Scary

Okay, it's a bit late for scary stories, but we're not quite to Thanksgiving yet. We're still only days past Halloween, the time for cobwebs, costumes and creepy stories.

I'll spill a secret: I love creepy stories. I was the kid who watched every B-level vampire film that came around - back when all vampire films were B-level, full of delightful cliches like hungry glances toward bared throats, women running through foggy moors, and spot-lit tooth reveals.

What was better than B-level was Rasputin the Mad Monk, with Christopher Lee. That one really scared me, and I haven't gotten over it yet.

But I do draw lines. I don't like on-screen violence. I don't like blood-spattered camera lenses. And especially, I don't like exorcist movies. I like to be scared by mythologies, by suggestion and atmosphere. I'm not fond of genuine, unfiltered evil.

So it came as a surprise one recent (Sunday!) afternoon, when I opened my latest envelope from Netflix, and found an exorcist film titled The Rite. I'd forgotten it was in my queue, and I couldn't remember why I'd put it there.

A quick read of the description provided the explanation: Anthony Hopkins had a starring role. Enough said.

So I slipped it in the player, and told my husband we could turn it off if things got too bad.

To my surprise, they didn't. In fact, when the film was over, I walked with a lighter step, and praised my Lord with a truer voice.

I don't go around watching these things, so I can't explain when or how I became so jaded to all the cliches: There's the sweet young thing talking in a male voice while twisting herself in two. Ah, of course, she's coughing up nails. No surprises here.

What saved it, of course (apart from much in the story that was not cliched), was Anthony Hopkins. I'm amazed the same man can play someone deeply good one moment and deeply evil the next, but in so doing he manages to expose the dirty devices of the devil for the weak things they are, and reveals that their chief strength lies in deceiving us to think that everything depends on us.

We are weak, you see, but Jesus is strong.

I recently discovered a short talk titled The Arc of Storytelling by Bobette Buster, and in that film she brings up a book, The Uses of Enchantment by Holocaust survivor and leading child therapist, Bruno Bettelheim.

Ms. Buster paraphrases the seeds for Bettelheim's thought as follows: 

"Children who had been in the death camps, who had been read the true Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales, these children had been taught that someday you may be thrown into an oven; someday a wolf may come to the door. But guess what? There is an inexorable force in the universe there to support you. If you will keep going, you will discover the faith, the courage to move on."

Put differently, there's no use hiding from your fears. Much that you fear will come your way. But there is more, much more. There is an inexorable force in the universe. We are weak, but he is strong.

How about you? Have scary stories ever been a source for truth for you in the way Ms. Buster put it?

Please do chime in. We love to read what you have to say.

The Benefits of Partnerships

I joined my first critique group a number of years ago as a fairly new writer. There were six or seven other writers, all much more seasoned than I was, and several who were published. I was scared to death to read my work out loud to the group. But by the 2nd or 3rd meeting, they had bolstered my confidence and convinced me I might actually have some talent. I stayed with The Write Bunch for three years, and learned some invaluable things about writing. I'm still in touch with the woman who led the group. She acted like a proud mama when I gave her copies of my published novels three years ago.

I wasn't in another critique group for 18 years or so. That's when I joined a group headed by my agent, who lived just an hour away from me. Her group was composed of writers who were very good at their craft, and I very much enjoyed the time I was with them. I was always reminded of the Scripture, "iron sharpens iron" whenever we met.

Here are a couple of important suggestions to help you manage a successful critique group. When you start a group, be sure to establish the rules and stick to them. Whether you submit your work to each other in advance, or read aloud at each meeting, it's important that everyone participates. It's equally important that everyone has equal opportunity to be critiqued. That means it's important to keep the group to a manageable number. I recommend no more than eight, and even that number would necessitate a lengthy meeting. So make sure the membership is commensurate to the time you are able to allot to the meeting.

While I benefitted from the groups I participated in, what has been most beneficial to me as a writer has been having Katy Popa as a critique partner for the past seven years. We met at a writers' conference and were drawn to each other initially by our work. Our writing styles were similar, as was our level of ability. That united us professionally, but getting to know each other and discovering the similarities we share on many levels united us personally. I haven't written anything these past seven years that Katy hasn't critiqued, and vice versa. We are critique partners in the truest sense, but more than that, we are close, close friends. And it all came about because of our writing.

The same type of relationship -- professional and personal -- is now enjoyed by the six of us who co-write this blog. We're separated by states, and even countries, but that hasn't hampered the deep friendship that's developed amongst us. We're all available as critique partners to one another; and we have the privilege of being "first readers" of each other's work. Believe me, that is a thrill. We're also prayer partners, and we continually encourage one another.

