Coming Back to the Page

The dust and details of daily life can make it hard for a writer to focus on creative work.  Standard advice for getting around this — scheduling writing sessions the way one would a lunch date or doctor appointment and  setting specific word/page quotas — can help if the issue is basic time management.  Every so often, though, complications arise that are bigger than just not knowing how to turn off the television or keep the phone off the hook.  

Sickness, death, divorce, and job loss can transform a world in an instant, demoting a little thing like drafting a new story or novel chapter to the same category as cleaning the toilet bowl.

 I experienced this firsthand this past September when a pivotal member of an organization I devote a lot of time to quit with no notice.  The next eight weeks were like a National Lampoon movie turned inside out . . . a tragedy of effort and errors as myself and one other brave soul struggled to carry on while new managers were solicited and interviewed.  Time to write?  I didn’t have time to pee!  Meals consisted of fastfood breakfast sandwiches and microwavable popcorn eaten at our desks, often with one hand on a computer keyboard and a phone receiver squeezed between shoulder and ear. 

By the end of the first month, my husband didn’t recognize me and my dog and cat were threatening to move in with the lady next door. 

I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t the other way around. 

I remember the first sign of a break in this fever of activity.  After an exhaustive review process we finally settled on a new management firm.  I still spent several hours in the office that day answering phones and gathering records for the new company, but I got home by four and waiting for me on my coffee table were three manuscripts I had to review for my writer’s group that weekend.

I collapsed on my sofa and, pen in hand, started reading.  Three hours passed in a breath. Lolling in that happy-dazed feeling I get whenever I resurface from the creative depths, I grabbed a clean sheet of paper and outlined a new story.  It wasn’t much.  A situation.  Two or three character descriptions.  The whole process couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, but when I finished something inside me had shifted back into alignment.

That night I smiled through two loads of laundry and a sadly neglected litter box.

Life is better when I write.  I eat better.  I sleep better.  Writing make me a better person.  So I make writing appointments.  I set page quotas.  And when the worst happens, I yield to it as best I can.  I know my writing is waiting for me on the other side.

Living Through a First Draft

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment you set the first word of your painstakingly planned work of fiction down on paper it transforms into something completely different.   A writer’s first instinct is to cross out that word and try again.  And again.  This is dangerous.   Get hung up on making that first sentence perfect and you may never move on to sentence number two.

First drafts are messy, unweildly creatures. You can outline and map your plots all you want.  Such advance planning comes from the organized, rational side of the brain, while actual literary composition comes from the highly associative creative side.  This free spirit may glance at your outline to take note of where you are and where you think you’re going, but it makes its own itinerary.  It will roam all sorts of side roads, get lost, back track.  If you know what’s good for you (and your work) you’ll just hang on and enjoy the ride. 

Okay, you may be saying, I want to let my creative brain have its way, but I’ve got to show these pages to my critique group in two days. The way things look now, the response won’t be pretty. 

It’s true that displaying portions of a first draft in public can be rough.  Your characters won’t be fully realized.  The plot may seem to meander or vanish completely.  You have two options.  One is not to show your first drafts to anyone.  The other is to show them but keep the comments you receive in perspective.  Don’t ignore critiques all together.  Every so often they will help you to catch problems early on.  Passages suffocating in passive voice, for instance.  Or a grossly overpopulated first chapter.  Overall, though, accept comments about your draft with a polite thank you and file them away to use during the revision process.   In the meantime, your rational brain will be hard at work in the background assimilating this feedback and preparing for its turn with your project.

I do have a sneaky way to get around the worst of this “showing a first draft” dilemma.  I draft my work longhand.  Typing it for submission to my writers group actually serves as mini-revision.  My colleagues aren’t getting a polished piece of writing by any means, but the most glaring kinks are smoothed out.

Another middle-of-the-road option is to work a little ahead of yourself.  Draft chapters one through three, then go back and let your editor brain loose on chapter one so you can feel comfortable submitting it to your group.  Keep in mind, though, that you’ll probably have to alter these polished pages yet again as the rest of the book unfolds.

