A New Year, A New Work

For 2013, we at Novel Matters are busy lining up interviews and guest posts with some amazing authors and industry professionals. We're starting off proud with Chris Fabry, whose gritty, suspenseful Western romance, Borders of the Heart, was released just last September. He'll visit us on January 28, so there's still time to read the book before his interview!

Carpe Annum! I love our theme for 2013. That's what the 6 of us plan to do, corporately and individually in the coming year, and I expect you do too. In my case I'm moving forward with indie publishing, and anticipate releasing my next novel on my birthday, July 1st. Happy birthday to me! I'm working hard at promoting Unraveled, and will soon re-release Every Good & Perfect Gift and Lying on Sunday, in both print and Kindle format. Yay!

As many of you can attest, there are a number of highlights in the life of an author: finishing a novel, signing that first contract, holding your published book in your hands, hearing from readers -- which really is one of the best things about being published. But another "best" for me is beginning a new manuscript. It's a thrill all its own, and holds so much promise. I can imagine Harper Lee sitting down to begin Mockingbird, creating one of the most enduring novels in literature, as told by one of the most endearing characters in literature, Scout Finch. I wonder how much Harper Lee knew about her story when she wrote that first paragraph. She could not possibly have imagined the lasting impact it would have on the world around her. She not only seized the year, she seized the ages. Wow. There's no end to the author studios our imaginations could take us to, envisioning ourselves looking over their shoulders as they penned, "Call me Ishmael." "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ..."

As this new year begins, I've just begun work on a new manuscript. In December, I posted the prologue I wrote several months ago, but the prologue was as far as I'd gotten with the story. Yesterday I began Chapter 1. I'm so excited to be back at work. Since I began writing in the mid-80s I've had a novel in the works, without exception. Until 2012. I completed my last novel early in the year, and except for that prologue, I didn't write another word. I've said this before, I know, but usually by the time I'm 2/3 of the way through one manuscript, ideas for the next one are pounding at my door. I begin making a file for the new work as scenes present themselves and characters begin to take form. Dialogue is loud in my ears. I give myself a week or two after finishing one manuscript, then I'm right back at work on the next.

But there was much about 2012 that sapped my energy, both physically and mentally. (Do you sense how glad I am that 2012 is over?) I had ideas for two possible novels, but I couldn't make up my mind which way to go, and couldn't get traction on either one. I dabbled in plot and character development, going back and forth between the two, but nothing jelled. Then, in November, my daughter Mindy and I were making our every-7-week, hour-long trek to Folsom, where we get our hair done, when I brought up my dilemma. Mindy knew about my two possibilities, but as we talked about them, one of the ideas really began to click with me -- especially when Mindy threw out a terrific idea for a cover based on my working title. That settled it.

An odd way to decide on a novel to write? Perhaps. But simply put, it tipped the scales in favor of one topic over the other. And it gave me the enthusiasm that had been lacking. So for the past few weeks I've been expanding on plot ideas and character development, which is by far my favorite part of this early process. I love looking for the perfect names for my characters, and as I'm sure you've found, there are names that are exactly right for the people we create. I seldom hit on the right name, right off the bat. Instead, I try out a name, maybe even begin the writing with the wrong name, which will nag me until I find the right one. When I find the right first name, I search for the surname that fits. Then I go searching for the face to fit the name. Almost always, that's the point when a character comes to life for me.

But in the case of my current protagonist, her name came to me first, late one night when I was unable to sleep because of illness. It was as if she were suddenly there with me on the couch, introducing herself. A 12-year-old girl with an unusual name. And I said in a whisper, "What's your story?" And she began to tell me. Which was a bit unusual, because she doesn't speak.

Oh yes, there's nothing like beginning to write a new novel, to begin acquainting yourself with the characters who populate your fictional world; to discover the secrets they keep -- or try to; or to follow blindly along, not sure in the beginning what you'll uncover. It's as stimulating for me to uncover the plot of the books I write as it is the books I read. In both cases, there's always such great anticipation.

What about you? What's your favorite thing about starting a novel, as a reader and/or an author? And how do you plan to seize the year in 2013?

