To Be is Not to Be

I really enjoyed editing this year. I learned a lot from the experience, especially about craft. A few weeks ago I posted about some of the mistakes I found in stories...and with this post I'm going to continue that trend. But first--

Why does it take editing others' stories to come to these realizations?

When we critique, we are focused on making the critique group useful and functional for all members. That usually means we, as writers and critique partners, aren't going around saying: "This isn't necessary to your plot." When critiquing we say: "I don't think it's needed." This is reflective of the different mental state. An editor looks for what is needed to make a story better. The writer is a vessel, but otherwise outside the process. It's all about the story. Critiquing is about, group dynamics, inspiration, respect. Editing requires respect from a different angle: helping the writer produce the best story possible. Emphasis on story. Critiquing deals with the writer, often times.

So looking at a story objectively makes the process of identifying the concerns, different. The focus of the editor is on communication with audience. The focus of the writer is on getting writing SEEN by an editor.

Craft is essential in both pursuits.

What stood out--not to repeat myself too much--over the process was the following:

Clarity
Consistency
Author Presence
Repetition
Passive sentences
Wording issues

Clarity is based in sentence structure and word choice. Considering that I discussed clarity at length before, I'll focus on a few other issues:

My new pet peeves include the verb "to be" as well as "and"/"but."

Look at the sentence:

She ran to the curb, but the ball was already bouncing in the street.

Notice the "to" and "was." Both conjugations of "to be." Do you need both in the sentence? What about the "but" ???

She failed to reach the curb before her ball bounced into the street.

Do we need to see that "she ran?" Think about context...what if the sentence before read:

Tonya stretched her arms high as she could. Rubber glanced off a knuckle, leaving her pinkie stinging.

"Aw man," Robby said, crossing his arms. "I'm not gettin' it."

Tonya sighed, theater-loud, hoping Robby would feel guilty about being so lazy. Then she took off.

She failed to reach the curb before her ball bounced into the street.


No "to" no "was" no "she ran" ... showing, not telling. We've all been there, when were kids. Take us into the event rather than telling us what happens.
This passage also brings consistency into play. Look at the sequence. One event dove-tails into the other, building the scene. "And," "but" are not needed.

This isn't to say we should completely lop off all of these words. Some are essential. However, depending on them can be easy. When developing craft from hobby to art attention to detail, including awareness of crutches, leads us to become better writers.

When we use the same words or phrases repeatedly, we make the author's presence known. Stories can be read or told. If a story is told it is "storytelling." that's an oral tradition. Written stories play out in our reader's mind. Meaning that what we write on the page communicates directly with reader imagination. Story exists, reader exists; nothing else.

Writing is art when reader downs a story like they starved for it. This requires that the author retains a vague presence on the page. So words, sentences, paragraphs and pages must all be honed. Everything must exude consistency, polish, and clarity. Any lag in one bit forces the reader to think just a little to hard and, bam! Outta the story they go! Communication fail.

Repetition and passive sentences fall into this category. Passive sentences make a reader pass right over pertinent information. Sometimes they sound pretty, so writers think they'll work from a stylistic standpoint. But if a writer can't master clarity and plot structure first, style doesn't matter. Style and art are confused. But art requires mastery. Mastery comes with practice. Sometimes defying voice and style assist an author in stretching muscles. These remind us who we are as writers. We, writers, establish firmer understandings of writing as art.

Wording issues, like the to be's, serve to draw attention away from character and story. The "to be's" lead to passive sentences: "It was dark when she fled." Better: "She fled that night." Watch the placement of Subject, Object, Verb. "It" references "dark" or "night" but passively.

Say you opt for a poetic style. Would the 2nd, active sentence work? Let's see:

Neither Kaia nor Lynd spoke at dinner. Silver utensils scraping porcelain echoed instead. The fire smoldering in their dining hall hearth matched Kaia's anger. Not a twitch revealed her; she schooled her face, hand, even the gentle flick of wrist bringing her soup spoon to her lips.
Kaia left the hall with the last blue and white dishes, following a maidservant into the kitchen. Her satin slippers made no noise. Kaia's steps and mouth remained tight. Her heart clamored for an exit. Her hand turned the doorknob, habit guiding her quick twist. She stepped into the hall beyond. A cobweb caught in her hair. Kaia only saw fire. Silence clogged her ears.
She fled that night.