You may find yourself without a writing friend who lives next door, down the street, or across town, but that should never keep you from finding a kindred soul who shares your passion, who writes at a similar level as you, and who desires the kind of relationship I've described in this post. If you are able to, attend a writers' conference, if for no other reason than to put yourself in a position to find a critique partner/writing friend. It's worth the price of the conference. If you're unable to do that, or don't want to wait for the next conference, reach out to someone in the Novel Matters writing community, or another writing blog you may follow. We've seen relationships build between our followers and it delights us to no end. Take a risk and take advantage of this community. It's a win/win for everyone.

BK, I understand your reticence to join or create an online critique group, but a critique partner is a bit different. A one-on-one partnership is harder to flake on, and easier to maintain.

Megan, I hear your frustration. I truly hope you find a writing partner within this community like I found with Katy.

Please share your experiences with either a critique group or a critique partner. How have you benefitted? What has worked, and what hasn't?

Recipe for the Perfect Writers Group

Patti started a great discussion about the importance of critique groups, or writing groups, and I have to admit that the only writing group I am in at this time is Novel Matters. I have been in three different critique groups in the past 20 years, and they all deteriorated into social gatherings or dwindled in numbers. The reasons:

• No one had time to read the manuscripts ahead of time
• No one had time to write in general
  
• Members dropped out because it wasn't a priority
• Members dropped out because they were highly sensitive & wanted to hear that their writing was perfect
  
• The writing levels were at different ends of the spectrum
  
• Personalities got in the way

I met a wonderful lady on the plane trip back from a family reunion this weekend in Tennessee. She commented on my current read, How To Be An American Wife, and showed me her Nook. The conversation branched off into a discussion of her book club and she gave me some great suggestions for the new book club just starting at our church. She mentioned, as with a writers group, that her book club had become an extended family - providing dinners for her when she went through chemo and providing support when she had to find a care home for her husband with Alzheimer's. I began to put together my own recipe for my idea of a perfect writer's group:

1. Start with really good coffee. Add dark chocolate.
2. Gather the freshest ingredients of time, sensitivity and skill for each member to do a proper manuscript critique
3. Stir gently so feelings will never be hurt nor their hopes fall after processing
4. Fold members in to provide support for each other, even outside of writing
   
5. Stick to the recipe so that the group will stay focused on the purpose for meeting and not digress
   
6. Do not omit any ingredients. Each member should contribute and not become spectators or feel intimidated by the quality of writing of others in the group
   
7. Treat this unique recipe as a treasured family secret: What happens in the group, stays in the group
8. Research new recipes: Each member would read and report on a book on writing OR the group would read a book on writing together and discuss it
   
9. Follow the proper baking time, making adjustments for success: Consider the needs of the whole group in setting and date. Every member should respect the time and date of the meetings and be faithful in attendance.
   

What would you add to this description of the perfect writing group? What negatives or positives have you experienced? If you're not in a group at the present, what would make you set aside time for it? We would love to hear!

Growing a Bigger Heart: Writers Groups

Writing groups? According to Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird: "At worst, they will suggest that you have no visible talent whatsoever and should not bother writing anything ever again, even your name." At the best, you grow a bigger heart.

About ten years ago I was desperate for someone who wasn't my husband or my mother to read my early pages to see if I shouldn't beg for my job back or commit myself. After all, who believes they can actually write a novel? I needed a dose of reality.

So I attended a one-day romance writing seminar organized by a local writers group. I had no intention of writing romances, especially after outlining a story on a half-sheet chart as the teacher had suggested, but I'd gone to the seminar with quite another purpose in mind--to find a critique group to call my own.

At the end of the seminar, one of the organizers asked for writer news, like Grand Junction is the hotseat for all that's literary in North America. I stood up, swallowed hard, and asked for anyone interested in starting a critique group to talk to me afterward. It turns out I'd been sitting with the only three women at the seminar interested in starting a critique group. It was a divine seating arrangement.

We've been together for twelve years. Imagine that.

Anne writes about changes she saw in four of her students after they'd become a group: "...helping each other has made their hearts get bigger. A big heart is both a clunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontenel, where you can see the soul pulse through. You can see this pulse in them."

A critique group, which may sound too editorial for you, or a writers group, which may sound a little ambiguous, is an absolute necessity for a writer. (Actually, I think all Christians should be in a writers group.) This is where I learned to see the best in what others offered and to speak the truth in love about their homely "children" without eviscerating them. It's also where I learned to hear the truth spoken in love...and to listen. In other words, my heart got bigger. And my writing improved.

Our critique group's motto is something like this: We love each other enough to tell the truth about our writing and believe we are capable of choosing what to listen to and what to do with what has been said, even if that means totally ignoring everything.