Each writer has her own way of getting a project from idea to polished manuscript. Twists and turns are a natural part of the creative process.  By entering into this adventure rather than fighting against it, we give our work the space it needs to fully develop.  The reward for such unmitigated trust in ourselves is a one-of-a-kind creation that expresses our individual voice and unique vision.

Self-Publishing Pitfalls and Possibilities

Once upon a time, publishing a book with a ”vanity” press was tantamount to appearing in a newspaper advertisement for your family’s hardware store and calling yourself a fashion model.  Sure, there were famous writers who’d had to underwrite the publication of their work until the world noticed their genius.  Jane Austen.  Walt Whitman.  Heck, Virginia Woolf and her husband took it a step further and operated a press out of their house.  Nevertheless, for most aspiring writers, self-publishing has not been the best way to carve out a serious literary career. 

Well, things are changing.  With the path to traditional publication littered with more obstacles than ever, and the phenomenal growth in the number of quality independent publishers and print-on-demand services, self-publishing has become a viable path to success for some writers. Modern technology has made it easier and cheaper than ever for an individual author to produce an attractive product and then market it. 

As an “independent” author, you have complete artistic control over the content and appearance of your work.  Self-publishing allows you to skip the torturous process of getting an agent or publishing house to recognize your project’s potential.  And, since most traditionally published books get a minimal marketing budget anyway, you don’t even suffer much by having to promote your work yourself.  There are plenty of ways to use websites, social networking, reading groups and cultural events to build your audience and sell your books.  All of this should give independent authors a sense of empowerment.  Your future as a writer does not have to be in the hands of conglomerate publishers and mammoth bookstore chains.

There are, however, some points to consider before taking the plunge into self-publishing:

1. You’ll still need a publishable book.  If you’re going to spend upwards of five grand producing a few hundred paperback copies of your masterpiece, invest five hundred and hire a professional editor.  Every writer on the New York Times bestseller list has an editor and you should too. A good editor will save you time, money and embarrassment.

2. Listing a self-published book as a writing credit many not carry much weight with those in commercial and even small-press publishing.  Keep this in mind if your reason for self-publishing is to have something “solid” to show agents and editors.  The lack of a review process in self-publishing can, rightly or wrongly, taint you and your book as being not quite up to professional standards.

3. Independent authors must become marketing pros.  There’s no way around it.  You will not have the same marketing and distribution opportunities available to a writer published by Random House.   You will have to create your own buzz through smart use of the Internet and a lot of personal effort.  Play it smart and have a marketing plan in place before you take delivery of five hundred copies of Conversations with My Pomeranian: One Dog’s View on Life, Love and Rawhide Chew Toys.

3. Independent publishing is still a rough road for fiction writers, especially for those of us working in mainstream or literary fiction.  If you write genre fiction, you can go online and find many many forums and chatrooms catering to people interested in vampires, werewolves, elves, dragons, carnivorous space aliens, cowboys and serial killers.  Even so, a non-fiction writer will still have an easier time finding people to buy her book on horse training, go-cart maintenance, cooking with olives, or travels in Latvia.

So where does this leave the author eager to see her work in print?  It leaves her with a lot of work to do.  Evaluate your manuscript.  Is it really so well written that a person not related to you by blood or marriage would plunk down good money for it?   Who are these people?  How much will it cost you to produce your book and get it into the their hands?   Are you best off with printed books that you may have to store in your garage?  An e-book that you can deliver via e-mail or on CD?  A print-on-demand title?  To succeed in self-publishing, you need to ask these questions and lots more and then take your time getting the answers.

Giving Constructive Criticism

All writers need feedback.  After laboring for god knows how long on a creative project, most of us become incapable of actually evaluating our work with any degree of objectivity.  It isn’t always easy to find other writers to share our work with.  When we do, the surest way to secure their assistance is by offering to do the same for them.  We need to be generous and helpful.  However, you’d be surprised how even the most kindly intended evaluations can result in hurt feelings and even impact a writer’s ability to create.