All right, so there might be a passive sentence in there. But only one that I can find. The internal dialogue is subtle, and description (should) convey(s) tension.

However there are also NO adverbs, no vague words like "seemed," "appeared," or "something" "sort of" "it" Vague word choices are cop outs. They declare writer presence because they are admitting that the author isn't giving us exactly what the character sees. So relationship to story? Distanced. Your art? Falls short of potential. Clarity relies on the brevity of sentences, exactness of your words. Vague word choices weaken your structure. Conscious building of story structure establishes a writer's authority. Your authority permits suspension of disbelief in readers. So on and so forth.

Ok, I've ranted enough :D

I hope everyone enjoys revising as much as I do :D First drafts or second drafts get you nowhere. Neither proceeding to publication, nor mastering craft can be done in two strides. Here's to the journey!

Drea

Read more »

Posted in: craft of writing,Edititing,writing

Leafkin Submissions Have Swallowed My Life :P

I've been reading a bunch of the entries into the anthology this year. I want to talk about some of the trends I have seen and what I think about them.

Passive Sentences: Yes, I know long, flowing sentences look pretty and make a person feel smart, but they can also completely destroy (or fail to ever introduce) tension. See? Over used passive sentences mean we can't see what your characters are doing. The significance of characters' feelings, actions,and thoughts, are swallowed in the prose. The very things that help a reader connect to the story are trivialized or distanced from the reader. Reader and Character are separated by murky water, creating a hazy view of Character.

Adverbs and vague word choice: A lot of the submissions I've read thus far have a good grasp on description. Well, the fact that good description can be no more than a few choice words. The issue is in choosing those words. Obviously, adverbs are terribly vague :P Strung together, they pack no punch. When used in place of stronger words, adverbs communicate less. The "ly's" are comparative, to a degree. The item which strangely resembles a vase, for instance--gives us no picture of what it is. I can picture a vase, yes. But say the item was a pot. Why was it strange for the pot to resemble a vase? Strangeness is implying that the pot-vase should look like something else, or perhaps exist somewhere else. Which means that the character is interpreting the significance of the pot according to their own sense of proper placement and appearance. Lacking the comparison, we cannot see why it is "strangely resembles a vase" when "resembling a bowl," is what the character expects. "Rather than a bowl at the table's center was an item resembling a vase." Still wordy. needs trimming, "Rather than a bowl, a pot almost resembling a vase, stood at the table's center."

Other vagueness: careful of an overuse of prepositions. While not nearly as bad as adverbs, I find that too many on a page make the sentences less effective. When functioning as an adjective, prepositions help. But when used as an adverb it can become vague. Look at the example on the link "The children climbed the mountain without fear." Now, depending on what is happening in the story, this could be a choice creating vagueness. "Laughing, the children climbed the mountain. Not one used rope." Can you see the children climbing the mountain in the second example? Do you get the impression that they are "without fear?" Perhaps a little foolhardy, but does it work? There still aren't many words used to convey the same idea. But actions and description are imbued in the words. Your picture should be kids laughing and climbing hand-over-hand up the mountain, yes? I didn't tell you the kids were "without fear," I showed you. I also gave you details that implied that rope might be necessary, but that the kids decided not to use it. So this could begin building a picture not only of the kids, but the mountain. So a little hint of setting, perhaps?

Sometimes words like "seemed," "appeared," "almost like," or another phrase can make a sentence unclear. i.e: "She seemed to sense danger." Well? How does someone "seem" to "sense danger?" How about: "Dorn heard Taya catch her breath, and saw her mouth settle in a familiar tight line. He followed suit when she flattened herself against the dusty wall. That's when he heard rattling. She nodded, a slight downward motion of her chin. Taya grabbed his hand." So, we see her sense danger, but in a way where her body language and personality are conveyed. Also, there should be a hint of the relationship between the characters. (Forgive the names, they are invented for this passage only :P )