What's the Point? -- A Roundtable Discussion

CONTEST REMINDER: Write a compelling essay on Why the Novel Matters, and you just might win a Kindle Touch. Read the rules and submission guidelines here.


In keeping with our theme this year, Why the Novel Matters, I'm curious where we as individuals fit into the grand scheme of the world of fiction. Speaking first as a reader, I always have a novel on my night stand. If I read non-fiction I read it during the day. But fiction, well, that is my favorite nightcap. I savor it, usually reading two hours before turning out the light. I love a variety of fiction, though there are a few genres that just don't appeal to me, historical fiction being one of them. However, I recently surprised myself by reading and loving a 1,200 page historical novel titled And Ladies of the Club. (I'll post a review of it in March.) But when I read fiction, I read first and foremost for the purpose of entertainment. I don't read to be indoctrinated, enlightened, or wowed by an author's style -- though I love it when I am. I don't read for the sake of dogma or propoganda, or even as research for my own style of writing. I want to be entertained, even if in a macabre way. I want to be drawn into the story world and engaged by the characters. I want to put myself in someone else's shoes and hang out where they hang out for just a little while. In the past couple of months, I've been aboard the Pequod and smelled the blood of whales. I've rubbed shoulders for the first time ever with Hercule Poirot, just for the fun of it. I've lived in post-Civil War Ohio for more than half a century under the stringent rules imposed on women of that era. I've lived a very dysfunctional fifteen years at St. Elizabeth's Home for Unwed Mothers in Habit, Kentucky. I don't object to finding a moral to the stories I read; I mean, there has to be a point, right? But I want that moral to emerge from the story, and not the story to emerge from the moral. I don't want The Point to be what drives the author. It nearly always comes across as contrived when The Point is the point.

Oddly, I find that very thing is my main challenge as a writer. Because our novels almost always begin with a premise, it's easy to let the premise lead the way. But it works so much better when the characters or the plot are the driving force, and the premise is only a gossamer thread that gingerly holds the story world together.


I recently took my children to an art gallery in our city. The gallery is set up as a series of large rooms, each one dedicated to a single artist. One room was dedicated to the art of a young man who primarily focused on photography. His work was fragmented, often pictures of piles of garbage he had found on his travels. There were never any people in the pictures. There were thousands of images, some tiny, others huge, some were negative images on a spool of film. It was difficult to make sense of it all. I spent a great deal of time studying one portion (one wall) of the bombardment of art until I could finally see the pattern in his work, and, having discovered the pattern, I was able to "hear" what he was saying. In many ways he was talking about what everyone is talking about these days, having eyes to notice the poor, of caring for the environment. Except that wasn't his real message. Under the veneer of social issues was a cry for a specific kind of social justice for a specific people group. What made me walk away from the display was that his message wasn't come and see us, but rather: this is your fault. You are bad and you should shoulder the blame for the mess we are in. The artist was angry, perhaps justifiably so, but his sneaky anger rankled me. I felt like it jumped me, and I walked away quickly into the next room. I don't begrudge this young man his art and his vision, but I learned a valuable lesson as a writer. Bait and switch, even with a worthy, justifiable message, isn't honest. And it offends. Being honest is always best, and for me, being honest means admitting that my best ideas are always tinged with uncertainty.

I love Bonnie's last point, that honesty necessitates a level of humility. Might the angry photographer have been a man too inexperienced to know how many of his cherished convictions will change, that he will one day find himself at odds with his younger self? You'd think a Christian might be exempt from such, but I'm a Christian, and I'm not exempt.

I love authors who are honest above all else. When I read a passage that makes me think, yes, yes yes, that's exactly how it is, but I've always been afraid to see it - then that author is my friend for life. Truth is wondrous, even hard truth.

When I write, I tend to focus on questions I have no answers for. That helps assure that the writing will mean something to me at least, and it's the best way I know to avoid giving easy answers in my story.