The most important thing to remember about constructive criticism is that it builds up.   Even when suggesting radical revisions to a piece of work, the goal is always to strengthen and support a writer’s efforts, not to weaken or break them down.  This requires appreciating what is right about the story or novel we’re considering as well as those facets we think need to be altered.  We have to be able to say I see what you’re trying to do, and I think focusing on this, this and this may help get you there.  

When I evaluate a manuscript for another writer, the first thing I tell them is what I liked about the piece.  Great pacing.  Sharp characterizations.  A real sense of place.  Then I move on to a general discussion of areas he or she may want to look at again.  The action was a little hard to follow in places.  The order of events didn’t quite work for me.  The protagonist’s motives seem a little unclear to me.  I always make sure to illustrate each statement with an actual example pulled from the text. The key is to communicate specific points that the writer can grab hold of and use to plan their next revision. 

After offering my “big picture” comments, I may go through the text page by page with the writer and point out smaller items like typos, clunky dialogue or clumsy phrasing.  Usually, however, I just note these for the writer to go back to on their own at a later time. 

By arguing for constructive criticism, I am not suggesting that we should sugar coat our opinions about a piece of writing just to spare the author’s feelings.  We owe it to one another to be truthful and speak up when something in a story doesn’t work for us.  But a blanket this is crap, you should chuck it and start again isn’t all that helpful.  It leaves the writer clueless about where their story falters (Character?  Plot?  Do they need to bone up on basic grammar?) and how to salvage it.  Perhaps the old saying ”if you don’t have anything nice to say …” should be modified into “if you don’t have anything useful to say …”  

Truly constructive criticism hones the skills of both the person giving the feedback and the person receiving it.  The writer receiving the criticism gets to see their work through fresh eyes, and even if that particular piece never manages to take off, he or she can apply the lessons learned to future projects. The writer giving the criticism learns how to recognize the individual components that together create a good piece of writing.  The end result on both sides is a better writer producing stronger fiction.

Using Real People in Fiction

People are fascinating.  Gather any five people you know into one room and get them talking about their childhoods, marriages, friends and enemies and you’ll find yourself with enough material for more novels and short stories than you can finish in a lifetime.  Of course, using a real person as the basis of a piece of fiction carries some real responsibility.  Approaching this casually or, worse, with malice can cause suffering to both parties, not to mention the possible legal repercussions.

The first thing a fiction writer must do is examine his or her motives in writing about a real person.  Are you looking to get back at your former boss or mother-in-law for past insults?  Or are you just fascinated by a specific personality and want to delve into what makes it tick?  Either answer is valid.  The point is to be aware of your own motivation and take care not to let it damage the very work you’re trying to create.  If you’re writing about the kid who made your years in elementary school a living hell, be certain that the anger and the need for “justice” don’t overshadow the story itself.  Even angry writing should be polished and engaging. The same goes if you want to tell the world about this amazing hippo wrangler you met during your travels in Kenya.  Even the weirdest person needs to be rounded into a “real” character in a genuine situation or your story won’t hold together.

It’s smart to disguise people and events whenever possible.  If your aunt’s husband ran off with the babysitter, it may be better to write about a man’s wife running off with one of her children’s male teachers. Another possibility is writing about the man running off with the babysitter but setting it in a time period either way before or way after it actually happened. Aunt Velma may not be so sensitive if her betrayal is played out against the Korean War in the 1950s or during women’s fight for the vote back in 1910.

Beware of people who tell you that they would simply love to have a book or story based on them.  Along with their enthusiasm can come some definite preconceptions about how they will be portrayed.  Hand them a copy of your finished work and you may be accused of telling too much, telling too little, sticking to the facts, deviating from the facts . . . you get the picture, I’m sure. 