Here's a typical conversation when my work is being critiqued. I'm the quiet one:

"I wasn't quite clear on what you were trying to say here, Patti. Did anyone else have a problem?"

"I was totally confused. Is the girl trying to scale a wall or emote on the history of bricklaying?"

"I loved it. I cried my eyes out. Although, you may consider taking everything out about the wall. You have twenty-three metaphors and two similies in this passage alone. Maybe limit yourself to one a chapter."

"I'm a little confused about the relationship between the baker and the rapper."

"I found the premise of their relationship flakey." Lots of laughing. "Sorry, no, really. Perhaps the rapper's brother knows the baker, maybe they served in the war together."

"That's brilliant! That way the whole motivation for what happens between the rapper kid and the girl makes sense. You should use that."

"Did you mean to use the word "emigrate" here or did you mean "immigrate?" According to the Oxford English Dictionary, "emigrate" is when someone leaves a country to live somewhere else and "immigrate" means to come to a certain country. But then, this is another one of your extended metaphors. You could delete that whole page without losing any meaning."

"Are you bummed about the metaphors?" She holds up a page from my manuscript. "Check out all the smiley faces. I loved the way you developed these characters. However, you are a little heavy-handed with the clever descriptions, and check out how many prepositional phrases you have in this one sentence. But, overall, this is your best writing yet. This is a New York Times best seller in the making. If anyone can get this passage to work, you can. I love what you're doing here."

"Me too."

"All it needs is a bit of tweaking, kiddo."

I may not feel loved at just that moment, but I do after I've gone home in a funk, tossed and turned in bed for hours, and finally gotten up to read my critique group's margin notes. Clearly, they looked at my manuscript with the intensity of surgeons. If my literary slip is showing after I've revised, it's nobody's fault but mine.

Are you in a writers/critique/blood-letting group? Online or in person? What is the greatest benefit of a writers group? Pitfalls? How did you find your group? Do you have a bigger heart?

Five Keys to Getting Information You Need from Those “With Skin On”

I’ve had three non-fiction books published in which I was working with other people’s stories, and I’m in the middle of a fourth right now. In addition, I’ve had at least a thousand articles and other short pieces published. In almost all of them, I wrote about things outside my own personal experience, and had to ask for quotes and information from others.

That’s been the case, too, with most of my fiction. The Internet’s bottomless well of information sometimes can’t supply what you need.

You, like the scared little boy at bedtime whose mother assured him that angels would guard him, may need someone “with skin on.”

Here is some of what I have learned about asking people questions for my writing:

1) The more famous the source, the longer lead time you need to give them. I’ve interviewed Rosa Parks, Ruth Bell Graham, Frank Abagnale, and other luminaries. If they’re famous, they’re busy. For a project I'm working on right now, I waited almost two months for Gary Sinese’s interview.

2) Be completely upfront (and humble) about what you intend to do with their comments and information. If you’re writing something on speculation (in other words, without a contract), say so when you are asking to speak to them.

3) Let the person decide the format – telephone conversation, in person (when and where) or email.

4) Ask permission before you record any interview, and get their permission on tape.

5) This is the best way to get interesting content: After you have asked the questions that get at the information you think you need (facts and figures, etc.), then ask what I call “quirky questions.” They include words like “surprising,” “unusual,” “frightening,” and other cues. Here are some (generic, to be personalized to your person):

What was the most surprising thing you learned from your experience?

Were you frightened? When?

What was the most unusual thing that happened?

What do you think that my readers would want to know, if you could give them a personal message?

If you could go back and give yourself advice at the age of your incident, what would you tell you?

What disappointed you?

What do you know about this situation that no one else knows?

Anything bizarre about this situation?

You get the idea! Now put your skin on and go gettum!

What is the most important aspect of fiction?

There are 6 billion things to know and learn about writing fiction. I've counted. Stayed up all night once counting and counting.

Inevitably, the question arises: What is the most important aspect of fiction? What is the essences of what makes fiction necessary? It's a question I've been thinking about for a long time. And I'm going to share my answer with you.

Yes, I have an answer.

Really. I do.

Stop smiling, I'm serious.

In order for me to tell you my answer, I must tell you a story.

Once upon a time, I sat at a kitchen table reading part of a manuscript. The author sat across from me and watched me read. She fidgeted, picking at her nails, crossing and uncrossing her legs, noisily tried to be quiet. Her squirming made me squirm too. She wanted my opinion regarding the quality of her writing and what I thought of her work in general. That’s what I thought she wanted. But I was wrong. I read on, and as I did, a strong emotion rose in me: boredom. Uh oh.

When I finished reading the scene, I pushed the pages toward her, across the table. She pulled her hands back, as if the papers might be poisoned. She wouldn't touch them. "Should I keep writing?" she asked. "Am I good enough? Or should I just forget it?" She didn’t want my thoughts on her work, she wanted something very different. Impossible.