By telling us what a character is doing and thinking we can convey personality, conflict, and tension. Through tension is plot advanced. We need conflict, illease, or a fear that a character may not reach his/her goal. The desire to see a character reach his/her goal, this makes us interested in what they are doing. You could make a really cool, laid back character, who would be a lot of fun to hang out with in real life, but they might not work on the page. For instance, you might have a friend you call up anytime and say: "Hey you wanna go to Jim's party?" and the friend may say: "Sure! That'd be cool." And you and the friend go, sit on the couch at Jim's, have a few beers, talk to some people, make some new friends, and go home. What do you tell your friends the next day? "Yeah, I met some people at Jim's. Yeah. They're cool. We're prolly gonna hang out some time." Now, what if there was a guy who got wasted and started bad-mouthing a public figure? Especially a well-loved public figure? Well, everyone would be a little uncomfortable at Jim's. People would laugh. And the next day when you are recounting a story to your friends you'd have a lot more to say. Why? Tension. People doing things that are socially inappropriate, controversial, or merely up for debate can cause tension in a story. But others have to disagree with the loud-mouth. If you're disagreeing in your head, you might not say anything at Jim's but you could be telling you friends, "and I'm thinkin' man this guy's a nut! I mean, where'd he get this sh**!" Meaning...in real life we keep our mouths closed, we don't communicate our thoughts, but when telling a story, we include them. This makes the story interesting.

So, yes. I love internal dialogue. And I have read so far one story that does it well, one that doesn't need it too much, a third that relies quite successfully on narrative/dialogue/action to convey character's mental state, and a forth that is loaded with passive internal dialogue.

What do I mean by passive internal dialogue? When we the reader are told that the character sees or has interpreted another character's behavior in an unclear fashion. "She realized how seriously he studied her," for instance. All right. Very vague. We are being told that she realized something. Seriously, an adverb, implies that his "look" has more intensity than normal. But if we are in a short story there is a high probability that we need to character build the entire way through. The "She" in this instance is more familiar with the "he" and what is "serious" for him, than are we the readers. Then there is "studied:" http://www.thefreedictionary.com/studied Which definition are we using here? Following the other vague word choices, we don't have a solid feel for the "look" she is receiving. "Her shoulders stiffened when his expression returned to dour lines below his too-intense gaze." We see her stiffen, so she notices. "Return" indicates that the expression "lacked spontaneity," as it was common, something he wore before. The "too-intense" lets us know how she feels about his "intent gaze," and stresses a seriousness in his expression. At least one she interprets to be there. She could be wrong, but as she is our POV character, we know what she knows, we see what she sees. If her interpretations of his actions, over time, do not match the reader's interpretation, and the reader (familiar with POV character's flaws) can see what she doesn't, we build tension. Intrigue. Plot.

All right...that's me done for this week...ten minutes before my date to post passes :(

Read more »

Posted in: Edititing,Leafkin,writing

My Characters

A friend asked me: "How do you come up with your characters?"

I fear my answer will be quite unsatisfactory. They just come.

Usually, a story idea starts with a "What if x happened?"
Or, because I mostly write Fantasy: "What if a place existed where X had happened or Y was real?"

Then, usually, I world build. As a person is influenced by their environment, my character is in equal parts dependent on the social structure, ethnic identity (and it's relation to the existing powers and history)and the characters' own psychology, home life. So I start with the world.

The character is a "what if such a person existed in this world? and if they had to overcome this particular dilema, how would it play out?"

Then, I sit back and go for the ride, so to speak. On the page, enhanced by the character's perspective, convictions and so forth, the world and character come alive.

So it is partially conscious, but half of the character comes out in the process of writing. Sometimes the pieces fall together in a completely unexpected way. Then revision becomes imperative. Sometimes the characters take on more qualities and different personalities/complexities in the process of revising than reveal themselves in the first draft.

I know this sounds vague, but it's all that can be said. As Melissa and I discussed last week, the personality of characters is largely affected by the mental state of the writer. Things change day to day, or over time. Like dreams, writing seems to tap the subconscious. So while writing daily can make the "subconscious" easier to tap, the precise interaction between the two is hard to explain. Honestly, i wouldn't be surprised if it worked differently for every writer. Hope this answers the question!

Read more »

Posted in: characters,inspiration,writing

Reactions

I let my family read the new short story and received a wide variety of responses.

My boyfriend, who went first, liked it immensely.  He told me that I had written what felt like a polished copy on my first draft and said that the introduction was especially compelling.

My father was next.  He said that it seemed kind of like a Phantom of the Opera rip off and wondered if I had gotten one of the characters' names from an individual in the morning comics.

My mother actually offered me some useful criticism.  She suggested that I explain how the protagonist's fiance would think she knows her ex-lover, since their relationship was a secret.  She also asked for clarification on one of the lines of dialogue.