Even more dangerous than writing about other people is writing about yourself. You may think you hold exclusive rights to your own life history, but just try telling your mother that when you write about the time her “baby” brother fondled you and your sister behind the Christmas tree. Our lives are so intertwined with the lives, hopes, dreams and fears of others that we have to be as deliberate as possible when translating them into fiction.  At the very least we need to understand that even our firsthand view of an event is not necessarily the whole truth of the matter.  Our memories are colored by our own needs and prejudices.  We have to be able to say, You may not agree that this was how it was, but this is how I experienced it.  Does this mean your grandmother won’t disown you for talking about your father’s bouts of mental illness?  No.  But at least you’ve been honest and fair enough to let people know where you are coming from.  Whether they agree with it or not is out of your hands.

 Some of our best story and novel ideas come out of real experience – our own and other people’s.  By handling this material with proper care and consideration, writers can protect the source of their inspiration and still create works rich in atmosphere and detail. The end result?  Through individual lives -explored, expanded and transformed — the writer illuminates the universal, those deeply held qualities which make us all human.

What is Literary Fiction?

Walk into a meeting of your average community-based creative writing group and introduce yourself as a writer of literary fiction and you’ll likely be greeted with a lot of polite smiles.  This isn’t the case for genre writers.  Announce that you’re writing a mystery, a spy novel or a seventeen volume fantasy series and you’ll have no trouble finding kindred souls eager to trade advice and arrange one-on-one critiques.  I don’t want to give the impression that I’m minimizing genre fiction.  I’ve written and published mystery and horror short stories, and my very first novel (may it rest in peace) was a magic-vs- modern technology fantasy/scifi hybrid. 

Now, though, I’m more interested in exploring the ordinary dramas of real people than I am in Sorceress-Princess Daphne Mortimer’s struggle to hold her kingdom together against an army of magically enhanced 21st-century troops led by a power hungry scientist on the run from the United States government.  I don’t want non-stop pacing and hairpin plot twists.  I want the long version.  Character.  Back story.  All the scenic overlooks.  I want to finish a novel about a woman caring for the dying father who never wanted her and know her so well that I could spot her standing in line at the grocery store. 

The who, what, where and how of a plot is secondary.  What I want to know is why and, above all, what does it mean?  What does this work tell me about surviving as a human being in an imperfect world? 

Most writers of literary fiction are affiliated with the academic world. Either they teach college-level creative writing or are in training to teach it.  They meet their writing partners in class or at writing conferences and workshops linked to universities.  This insularity makes literary writers easy targets for the accusation that they write for one another rather than for the world as a whole. Setting aside the fact that the same could be said for poets and porn writers, the world as a whole doesn’t seem all that interested in literary fiction. 

People often say they love the classics, which they equate with literary fiction.  A literary classic may have started out as literary fiction, or it may not have.  Classics happen when a book manages to survive its own era.  Some were popular from the moment of publication.  Little Women, originally meant as an instructional manual in good behavior for young girls,  is one.  Others, Moby Dick for example, were absolute failures when they came out. 

Trying to pick out the future literary classics from a publisher’s current list is like trying to shoot an apple off someone’s head blindfolded.  It’s possible, sure, but you’ll probably miss.  A hundred years from now Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone may vanish into nothingness or be as revered and honored as Sherlock Holmes.  And an obscure literary novel that sold a few hundred copies out of some small press in the midwest may become a staple of university reading lists, its author the subject of numerous dissertations and literary biographies. 

Writers should focus on what moves them.  Trying to write to trends or popular tastes is usually a waste of time and paper.  Novels, screenplays and short stories are all the result of sustained effort.  It’s hard enough to finish a writing project when the situation or central character fascinates you.  A lukewarm interest won’t carry you beyond the first few chapters or scenes.     

What does this mean for me and my passion for literary fiction?  Well, salivating over the sales figures for the lastest Nora Roberts romance won’t help me much.  I have to accept my writing for what it is. 

Literary means small.  Small press.  Small readership. Small sales.  Often, literary also means independent.   And independence is a quality you need a lot of if you write literary fiction.  I tell you this with feeling as I prepare a chapter of my novel-in-progress for submission to my writing group.  There are four of us in this group.  A science fiction writer.  Two thriller writers.  And me.