I pulled the pages back and glanced through them again. I’m not sure why I did this. Perhaps I hoped the answer was written somewhere between the neatly typed lines. But I understood what she was asking. It’s the question that keeps most writers awake some nights.

I read through the first several lines again.

She had skills. Technically, her writing was nearly perfect. Her transitions were smooth, her characters well defined. She had nice, clean descriptive, and enviable grammar.

But.

Hmmm. Something was missing. What was it? Plot? No, she had a plot all plotted out with plot points and pointed plotting. Better go over my handy-dandy fiction must-have checklist:

Writing skill ............... Check!

Clean manuscript ......... Check!

Good plot ................... Check!

Believable characters...........Check!

Yet, the thing just laid there like a dead mackerel, staring up at me with its one good eye.

Then it hit me! (the answer, not the dead mackerel)

It was missing one thing. The MOST IMPORTANT THING OF ALL.

I had to answer her. We were in a small kitchen and she was blocking the only exit. I said, "You’re the only one who knows if you should keep writing. My advice is to stop writing so hard and start telling stories."

She was technically flawless, and nothing more.

Readers want a great story told in an interesting way. They want to be engaged, have fun, get lost, fall in love, feel something new, and forget time and place.

But doesn't great writing help all of that to happen? Yes, but good writing is seamless--so good it disappears in the background and the reader can focus on the story.

What's the most important aspect of writing? Storytelling.

Writing is only the means. The story is what matters.

Writers are far better off mucking around in storytelling than we are perfecting our grammar, or mastering punctuation, or detailing endlessly boring events in an attempt to “show not tell”. Story barrels down the hillside and sweeps us along with it. It roars, and whispers, and demands attention. It is bigger than its writer and readers combined. An untamed thing. Telling it takes everything we have: our skill, our action, our guts.

Have you got the swagger of a storyteller? Are you willing to abandon safe places for the sake of story? Have you done so? Share!

October Roundtable: The Virtual Costume Party

October is my favorite month of the year. In my part of the world, this is when heaters and sweaters and flannel bed sheets come out, when maple leaves turn gold and those other trees down the street turn red, and the sunlight that filters into my home is so golden you can feel it with your eyes closed.

And this is the month when I met my husband, and the month when both of my boys were born.

But it's that last day that got me excited as a child. I always dressed as a gypsy for Halloween, because that meant I got to wear all my mother's jewelry and her reddest lipstick.

These days I dress as the nice lady at the door with the candy. But today we're holding a virtual costume party here at Novel Matters. There's one rule: you have to come as an author, and since it's only virtual, you must tell us who you are and what you are virtually wearing. Have you come as Jane Austin, in pearls and an empire dress? Or as Edgar Allan Poe sporting a raven on your shoulder?

We ladies at Novel Matters will break the ice - but that means we get first dibs on the costumes.

And I get first first dibs: I have come to the party as Barbara Cartland. I'm wearing a formal dress hand beaded top to toe, and a Marie Antoinette wig with the bottom ringlets clipped off. And best of all, I've got on all my mother's jewelry, and her reddest lipstick, natch!

I'm at the party dressed in a stola, indigo in color. It is a long shift, and draped over my shoulders and arm I am wearing a shawl-like palla. My palla is red, dyed with the cheapest tint available. My clothing is rough-woven, because I no longer have the wealth into which I was born in Roman society. Because I am a Gentile woman living among Jews and Gentiles who have become Christians, I keep my head covered. I am Priscilla, the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews.

I'm wearing a white shirt and a burgundy cravat with a matching brocade vest. My pants are tapered grey made of the finest wool, as is my frock coat. My tweed skimmer isn't just for show; it keeps my head warm against the London fog. My Vandyke is trimmed and brushed in an effort to put my best face forward. My shoes are well worn and comfortable for walking the city as I am wont to do, as I observe my fellow Londoners, all the while making notes on whatever scraps of paper I can find as I work on my latest installment of The Mystery of Edwin Drood, which is sure to be my finest novel yet.

My hair is swept into a loose but tidy bun. Three strings of pearls lay at my throat, of course! My outfit is tailored, but clearly I've lost some weight in my later years. And oh the life I've lived. My parents were raised during the Civil War and we left the states for China before the modern world had much of an influence on me. And I like it that way. I wrote for the voiceless women of China and earned both the Nobel and Pulitzer for my efforts, but you won't see my work--and I was prolific--included in modern anthologies of women writers. Perhaps I was considered too conventional for all that. Anyway, when I show up at the party, please have plenty of fortune cookies and bittersweet chocolate. You may call me Pearl.