My father, hearing me thank my mother for her helpfulness, must have felt guilty at this point, because he tried to bring up the topic later.  He said that the story felt like part of a larger work, like we came in at the middle of something.  I asked if this was bad and he said that, no, a lot of stories did that, so it was fine.  I thanked him too.

My sister, who mostly reads nonfiction, was unimpressed by the fact that I didn't explain the workings of the magic in the story.  She said it felt like a cop out.

My grandmother, who reads old romance novels exclusively, said that it reminded her of her favorite soap opera, but then laughed and said that it was very imaginative.

The moral of the story is that I love my family, but this is why I am grateful for Sylvanopolis.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: family,writers groups,writing

Time's Affect

I liked Melissa's idea from her post earlier this week.  So I'm going to add some of my thoughts on the subject.

I have read other blogs where authors have posted about "why we write."  Oftentimes, it is boredom, intense imagination and the like that spurs the author to pen the first story.  (This is related, I promise, wait for it...) Sometimes it is an inability to find a good book, so a writer turns to their notepad or computer and out comes a story.   For me, it was different.  My favorite story of why I started writing fantasy was because the characters in my favorite books weren't "doing what I wanted them to." But that wasn't when or why I started inventing stories.

You see, a few years earlier, when I was eight, I was introduced to the concept of serfdom.  It unsettled me. My little kid self just couldn't handle the injustice of some people subjugating others.   I had already come to idolize Dr. Martin Luther King, and his preaching of equality had left its imprint behind.  But the world is a far harsher place than I wanted it to be.  This was as true of my home life to my academic questions.   So I came up with a "play" about a serf girl who escapes and finds friends who protect her when her lord comes to drag her back to the lands she, as a serf, was tied to. The whole premise was heavily influenced by Disney battles and such.   I made the other children in my daycare act out the play.   It became so popular I invented another...only to forget all of it a few years later.  But Sara Fay stayed with me.   I had liked the name, thinking it sounded pretty.  Now I know I had unwittingly named my main character "Fairy Princess" with a Hebrew-Celtic fusion of a name.

That said, I think that our state of mind heavily influences how we deal with subject matter.   I know issues of class, ethnicity, and cultural differences have always hit a chord with me.  I know I will always see these themes in my writing. But how I stumbled through these topics a decade ago and how I address them now?  Very different.       

When I was younger, it was Coming to America stories that inspired me.   I believed my friends, whose parents had such dramatic life stories, were a representation of strength and heroism.  They had sacrificed for family, for their children.  They had been persecuted in one place for political, economic and ethnic identities, then found their way here.  I saw them buy their first house.  First ever.  To me, the old-fashioned American dream lived in them.   It gave me hope.

Over my lengthy college career, I studied the process of culture change.  I watched my friends go through some of the first throws of culture-clash with their parents.  My studies and my life complimented each other.  My characters and world began to diverge from its original construct.   And like the slow changes I witnessed around me, my manuscript evolved before my eyes.  But some of the threads belong to the newer, more vibrant and complicated world.  The other is stained with the child's firm lines of right and wrong.

Strength changed in meaning, in my head.  My writing demonstrates the change.

That said, my main female character in my most recent short story is far weaker than most of my characters.  I think she is partially a reflection of my own depression, as being out of work for a year has not had a very positive affect on my mind or writing.

I think what I create now will be influenced by where I've been.  Experience always affects writing.  Time leaves its own stain.   That said -- it isn't always for the better.  Sometimes different is just different. 

--Drea  

Read more »

Posted in: experience,life,writing

Characters in Pain

This is inspired by the most recent installment of David Farland's e-newsletter "A Daily Kick in the Pants."

So first, a minor recap:

Farland states that the best way to make readers sympathize with characters is to put them in pain and then force them to confront said pain.   He says that American readers don't like characters who suffer from self-inflicted pain.  Apparently, we like only characters that are hurt by others and find a way to deal.

I'm not going to argue with this.  Not really.   But I do think that characters suffering psychologically are more real than those who are merely react to those around them.  But the best way to convey psychological issues is to have characters undergo self-inflicted trials.  I love it when an author can take a character, shove said character through crap and have them suffer internally, only to reach the main goal despite their shortcomings. I don't want a character who can triumph and remain unscarred at the end.  I don't want to read a character who changes only for the better.

