’s chamber, but these did little to give me strength, and my emotions weakened with each new event.

I walk each morning while listening to a podcast called Pen on Fire (highly recommended). The hosts interview the most amazingly talented storytellers, like Anne Lamott. In a recent podcast, the host asked Lamott what advice she had for new writers on the topic of voice. Lamott is the perfect writer to ask. She has a distinctive voice and isn't afraid to give opinions--some that make me wince.

Lamott answered with typical honesty that nothing comes easy for her, including voice. If her writing sounds "conversational and natural," this only happens by writing "draft after draft after draft." Also, she sees improvement with her writing as she ages. What her pride demanded she keep in as a younger writer, age allows her to jettison. I found this encouraging. By the time I'm as old as Methuselah, I should have the voice thing down.

This is only an opening discussion on voice, but these fine authors and writing teachers have offered great pointers for developing voice for our characters. First, know your characters. Second, allow your characters to voice opinions. Third, add details that ground your character's voice in a culture. And last, be prepared to work for voice...and welcome birthdays.

Details of a story line may fade, but the voice remains forever in our memories. Share a story you have read with a distinctive voice. Any ideas about how the author achieved this? What helps you develop a unique voice in your stories? Is it okay to use yourself as a model for voice?

Protecting Your Writing Time

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“The only way to succeed at the writing life is to be able to live according to a schedule that accommodates time to write.” Elizabeth George, best-seller of 20 novels!

It took me a year to start my first novel after quitting my day job. I hadn’t convinced myself that I was a writer, and so, I wasn’t working like a writer. When asked, I was finally able to say that yes I was a writer—without giggling self-consciously—when I dedicated a portion of each day, duh, to writing.

Elizabeth George works five days a week when she’s writing the rough draft and seven days a week for all subsequent drafts. She gets up at 6:00 AM, feeds the dog, takes her vitamins, and exercises for 30 minutes while reading a meditation, something inspirational, and a few pages of a novel. Then she lifts weights for 35 minutes while watching The Today Show. Afterward, she meditates for ten minutes and finally sits down to her desk to—what else?—read a piece of great literature for 15 minutes. Are you tired yet? She’s not! She writes a paragraph or two in her journal before writing a minimum of five pages, even when she is on vacation or touring with a new release.

This is a routine. This is how Elizabeth George accommodates her schedule to write.

Remember, she has twenty—count ‘em, 20!—best-selling novels to her name.

Like Elizabeth George, I’ve discovered the writing life requires sanctifying a time and place for writing. For most of us, such deliberate living doesn’t come naturally. Here are some things that had to happen for me to type “Like a Watered Garden” on the title page and to fill the 320 pages that followed:

Know Thyself I asked myself: When does my creativity peak? What has to happen before I feel free to “play” with a story? What distracts me? I happen to be a morning person who likes to have a devotional time, exercise, and make a dent in the housework before I can play. Everything else is negotiable and everything, absolutely everything, distracts me. (More on distractibility later.) How long can I be involved in a full-on cognitive workout? Old injuries and an even older body limit me to about four hours of sitting at the computer. What motivates me to get a difficult task completed? A party! The minute I finish my writing goal for the day, I’m on the phone or running out the door to see real live people. Sharing a laugh and a cup of tea is my reward for pressing through and staying on my sitting bones. Why do I want to be a writer? Because that’s how God made me. I breathe and I write, not necessarily in that order.

Spread the Word Your friends and family already think you’re crazy to write a novel. Don’t feed their lack of vision by not taking yourself seriously.

There are people in my life who were used to having unlimited access to me. They loved being able to call whenever the fancy struck to chit chat about anything and everything, something I couldn’t do when teaching school. Since I love chit-chatting, no problem, except I wasn’t getting much writing done. And so, I hired myself to work from 10 to 2, Monday through Friday. I called all my frequent gab partners to let them know when I would be working. You will have to remind your mother several times.

Disconnect It’s the rare person (whom I deeply envy) who can write with distractions flying at them. I am NOT one of them. I unplug my landline, close the door, power down my cell phone, and close my e-mail program. My family knows to contact my husband in case of an emergency. He’ll fly home (He’s Superman!) to fill me in. This has never happened in 10 years of writing. This will only work if you are very good at returning phone messages and remember to plug your phone back in at the end of your writing time. I keep a note by my office door: Plug the phone in, silly!

Choose an achievable goal Jane Hamilton, A Map of the World, writes every day, but she only writes two pages a day. She says a day without playing with her children, riding her horses, or tinkering in her garden would mean a rather empty life, not worth the price to be published. But even at this rate, she has a completed novel in less than a year. Another writer I know writes for 15 minutes a day, that’s about three sentences each day or 7.5 hours each month. That doesn’t sound like much, but she accomplishes this goal, and that’s something. FYI: A page a day produces a novel in less than a year, too.

Dabble in routines Lauraine Snelling, who has written about a million novels, says you must choose a routine that fits your level of self-control as well as your personality. This requires some research and experimentation. Authors are frequently asked about their writing routines, so it’s easy to find examples of routines that work for others. Use these as a template, a starting place. Add or subtract elements you know would annoy your muse into rebellion.

Tame the social media monster This is harder than it sounds. It’s incredibly fun to tell people what I’m eating for breakfast. Still, my calling is to write, and personally, that has meant establishing rigid rules for myself about social media (Twitter and Facebook). Because…I. Am. A. Social media-aholic. Usually, I do a quick run-through of my sites early in the morning and don’t return until after my writing goal is met. But lately, the minute I struggle over a word, my mind says: Hey, go see if anyone commented on your breakfast! And I do. I’m considering a limited social-media fast until I complete my rough draft, or is that like an alcoholic saying she can be a social drinker? My throat goes dry just thinking about this fast. FYI: Most mornings I eat vanilla yogurt with wild blueberries and granola

Celebrate the freedom What I love most about my routine is the freedom to leave my office once I’ve completed my goal totally guilt free. Also, I seldom get caught in the panic of a late manuscript. Panic kills my creativity.

Have you developed a writing routine? Share the routines of famous authors! Do routines choke your muse or nurture your muse? Any advice on taming the social media monster?