What Really Changed in Publishing

Writing advice abounds online, in books, and magazines. An entire industry has been built around the craft and art of writing (and another industry around how to market that writing) so why do we on Novel Matters keep talking about this stuff?

You can Goggle "how to write a novel" and choose from hundreds of thousands of sites with advice, tips, and know how. Why, oh why, do we keep showing up every week to toss our pebbles into the writing ocean?

Maybe because we're delusional. I'm willing to at least consider the idea. Delusional people often make great artists. So, maybe it's that.

I think when we started this blog back in 2007/08 our reasons were different from today's. It was exciting back then, we were all published and writing for publication. We had daily conversations with industry people, agents, editors, publishers. The future was uncertain, but it looked bright in terms of our writing lives.

Things changed.

There are six of us writing Novel Matters and I don't speak for the other five.

I'm going to talk about what changed for me.

One the surface, it appears what changed was something pretty bad. I haven't published a novel since 2009. That's bad. Publishing novels was the whole point of getting into this gig, right?

That's what I believed when I stepped into the arena. I was here to write and be published.

Things changed.

I've written four (and a half) novels since Talking to the Dead. Good ones, too, though you'll have to take my word for it because none of them are published. Am I bitter? Not even a little. Tempted a few times, sure, but I managed not to fall into that pit. Because things changed.

I changed.

I'm not juggling fluffy puppies in the air, here. I'm not blowing sunshine and trying to tell you I've turned into a writer uninterested in my work being published. That's not the part of me that changed. What changed was when I started the writing journey I was convinced I knew what I was doing. Years later, I've arrived at the place that awaits everyone who journeys this far in pursuit of art. I arrived at myself.

Once, I thought because I read Ibsen, and Chekov, Dostoyevsky, and Hardy, because I read Alice Munro before reading Alice Munro was cool, because I took seriously the three hundred years of literature that came before our time, I had what it took to be a writer, maybe even a good one someday.

 Failing to publish for five years, brought me to the place of being completely honest about who I was as a person. Not as a writer. A person. To shed the layers and arrive at a place where I was forced to be completely honest about the stories I am uniquely qualified to write.

It was difficult for me to admit.

I'm not Alice Monro. I'm not Marilynne Robinson. Or any number of writers whose work has changed me. That was hard to face, but it wasn't the really difficult bit. The hardest part was accepting the fact that the truest stories I write--Bonnie Novels--terrified me. Because I realized the novel I started (and am currently working on) is the very best and most true thing I have in me.

And it's kind of dorky.

It's not high literature. It aspires to little more than entertainment. Its main theme is simple, the premise can be easily stated in thirty-five words or less. And I'm having the time of my life.

I changed.

Maybe that's the reason the six of us show up here three times a week and talk about writing. Because things are changing and we need to talk about them.

We're changing and we need to talk about that, too.

Getting Past What Your Characters Aren't

“Brother Lawrence…saw all of us as trees in winter, with little to give, stripped of leaves and color and growth, whom God loves unconditionally anyway…When you write about your characters, we want to know all about their leaves and colors and growth. But we also want to know who they are when stripped of the surface show. So if you want to get to know your characters, you have to hang out with them long enough to see beyond all the things they aren’t.” Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott

All I have in my writing pocket right now is a seed of an idea. The story is peopled by shadows of characters—a middle-aged woman, her mother and father, perhaps a child, and another older man. Keeping the analogy of bare trees in mind, my characters are mere sprouts, indistinguishable from a stalk of corn or an oak at the moment.

I definitely need to hang out with them. Won’t you sit in? I heard an author interview on my favorite podcast, Pen on Fire. The author—can’t remember her name—interviews her characters as if preparing to write their biographies. She fills notebooks with notes.

Here is my first interview with Barb, my protag. We’re sitting at a sidewalk café in a small California beach town, because this is my interview, and I can do it anywhere I want. There's coffee and lots of chocolate on the table, so this should go well.

Me: You look nervous, Barb.

Barb: Shouldn’t I be? I won’t have a secret left when you’ve filled your notebook.

Me: We’ll start slow. There’s no rush. We’re both after the same thing, the truth.

Barb: Really? The truth? I’m not sure I’m all that familiar with the concept anymore. I thought I was, but in the last six months…

Me: You’ve had the rug pulled out from under you?

Barb: I’ve been swallowed by a whale. Which way is up, really?

Me: Perhaps we should start earlier. What is your earliest memory?

Barb: That would have been the Maple Street house, I suppose. Before Gary. That’s my younger brother. I don’t know…

Me: You’re thinking of something.

Barb: It’s silly.

Me: Go on.

Barb: Okay, if you insist. I was hiding in the broom closet. In fact, I was sitting on Mom’s Electrolux. She was calling for me from the kitchen. I should have gone to her. I knew I should have. I heard it in her voice. She was getting angry. But I stayed in the closet. I remember having to go to the bathroom. Number two. I’m sure there’s some deep meaning to that. I remember reading something.

Me: I’ll do some research.

Barb: You will?

Me: What happened next?