I once read a novel for an ABA book club that pulled me along with interesting characters and a fly-on-the-wall look at an American culture totally foreign to me. In the last chapter, the hero happens to go to a Christian Science meeting and proceeds to include a three-point sermon on the supremacy of that group and their uniquely correct view of the Word. Huh? Where did that come from? No one in the story had gone to church before this. No questing after truth, just survival. I got the feeling that the author wanted this material in the book but didn't make the effort to do so organically. I hated it. On the other hand, I've read lots of books embedded in belief systems and cultures that would seemingly counter mine, and I enjoyed the experience. Books like that are journeys. To answer your question: No, I don't want to read books that sermonize about religion, global warming, or politics. I do want to be entertained, first and foremost. But keep in mind, every story is based on how the author believes the world should work.

The last time I sat on the floor and cried over a book was about six months ago. (I was cleaning the pantry and listening to a book on tape: about the only way I read fiction lately.) The author portrayed a mother's last look at her son's body in such a way that I sobbed and sobbed.

That's the end of the story. Let me tell you the beginning. If you had told me the book I'd selected was the author's "impassioned plea" for a cause, I would

never have chosen it. Those kinds of descriptions on the back of a book cover make me slide it back onto the shelf. Touching it only with my fingertips. Saying, "ick, ick, ick" under my breath.

Or if you'd said it would take a stand that's opposite one I've held for many years, with biblically-based convictions, I wouldn't have selected the book. (Believe me, someone is always trying to change my mind about something.)

The book was John Grisham's The Confession, and it made me think about capital punishment in a way I've never before considered it. Maybe it's changing my mind.

But here's the point: Only when I read some reader reviews after I'd finished the book did I find that other people thought it was contrived and manipulative. I was very surprised to hear that. I figured that if he could make me think, he could make anyone think. I salute his skill and thank him from the bottom of my heart for such a moving story.

This discussion got me thinking about books that get the point across without being preachy or manipulative, creating fiction that matters. I think the last book I read that did this successfully was The Help. It certainly has a message, but relationships are the force that pull the story along and convince you that the cause is right. The author put faces on the problem. When we can 'see' their faces we care about the problem without being told that we should. I haven't read many stories that accomplish this so well.

Reading for pure pleasure is therapy. Sharon, I only wish I could stay up and read for 2 hours before bed. It's more like 10 minutes before the book hits the floor, and it's not for lack of interest.

What about you? As a reader do you mind if the author has a heavy hand? If you're also a writer, what approach do you take in order to get your point across, assuming you have a point?

Prequels, Sequels and Stand-Alones

When it comes to movies you almost always hear, "The sequel wasn't nearly as good." That's true as far back as Dirty Harry and The Godfather -- which are the first movies I can recall with sequels. Sure, there are outstanding exceptions, such as the Starwars films, but for the most part, if there's a II, III ... VII after a movie title I tend to say, "No thanks." I'm perfectly content to let my imagination figure out what happens to the characters after "The End." Mind you, I'm not talking about an epic such as The Lord of the Rings, which had to be three movies in order to be true to Tolkien's triolgy. I'm talking about a script that's thrown together to ride the coattails of success of what was meant to be a stand-alone movie.
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Yet producers continue to pour tons of money into one sequel after another on the chance that movie goers will be drawn in by a popular title. There's even the fairly recent phenomenon of the movie prequel, which sets out to show how the story began ... which seems to me to be the purpose of the original movie -- but what do I know?

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That begs the questions, does the same hold true for books? Are sequels and series worth the money publishers put into them? We all know the phenomenal success of the Left Behind series -- and we can debate the merit of that all day -- as well as the success of the Mitford series, which is much easier to understand from a craft perspective. But I believe their success is the exception to the rule. I'm currently reading the second book in a trilogy, the first of which I thoroughly enjoyed, but this second one ... not so much. Maybe because I'm not as engaged with the POV character this time around, or maybe because the writing and the story are not on the same par as the first book. I have to say I'm really disappointed. I wanted this and the next book to be as good as the first. But once again, it didn't happen.

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Still, publishers seem to like sequels and series, so they must be profitable. But do readers buy books 2, 3, 4, etc., in the hope they'll be as good as the first, much as movie goers buy admission tickets with the same hope, only to be disappointed on both fronts?
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In Charles Dickens' day "serialization" was a popular way to present a novel, publishing a chapter at a time in monthly periodicals (which I wouldn't like one bit). But sequels and series in fiction, as in movies, are a fairly new practice. I mean, can you imagine The Grapes of Wrath: The California Years, or Moby Dick: Let's Have Another Go? What would that even look like?