I love escapist literature. Still, I take the more realistic characters more seriously.  We can't overcome everything.  So give me a character, scarred and likely to never fully heal, but who will face all of his/her trials and come out on top. That will make me feel that I, lowly and struggling, can reach my goals as well.  These characters can provide therapy in escape.

--Drea

Read more »

Posted in: characters,David Farland,painting,writing

Distraction

Last night, as seems to happen every so often, I found myself wandering back to Arylle. This is always a bad idea as it inevitably makes me lose interest in whatever other characters I should be working on, but somehow knowing this never stops me. Worse yet, last night I chose the last three chapters of the book, not only renewing my infatuation with the story, but leaving me an emotional cripple as well.
What is it about this story? These people? Is it really just narcissism, since they are so much a part of me – sharing my neuroses and fears to such an extent that the book might be considered a roadmap to my soul? Is it because I grew up on them, learned to write through them, experienced so much of life while toiling to create those pages? Or is it like a high school romance that will always hold a place in your heart because it was your first?

Ultimately, it’s a story about wanting what you can’t have (or what reason says you can’t have). It’s about the fear of being alone. It’s about love. Almost everything that happens was ripped off from somewhere else or lifted from my life. Some of this is obvious (Riorac’s facial numbness), and some is more difficult to discern (the reason behind Arylle’s fear of blood). All of the characters have a little bit of me in them, plus a little bit of what I’d like to be. Perhaps that’s why they’re so dear to me?

I wrote this book because it was my favorite story in the world, but it hadn’t been written yet, so I decided that I’d take up the challenge (and if that’s not the most egotistic statement ever, I’d be surprised). I know that it will take time for Aya’s Wings to compare, even if I think that the overall quality of the story is already better. I don’t know the lines by heart yet. I don’t know the path of the story like the steps to my house. Right now, there’s a lot of fumbling and faith. But Arylle is complete (or almost complete, since everything could always use one more look through). I wonder if it would take publishing for me to finally be able to let go of her?

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: characters,finishing,starting over,writing

Progress Report

I’ve actually been on a writing kick lately, which is extraordinary (to say the least). The manuscript of Aya’s Wings has grown to fifty-two pages, which may not seem like much, but for me it’s quite a ways. I started this thing last September, seven months ago, and while I’m pleased with and proud of what I’ve written so far, it’s often been a paragraph at a time.

I’m not sure what inspired this latest binge. Last week was Spring Break, so I had more time to write, but if anything, having more free time usually brings my writing to a standstill. I want to write most during finals week, the night before a big paper is due, etc. So maybe it started a couple of weeks ago when I had a family therapy midterm? Or maybe now that I’m out of the first couple of chapters, where everything is new and I’m still feeling my way around a strange world where not all of the rules have been formed yet, things will be a little easier?

Maybe I’m finally falling in love with the characters. I have an unfortunate tendency to get attached to them, and when Arylle was finished it felt almost like betrayal to write about other people. But with every page I’m adoring Amarinne and crushing on Narun more and more. I don’t think anyone will ever replace the first cast of characters I ever wrote about, but I’m starting to have fun with these guys.

I also needed to let go of Arylle and realize that, imperfections though the story may have, I’m satisfied with it and think that it’s about as good as it is going to get. Strange timing, when my mother just asked me yesterday, as she listened to the furious clicking of my keyboard, “What are you doing?”

“Writing,” I said, my usual one-word response.

“Again? You’ve been doing a lot of that.”

“Yeah, I’m finally getting into it again.”

“Aren’t you finished with it yet?”

“No, this is my second book. The first one is finished.”

“Well rather than starting on something else, aren’t you going to try to publish that one?”

“Not right now.” I don’t understand why it’s so hard to fathom that I might have other interests than slogging through query letters and summaries. Why can’t I be happy with my completed project? Is publishing the only way to make it matter? What matters to me is that here is something I started when I was thirteen years old; I’ve written it and rewritten it, and now I’m finally happy with it and feel like I’ve accomplished something. Doing research on the market and sucking up to various heads of industry would spoil the experience for me. That’s the grunt work, for me, and maybe someday I’ll be willing to put my head down and do it, but that day isn’t now. Right now, Arylle is done. Aya’s Wings is just beginning. And I’m looking forward to seeing it through.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: characters,inspiration,writing

Faces

I’m pretty bad at visualizing things. When it comes to writing, this means that although I don’t have difficulty with superficial physical characteristics (long black hair, deep blue eyes, etc), I’m hopeless at putting it all together in my mind and knowing what my characters actually look like.