Barb: I was afraid of having an accident but more afraid of coming out. I’d waited too long. She would know I’d hidden from her. Our house was small, not a manor house where a little girl could get lost in her dreams. Mom wanted something from me. I don’t remember what.

That’s it. That’s my first memory. Your book is going to be awfully boring.

Me: Not at all. Besides, we aren’t finished yet. Was anyone else there, in the house?

Barb: I don’t think so. I remember other times, and, you know, they could have been before the closet thing or after, now that I think about it. Once I screamed my throat raw, trying to avoid a nap. My temper was legendary, the topic at many a family function. And another time, I remember eating tomatoes, still warm from the summer sun, with my dad under the apple tree.

Me: Tell me more about your father.

Barb: Dad? Well, he has his passions. Of late, he’s a bit delusional. I worry about his arteries hardening. That would affect his thinking, wouldn’t it? Anyway, he’s always been a bit of a showman.

Me: Is he a good father?

Barb: I love my father very much.

Me: Perhaps my question was too broad. Did you and your father get along?

Barb: Absolutely.

Me: Care to elaborate?

Barb: He’s not the man I thought he was. But then, I’m not sure I know my mother either.

Me: That’s quite a discovery to make at forty-eight. We’ll have to talk more about your parents, but I can see you’re about to bolt. Shall we set a time for tomorrow?

I’m not feeling great about the interview. Getting information out of Barb is like giving birth to a water buffalo…breach! I’m not even sure I like her name. Cynthia? Linda? Lady Gaga? Better? Not? Was this a false start? I’m not going to worry about it, much. After all, this was our first lunch. Once she trusts me, I’ll see her true colors. Her personality will bloom. She’ll tell me funny stories about her dog. Is she married? I’ll ask her tomorrow.

For now, all I know is she isn't all that close to her parents. She seems bitter. But she has nice memories of her father. Her mother, not so much. Chances are I'm completely wrong about her. More chocolate. Definitely more time.

How do you get beyond all the things your characters aren’t? Do you fill out an inventory? Use Meyers-Briggs personality types? Base your characters on people you know? When have you had your first impressions of a person changed by spending time with them? How much time are you willing to invest in getting to know your characters? How do you know when you know them well enough to start writing?

I Like Stories With Bad Words

"Two other problems he had: He would crow the morning in the middle of the night. His clock was off, and that sent his animals into a scurvy confusion. The hundred Hens would flock outside, prepared to work, and find that only the moon was there to shine on them. Back inside they would flock again, mumbling, clucking, shoving, and bitching a nasty bitch."

That is just good writing. And that is Walter Wangerin Jr., in his fantastic novel, The Book of the Dun Cow.

Page 25.

Remember, Debbie said "gratuitous." In the last post, she said, "Gratuitous sex, violence and foul language cheapen storytelling and don't have a place in Christian fiction."

Look up "gratuitous," and you will find that it means, "not necessary or appropriate, not called for by the circumstances." So I would add that gratuitous swooning, panicking or ruminating, gratuitous regretting or sorrowing, and gratuitous falling on your knees in remorse and surrender are all out as well. In all fiction, Christian or otherwise, nothing should ever be unnecessary, nothing should ever be gratuitous.

But sometimes it is not gratuitous, in fact it is the most necessary thing of all to say that the hens were not complaining or griping, they were not grouchy or testy, but that they were in fact "bitching a nasty bitch."

A line like that will, however, keep you out of the CBA.

But it didn't keep Wangerin from writing a Christ-saturated story. And I've never seen him use another such word in anything else he has written. I'd guess that it's not his habit, any more than it is mine, to offend others with his language. He might wonder from time to time why it is so offensive to compare a person to a protective mother dog. I do, don't you?

Or why you can say poo, and you can almost say cr*p, but you can never say s***.

I completely understand, however, why a word that technically means to make love almost always sounds more like rape when it is said in anger.

That was part of what made it hard for me to read "Let the Great World Spin," by Colum McCann. The first part, about the main character, Corrigan was luminous, but the rest of the book was angry and hellish and sad, and when you get toward the end, when Tillie Henderson jokes that she is a f***-up, and then admits that she is a f***-up, and then weeps that she is a f***-up, you forget about her words and hear her meaning, and it hits you hard in the middle.

 And you realize that a life like Corrigan's is the only ray of light she has.

And that's not gratuitous at all.

Out of the Garden - Part Twelve

by Heidi Dru Kortman

(Catch up on the story here.)

“Hector,” I muttered, lest Peta overhear. “Where did you put the Her?” He hadn’t behaved like this since he was a six-month-old kitten. Then, he’d made off with Bree’s doll, “Soo-Z Sprite,” though it looked nothing like a sprite to me, and I’d had plenty of experience dealing with the real ones.

So long ago—I’d set much aside to marry Don. And nearly forgotten.

Hector rolled onto his back, stretching one paw to bat the bedspread fringe. Then the cat sat with his back to me and washed.

“If you’ve left the Her behind the living room sofa, Peta will take her.”

 He hissed.

“Cat, I dislike Peta myself. She took Don from me once, and I won’t give the Her away. Bring Her to me now, before she gets thirsty again.”