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As an author I've yet to entertain the idea of writing a sequel or a series, though I've been asked many times if I were planning a sequel to either Every Good & Perfect Gift or Lying on Sunday. Sure, it's bittersweet to say goodbye to my characters at the end of a book; still I'm always ready to move on to another story and another set of characters.

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As readers, are you attracted to sequels and series? If so, how often are you satisfied/ disappointed?

Hooked?

Just a reminder that a wonderful novel, Zora and Nicky by Claudia Mair Burney, is our May giveaway. To be eligible, make your first-ever comment to one of our blogs, mentioning this is your maiden voyage, so to speak. We'll send a copy of Claudia's book to you and to one of your friends. Instant book club! The drawing will be May 29th, so--ahem--speak up!

Back when Melville started his epic novel, Moby Dick, with "Call me Ishmael," his readers knew they were in for a ride. Most would have been familiar with the implications of such a name. Ishmael was an outcast, second rate, a bit of an embarrassment, and he was the chosen narrator. The reader was hooked.

How do you decide which book to read? I read the first sentence. If that tickles my imagination, I continue on through the first paragraph, and I may read through the first couple pages. That's when the smokin' credit card comes out.

It turns out that most people choose novels this way. That makes beginnings crucial. Beginnings must sell the story within the first sentence, a paragraph, or scene--first to an agent or editor and then to a reader.

Enter a whole book on writing the irresistible opening scene, Hooked by Les Edgerton, who identifies ten core components of an effective opening: (1) the inciting incident; (2) the story-worthy problem; (3) the initial surface problem; (4) the setup; (5) backstory; (6) a stellar opening sentence; (7) language; (8) character; (9) setting; and (10) foreshadowing. Edgerton claims the first four are the most important with the others vary by degree, depending on the story.

Egads! That's quite a balancing act!

Knowing the components of a strong beginning is one thing, constructing them artfully and effectively is another. So what gold nugget can I extract from Hooked for you today?

Beyond the components mentioned, Edgerton reveals the true need for a hook-through-the-lip beginning: Novel readers are following the same trend as the rest of society. Groan. Their attention spans have shrunk. It's up to the writer to jump into the story in such a way that the reader feels the story's current and surrenders to the ride. I'm not necessarily talking about Class V rapids, but the writer must respect the reader's intelligence, their ability to catch up to the characters and the story without tons of backstory. And by the way, no fair leaving your reader confused either. It's all a delicate dance, to be sure.

For our discussion today: Readers, what makes you commit to a novel? Writers, what components of a strong beginning shall we open for discussion and questions? Anyone, toss the title of a novel with a strong beginning out for us to snatch up.

Pardon me this indulgence. This is one of my favorite openings from The Things We Keep by Elizabeth Berg:

Outside the airplane window the clouds are thick and rippled, unbroken as acres of land. They are suffused with peach-colored, early morning sun, gilded at the edges. Across the aisle, a man is taking a picture of them. Even the pilot couldn't keep still--"Folks," he just said, "we've got quite a sunrise out there. Might want to have a look." I like it when pilots make such comments. It lets me know they're awake.

Whenever I see a sight like these clouds, I think maybe everyone is wrong; maybe you can walk on air. Maybe we should just try. Everything could have changed without our noticing. Laws of physics, I mean. Why not? I want it to be true that such miracles occur. I want to stop the plane, put the kickstand down, and have us all file out there, shrugging airline claustrophobia off our shoulders. I want us to be able to breathe easily this high up, to walk on clouds as if we were angels, to point out our houses to each other way, way, way down there; and there; and there. How proud we would suddenly feel about where we live, how tender toward everything that's ours--our Mixmasters, resting on kitchen counters; our children, wearing the socks we bought them and going about children's business; our mail lying on our desks; our gardens, tilled and expectant. It seems to me it would just come with the perspective, this rich appreciation.

I lean my forehead against the glass, sigh. I am forty-seven years old and these longings come to me with the same seriousness and frequency that they did when I was a child.

Shall we keep reading?