Years ago, I tried to draw them, but unless my stories were populated with misshapen lumps, it didn’t do me much good. When I write, I see the scene happening in my mind. If I can’t see the characters clearly, I can’t accurately transcribe what they’re doing.

This weekend, I realized that I had lost several hours to scouring google images for the cast of Aya’s Wings. I had already found a few of them months ago, but I wanted to round out the rest. The above, for example, is an actress by the name of Maude Adams. She was very famous around the turn of the twentieth century and, by all accounts that I’ve found, she was a decent person as well. And she bears a resemblance to Amarinne Thelorian. Not an exact replica, mind you. Amarinne is blonder, younger, sadder. There are many photos of the lovely Miss Adams, but she only really looks like Am here. But it’s enough for me to work with.

I wondered, as I was searching for them all, if this were not just an elaborate way to avoid actually writing. Procrastination in the name of inspiration. Uh huh, sure. But then I pulled out my old binder of Arylle things and there, tucked in the very back, were pictures I had clipped from magazines of the gowns that she wore, the way her hair hung, and even people who resembled Cor and her (without naming names, let’s just say that they were actors from a now-defunct soap opera). So I guess that this is just part of my process, and it happens to be fun as well.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: characters,drawing,inspiration,writing

Hurdles

If you had told me five years ago, while I was buried deep in a high school life I hated, that I would someday be delivering a three hour lecture, I would have probably run in terror. Nonetheless, that’s what I did last week and, in my opinion, I think I did a pretty decent job of it. True, I had been prepping for weeks. I read multiple books on the subject, sifted through a stack of articles, watched tapes, consulted professors. In the end, though, it all came together and if I stuttered through parts of it, my speech was mostly unobstructed.

Great, you may say, but what does this have to do with writing? Well see, for the past month of so, this lecture has been my life (not entirely true: I did have a couple of midterms in there to jazz things up a bit). Every spare moment I had was devoted to highlighting and post-it notes and scrapped outlines. I put in twelve-hour days at school, which I hadn’t done since the beloved tech weeks back in drama. I talked about Salvador Minuchin to anyone who would listen. And now it’s done.

I came home last Thursday night after a celebratory dinner with my boyfriend and collapsed in front of my desk, staring at the computer screen. My desktop was littered with versions of the powerpoint, stray articles, an occasional client write up. I cleared these away and stared at the aurora borealis image. It was only nine o’clock and I had no idea what to do with the next hour before I went to bed. What did I used to do with free time? Oh yeah, I would work on this story thing…

That settled it, to youtube I went. After a few minutes, I started twitching. There was a textbook next to me; surely I should be reading it. But no, I had already read the chapter for our next class. I had completed my observations for the week, prepared for the upcoming role play, and now the monstrous presentation was over. Around this point it occurred to me that I no longer know how to waste time.

I opened up my file hesitantly, the one called Aya’s Wings. I had left off in such an inconvenient place: Amarinne fighting against Karied’s flattery as Emins and Najerie return from their disastrous bout of equestrianism. Well, what happens next? Of course I knew; I knew all along. I began to write, a word or two at a time, as though afraid of picking up speed and not being able to stop. After about a page, I was drained, but I had written for the first time in weeks. I closed the file, fell into bed, and slept until the alarm went off at 5:30 to wake me up for work.

It was a little victory, but a victory all the same.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: life,writing

The Writing Life

How does one become a full time writer? What is required?

The biggest and hardest thing is time management. For me, that's meant kicking myself in the rear and getting myself out of the house. My house is inducing laziness, making me feel like a bum. I need to be out and about in order to accomplish things. You know, like actually writing.

Because that's the next thing you have to do, is write.

But, as I'm learning, it isn't about writing "anything," as much as it's about writing "everything."
Only, the "everything" has to be specific: nonfiction and fiction--stuff I have the interest in researching and writing. If I want to be a full-time writer, I have to do both.

I have to set up a platform of things I am intending to focus on, and when I publish articles these become part of this process. So every step of the way has to be well-thought, thoroughly planned. Research has to be conducted for every step.