Guard Your Senses

Often it seems as if it’s our duty to cram as much activity into a given day as possible … or impossible.  I’m not talking about a growth in work responsibilities, or even the You-Can-Have-It-All mentality that seemed to define the late 1980s and all of the 1990s, fueling a massive surge in the use of anti-depressants.  What I want to focus on is how leisure has turned into a second job for most of us and how this can seriously hinder creativity. 

I doubt anyone ever intended for “fun” to get so out of hand.  Having a variety of interests is a good thing, isn’t it?  Don’t we all want to make the most of our lives?  Enjoy everything good and fun that the world has to offer?   The answer to all of the above is a resounding YES!  But we still only have twenty four hours in each day and only a limited number of days in a given life.  

Take television.  It used to be that we’d have a couple favorite television shows that we’d make time for in our schedule.  For me it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer every Tuesday night.  A fun treat.  Something to look forward to as I outlined a new story or struggled with revisions.  Now, thanks to the huge growth in cable/satellite television stations and subscriptions to DVD rental services providing access to nearly every series, movie, and documentary ever produced in nearly every country, I find myself working hard to limit my program viewing. Why torment myself trying to write a new novel when I can be laughing my way through all of Absolutely Fabulous or catching up on every Agatha Christie movie ever made?

You don’t bother with television?  All right.  Consider the Internet with it’s chatrooms, facebooks, forums and -yes – blogs on every topic imaginable.  Or better yet for writers, consider books and magazines.  I have two bookshelves full of just the literary magazines that I haven’t been able to get to, the sort of top-quality stuff a writer is supposed to read to identify markets and keep up with contemporary letters.   Add to this newsletters and magazines about the craft of writing and the business side of being a writer. Add current novels I just shouldn’t miss.  Classic novels I should have read years ago.  Add research material for my own writing.  The total will require more than a measly twenty four hours, more than my measly lifetime in fact.

Being the well-rounded person that I am, I also like to visit museums, listen to concerts, watch plays, walk in out nature.  I have a body that requires meals at regular intervals, a clean place to live, and exercise.  I have a spiritual life.  A social life. A love life.  Oh, yeah, I also need to get some sleep. 

Obviously I can’t do it all, especially if I plan on producing a reasonable amount of my own fiction.  Creative work requires a massive amount of quiet time.  To plan.  To mull over possibilities.  To try an out an idea, discard it, and begin again.  We’re talking heavy duty interior work.  Overstimulation is the enemy of creativity.

So how do you guard your senses, your interior world, and still make the most of life outside your head?

1. Prioritize. You can’t read it all.  See it all.  Do it all. Decide what’s most important to you and ignore everything else.

2. Take care of the basics first.  Your body.  Your soul.  Your marriage. Your creative work.

3. Think: White space.  Leave a frame of empty time around intense activities. Don’t attend a seminar, see a play and enjoy a fabulous night on the town all in the same day.  Sure you can visit every museum in New York City over a long weekend, but who would want to?

4. Set your own agenda.  Don’t let others tell you what you need to read, watch, or think about.  Unless it’s your ailing grandmother, don’t waste time socializing with people you don’t like all that much.  Professional networking has its place, but make sure you keep it there.  Writers conferences don’t take the place of actually writing. Schmoozing is most effective when you have something of value to schmooze about.

I came across a great quote once, though I don’t remember where: You can have anything you want in this life.  But you can’t have everything. 

Guest Blogger Lisa Vogel on How to Name Your Characters

Boy are we lucky.  Lisa Vogel is a Pushcart Prize-nominated short story writer who also teaches creative writing.  Before her recent relocation to the Tuscon area, I used to be able to pick her brain in person.  Now these two borderline dinosaurs are getting pretty good at trading critiques on-line.  Read. Learn. Enjoy! 

Rules are just as important in naming characters as they are with everything else about writing. Which is to say, not much. The only rule is to always go with your sense of what will work best and revise later, if needed. The problem, however, with revising a character’s name is that unless you’re careful to choose another name with the same sound, number of beats, and emphasis, it won’t sound right in many of your sentences. Therefore, it really is good to get the name set from the beginning.