“Tá mé anseo.” The Her stepped between the bedspread fringes, climbed the chenille fabric, and walked to the far end of the shoe box, where she crossed her arms on the edge. “Tá mé anseo, I am here.”  Whispery, like wind in tall grass, the síog’s voice I heard carried a hint of annoyance.

“I regret needing to move you from pillar to post. Peta is persistent.”

As the Her cocked her head, obviously considering my words like any person would, the door knob rattled hard. That had to be my grandson. “Callan, stop that,” I said.

“Gran, where are the sweets?”

“The price was too expensive.” I tipped one of my throw pillows, and gestured the Her to hide in the cavernous space. The Her sprinted from the shoe box and ducked into the sheltering darkness. 

I heard Callan stomp away. Spoiled child.

I lifted the throw pillow, grinning. “Dia dhuit. Hello,” I said as the síog emerged. “Peta believes you’re a French fae, but you’re speaking Gaelic.” Neachtar, the word this síog had whispered, rolled back time to my years in a Donegal village.

Nodding, she braided her hair. “Dia dhuit. Sive Orlagh is ainim dom.”

“A hundred thousand welcomes, Princess Orlagh. Maeve is ainim dom.”

Thank you, Heidi!

Heidi Dru Kortman, CWG Apprentice graduate and ACFW member since 2004, has devotionals, and poetry in Breaking Barriers, Disability Concerns, Christian Reformed Church in North America, a devotional in One Year Life Verse Devotional, Tyndale October 2007, a short story in Harpstring, vol. 1, issue 2 Written World Communications. She writes flash fiction on AvenirEclectia.com. She is also an active member of Toastmasters International.

A Title By Any Other Name

Writing is hard. Titles are harder.

At least they are to me and apparently to a lot of other writers, if the list of bad titles on my Google search are any indication.  The (ahem) interesting titles ranged from poor taste to silly, and from inadvertently offensive to boring.

The font type, size and color of the title on the front cover and spine of a book are meant to catch a reader's eye, but the words are most critical in convincing a browser to become a purchaser.

Ever tried to recommend a book to a fellow reader but you just couldn't remember that title? Maybe the title said nothing about the book or was difficult to pronounce, or just too long. Wonderful stories sometimes get tangled in their titles. The Curious Case of the something something Night? The Potato Pie Society what?   If you can't remember the title, how will your friend who has never seen the cover remember it?

Here are a few books that (thankfully) were saved from their original titles:
 First Impressions changed to...Pride and Prejudice

 Something That Happened  changed to...Of Mice and Men
The Dead Un-Dead  changed to...Dracula
Trimalchio in West Egg  changed to...The Great Gatsby
Atticus changed to...To Kill a Mockingbird

Titles are sure tricky business.  Here are some titles that could have used a second opinion:
Still Stripping After 25 Years (Quilt in a Day) for quilters
Who Cares About Elderly People  A child's book about caring for your elders
Everyone Poops  I used this book for potty-training my kids and it gets the point across, but still...
Are Women Human? an International Dialogue   Just, whatever

Some writers know the title when they begin a manuscript. It comes to them and settles in and is proven out by the story. Good for them! That hasn't been my experience.  If it also hasn't been yours, you might try this:

• Make a word list for your theme - distinctive action words rather than passive, forgettable ones. Does a word jump out at you?
• Write a paragraph about the story, or read through your synopsis to find a meaningful word or phrase that sums it up. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, considering Gone With the Wind was almost titled Tomorrow is Another Day
• Try alliteration or rhyme: Angela's Ashes; Captains Courageous; Sense and Sensibility; Amelia Bedelia
• Give clues as to what your story is about.  Something Wicked This Way Comes; The Immortal life of Henrietta Lacks (this one's non-fiction); The Miracles of Santo Fico
• Use a name that's important to the story: Frankenstein; Rebecca; Gilead; Jewel; Matilda
• Use a catchphrase (or part of one), but consider that All's Well That Ends Well was better as War and Peace. 
• Use a phrase from another literary work: For Whom the Bell Tolls; All the King's Men; The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag
•  Use a play on words: Tails From the Garage (okay, my daughter used this for her collection of stories about her cat when she was young, but you get the picture)

This is a short list to get you started. Remember that your publisher may change the title, so hold it loosely.
Titles cannot be copyrighted, so it is especially important to do an internet search of the title you have chosen in order to make yours distinctive. Also consider that you may be repeating the title frequently in your marketing efforts, so don't choose one that is a challenge to say.

Do you have a title for your work-in-progress that you would like to share, and perhaps a one-sentence pitch? We would love to hear.




 

Monday at the Movies: Philip Yancey

Latayne here: I have said all my Christian life that when I grow up, I want to write like Philip Yancey. Is he impressive in person? No, he's humble and introverted. I'm surprised he ever even agreed to do interviews. But he's the best of the best, in my opinion, of thoughtful, compelling writers of non-fiction.

http://youtu.be/WsqwVMuJhXY

Blessed Easter!

Our serial story will continue next week. Today, a Good Friday poem by Latayne Scott.