As such, I can't expect to support myself on this immediately. I'm expecting getting the first few articles published to be the largest hurdle. But once that is done, the goal will be 4-8 a month in journals/magazines that pay well. Some pay as much as a $1 a word. One a week at that rate--assuming pay on publication--can certainly present a decent income.

A mixture of articles and short stories can provide a large enough wage to support oneself, but the writer must be prolific. The queries have to be making the rounds continually. This is what it means to be a full time writer, and it wasn't what I originally pictured. Though this organized and intense level of writing appeals to my grown-up self, I am now fully aware of the effort it will take.

I have to like writing "everything" as much as I like writing my fiction. Determination, research, and a lot of elbow grease will have to see me through.

--Drea

Read more »

Posted in: publishing,research,writing

"Of love, Daroga. I am dying of love."

From love, we move to death (how dramatic!).

There are few things more perilous than being one of my characters. Chances are good that you’ll either die or be horribly mutilated by the end of the story (if you weren’t deformed to begin with). I’m not sure why I kill off so many characters. It’s not because I don’t like happy endings. Quite the contrary, actually – all of my favorite books have characters go through extreme trial, but then (for the most part) they come out all right. Books with sad endings break me. I cry over them; I ruminate. The ending of His Dark Materials, for example, while not strictly tragic, depressed me enough that I didn’t read another book for months. It’s a grieving process.

So why do my characters have a penchant for noble sacrifices and the misfortune of falling prey to deadly diseases? I’m not sure. Some people say that killing characters is lazy storytelling. It’s more difficult, they claim, to think of what happens to someone next than to drop a piano on him. My characters’ deaths, they would say, illustrate a severe lack of imagination. If I were a better writer, I would create futures for characters instead of dropping them so neatly.

I disagree with this logic. When one of my characters dies, I feel that I don’t have a choice in the matter. In fact, many times I have struggled to rewrite plots with a happier outcome, but I’ve always felt that this betrayed the integrity of the story. There is no other way, as much as it hurts.

The novel that I’m working on now is less bloody than the first one (actually, that’s kind of an ironic statement for those who know the plot), but there are still a couple of characters who don’t make it out alive. That’s just the way it is.

This topic will continue next week.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: death,writing

Out of My Head

Here’s a kind of stupid confession: I used to write out conversations between myself and my characters. For some reason I thought that this was the best way to get to know them, so I would write a literal encounter, like the character suddenly sat down beside me and said hello.

These usually occurred when I was stuck on some aspect of motivation and needed to know why someone did what they did. “I need help on this,” I would write, and the character would inevitably be more than happy to explain it to me. (Side note: If my characters were real, I don’t think that any of them would be quite so pleasant as they managed to be in these instances.)

I think I stopped using this technique around the time I read somewhere that Anne Rice claims she wrote the Lestat novels with the title character whispering the story to her over her shoulder.

But for my purposes, these character conversations often revealed unexpected things. People would spill their deepest secrets. Stoic, unemotional characters would suddenly burst into tears. Weak characters would draw on hidden strengths. Like good therapy, everyone came out feeling better.

As I said, I don’t use this method anymore. My cast of characters in Novel #2 feels more separate from me. I don’t draw on my own neuroses so much in their creation, nor do I understand their every thought or action. Interestingly, I reread a few chapters of Novel #1 last week (after about four months of refusing to let myself open the files) and found that distance has positive effects. I was able to read more objectively, no longer anticipating every word. I caught the stupid typos or redundancies that I had always glossed over before. And, strangest of all, I no longer recognized the characters as pieces of me, but as pieces of who I used to be. My protagonist, who I used to think was myself on paper, actually annoyed me in places.

Becoming enmeshed in a novel is like having your nose to a large painting. You can only work on a few inches at a time and you lose sight of what the entire canvas really looks like. For all you know, you might be working on the Mona Lisa or one of its parodies. Taking a step back, giving yourself time to detach, is both a difficult thing to accomplish and a necessary one. Every time I have imposed breaks on myself, I come out with something positive or learn about some integral piece of the canvas that I had been overlooking.