Often, even before you sit down to write, the name comes to you. In other words, you don’t have to choose it.  It chooses you.  When that doesn’t happen, what I do is start writing my first sentence. Almost always, I need to put my protagonist’s name in that first sentence. So I stop and figure it out then. I choose the names of my other characters as they are introduced.

Here are some general guidelines (that you should ignore whenever you want to) for choosing first names:

Variety is good. In any one piece, have some names with one syllable, some with two, and maybe a few with three. Also, your three or four most important characters should have names that start with different letters so the reader is less likely to get confused. They should also, for the most part, have names that end differently. Don’t, for instance, have all female names end in “a” or all your male names end with “y.”

Be sure to include names indicative of different ethnic backgrounds (unless your piece is set in a compound of white separatists in Idaho.)

 You may want to avoid names that are also English words (i.e. Reed, Mark, Crystal, Hazel)  which may lead to unneeded confusion.

 Names that end in “s” (i.e. Doris, Gladys, James, Marcus) may lead to unpleasantness with possessives.

 Don’t use relatively unusual names that are associated with any one particular person (i.e. Madonna, Barack) unless you want the reader to make the association.

 Don’t use names that most people would have to stop and think about in order to figure out how to pronounce them.

 Naming your virtuous character Charity or Grace is a bit heavy-handed, as is naming your vamp Delilah. If you do a good job with characterization, cheap hints aren’t necessary.

If your mind draws a complete blank on a first name, here are some great resources:

Any baby book.

For international names, A World of Baby Names by Teresa Norman is fantastic.

 If you are writing children (or any age group you’re unfamiliar with) and want a name that sounds decade appropriate, try www.behindthename.com/top They list, in order of popularity, names for the last hundred years, and not just in the United States, either.

On choosing last names:

Many characters, especially in short stories, don’t even get last names (although some writers don’t give their characters – at least their male ones – first names).  Most of the guidelines listed above also apply to choosing last names.

Variety is good! Use different length last names, starting and ending with different letters, and indicative of different ethnic backgrounds. And don’t just settle for the most common names. Enough already with Jones and Smith and Rodriquez. My rule of thumb is that if a medium-sized city or larger has five or more of my chosen last name in its phone book, the name is probably common enough to use — but not too common.

Make that last name pronounceable. You don’t want readers tripping over it.

Don’t name your hero Goodfellow or some such thing. It’s as bad as naming your long-suffering heroine Patience.

The phone book really is the best resource I know of for last names. If you have a sense of what sound you want the name to start with, turn to the corresponding letter in the phone book and begin going through the list. It’s never failed me yet.

Good luck!

Lisa Goodwriter Vogel

 

The Art of Revision — part II

Okay.  You’ve written your piece, set it aside for a while to distance yourself from it, then came back and refined it.  Maybe you’ve even repeated the process once or twice and truly believe the manuscript couldn’t get any better.  What’s next? Do you grab up your copy of Writer’s Market  and decide which literary journal you’re going to honor with your masterpiece?

Not so fast.

It’s time for a fresh perspective.  You need to find a reader.  Two readers.  As many readers as you can beg, threaten or cajole into looking at your work. Other writers are great if you have access to them, but even your hairdresser or next door neighbor can point out places in your manuscript where they became lost or confused.  One of my best readers is a seventy-year-old retired medical billing specialist who has never written a piece of fiction in her life.   Find as many readers as you can.  Some will be great with grammar.  Some will have a talent for story structure or dialogue.

But prepare yourself . . .

It may be that your favorite scene or snippet of dialogue is just what your readers don’t like.  Now, we’re talking your artistic vision here, so you have final say.  Not every reader may understand the conventions of the genre you’re working in.  A mystery writer may find a literary story slow and wordy.  The literary writer might suggest the mystery writer spend more time on character development.  Here’s where objectivity and a little common sense become useful.  If three different readers tell you that your ending left them cold, or that a certain character just didn’t seem genuine, it may be time to rethink.

As a side note to those of you in critique groups, I find it better to let your readers physically read the manuscript, not just have them listen to you read it out loud.  It’s really hard to make detailed editorial comments about something you’re actively listening to.  One or the other has to suffer.  Also, if your goal is to see the piece in print, you need it judged as a text, not as a spoken word performance.  If your group focuses on this sort of cold reading format, I’d suggest getting together with one or two other members and trading manuscripts ahead of time.

So how do you know when a piece of writing is finished?  Every project is different, but there are signals to look for.   Are you spending your revising time putting in and taking out the same comma over and over?  Going back and forth between the merits of don’t and do not?  If so, you’ve probably taken the piece as far as you can for the time being.  Next step?  Proof it, choose a market you’ve given some thought to, and send it out.  Then start another project.

This doesn’t mean that you’ll never work on the piece again.  If an editor writes a little something on your rejection letter, you may find yourself taking another look.  On the other hand, I wouldn’t necessarily revise after every form rejection.  I’d keep sending the manuscript out until enough of rejections piled up to make me give the story to one of my readers for another evaluation. 

Revision is really a spiral.  You go through the steps over and over, always ending up a little closer to what your piece is meant to be. 

The Art of Revision — Part I

All writing is rewriting.  It’s an old saying.  But so is “look both ways before crossing the street.”   Dusty or not, it’s the sort of advice that deserves our careful attention.  Revision is essential to healthy and vital writing. First drafts are messy.  In the initial rush of creative inspiration, narratives take unexpected turns that often lead to inconsistencies and false starts.

This is normal.

A writer has to begin somewhere, and a piece of writing has to actually exist before you can make it better.  So don’t be scared off by how messy, incomplete or off-the-mark your newly hatched story seems.  Keep at it until you have a finished draft.  If you get stuck and don’t know what happens in a particular scene, skip it and go on to the next scene.  Over thinking a draft can lead to a nasty case of writer’s block.

Once you have a finished draft, you’re ready to begin the revision process.  Your first step?  Leave it alone.  That’s right.  Put as much distance as you can between yourself and the draft.  How long?  That depends on your personality and the nature of the work.  A newspaper columnist may have mere hours between draft and deadline.  A novelist usually has the luxury of much more time.  I allow a minimum of a week for short stories or poems and at least a month for longer projects.  Just start a new piece or catch up on your reading. The point is to dissociate yourself from the draft so you that can come back to it with new eyes.

Once you return to your draft, read through it as if it belonged to someone else.  Just go through it, pencil in hand, and make a little check mark wherever you hit bumps.  Skimpy places.  Overblown places.  Dialogue that sinks like a stone.  Words that just aren’t right.  Then take a few moments to jot down some notes about the work as a whole.  Does the middle sag?  Are there some key scene/conflicts you need to add to ratchet up the drama or smooth the story arc?  Are there characters who need rounding out or toning down?

You can move on to the next step immediately after the read-through or, like me, wait a little while.  Either way, sit down with your marked up draft and make your deletions, additions and other changes. 

Some items to look for:

1) Imprecise language.

2) Places where the narrative stalls due to too much description or back story.

3) Too many lines of action.  A short story should follow one character’s conflict. Even the average novel (approx. 80,000 words) needs only a single main conflict and perhaps one or two sub-plots.

All decisions must be in service to the story.  That is, to the story as it exists, which –surprise, surprise – may no longer resemble anything like the story you intended to write.  Don’t panic. It’s all part of the magic and mystery of the creative process.  Putting the story first isn’t always easy.  It requires a constant balancing of objectivity and flexibility.  It takes patience and practice.  Prepare yourself for several cycles of setting the story aside (distancing) and taking it up again before you get your work where it needs to be. 

Then it’s time to bring in the reserves . . .

Check back on Thursday June 12, 2008 for: The Art of Revision — Part II:  The Importance of Other Readers