To return to my original topic, I think that my teenage-self might have had the right idea when trying to get into the characters’ heads, but it’s important to also know when to stop and let them work out their own problems, with the author merely holding onto the reigns. Distance is often crucial to see your creation.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: characters,inspiration,lestat,painting,writing

REM

In middle school, I used to regale (or bore, depending on how kind you’re being) my carpool with stories of my dreams from the night before. I used to dream a lot more when I was a child than I do now; probably because I used to sleep a lot more than I do now. And despite the fact that I was as squeaky clean as they come, my childhood dreams seemed to always resemble drug trips. “I dreamed that my teacher boiled my tennis shoes,” one scrawled entry in my journal goes, “and they turned into neon green liquid.” Then there was the one where I was floating in a world of purple television static, scrambling for something to hold on to. Another about giant chess pieces suspended in space. On and on.

As I grew up, though, my dreams became less chaotic and more like stories. I met fascinating casts of characters – dark-haired, soft-whispering lovers; people who told me they were my long-deceased relatives; shadowy pursuers with their snarling hounds. I journeyed to both familiar places and new locales created by my mind. Often, these new places and the people I found there wormed their way into stories. Strangely enough, a common motif in my dreams is that of opening a book and then switching between reading the pages and experiencing the action as the protagonist.

I’ve only managed to dream about my novels a handful of times. No matter how much time I’ve spent deliberating about them during waking hours, somehow the characters shy away from my unconscious. When I do dream about them, they’re never doing anything relevant to the plotline. The one I remember with most clarity was a brief snippet of Arylle, Cor, and Tevian (from my first novel) sneaking away from a kitchen with their arms full of food. Tevian and Arylle, sure, but why would Cor be helping?

I’m envious of my boyfriend who dreams about the same cast of characters going on continuing adventures night after night. Where he leaves off in the morning, he’ll pick up later on. I’ve cursed the alarm clock time and again for interrupting dreams right as they’re getting to the good part – five more minutes and I would have known how it all turned out. And once I’m awake, it’s gone for good.

Interestingly enough, I tend to write less when I’ve been dreaming more. This may be a flimsy correlation; perhaps dreaming more means that I’m more stressed and therefore less interested in or capable of writing. Also, I tend to record more emotional dreams and sometimes when I’m finished writing it all out, I feel like I’ve gone through the wringer enough for one day and get up to find something else to do. Or perhaps writing is a substitute for dreaming.

Does anyone else experience this or does the relationship between dreams and writing go the opposite way for you?

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: dreams,inspiration,writing

iPad and Publishing

First: I am so sad I could cry. Or scream. Perhaps the latter is a tad more likely. From my standpoint the fact that Five of the Big Six have jumped on board the Apple wagon in hopes of pressuring Amazon is about to prove a massive error.

Ok, I get it, Apple sells. It's in the brand. We are sensitive to branding and so all the Apple lovers are about to race out and replace their iPods and macs with... what? A colorful Kindle-esque gizmo that can't even let me check my e-mail and chat at the same time? The memory is lousy, and it isn't even capable of flash.

Guess what, there's a new trend: Book trailers. Do a search, check 'em out. I'm not a hundred percent certain of what I think about these things, but if I "assumed" they were here to stay, and my iPad can't read those that have been composed in flash? Well, how many electronic devices do I need in order to do my e-book shopping.

E-books and Amazon are behind the whole Publisher-Apple contract, anyhow. With Apple, the Big Guys can set the price on e-books. Ok. I want the publishing houses to survive the current economic tumult and the cultural progression towards completely virtual existence because, at some point, I want my manuscript to be approved of by one of their editors. Unfortunately, I don't feel that selling e-books through the ApStore at a higher-than-Amazon price tag will win converts. But the publishers need customers and lots of customers to keep up. Print sales are plummeting and have been for awhile, while e-readers took CES by storm. More e-reader platforms, more e-books, more options. As the market expands, supply and demand will determine the future.

Truth is, any electronic data is competing with FREE. Free is illicit, yes, and most of us listen to the angel on our shoulder more than the demon, but the contrast is still present. I fear that the higher the price tag, the more it will drive people to pirate. The blade we'd be walking on is the cost of good intentions, where do good intentions and law abiding ways cost too much?

E-readers are going to be The Thing for the next few years. The trend isn't going anywhere. But the upcoming generation that will be using them exclusively-at some point-will also be a generation accustomed to increasingly free entertainment. The pressures of the law make "cheap" acceptable, and even honorable-- The Right Thing to Do is to buy it, not pirate it. But if the cost to Buy becomes too large a dent in the wallet (keep in mind that one affect of a recession is an increasing awareness of what-can-be-gotten-for-a-better-price) then Free and risk of being caught begins to look more worth it.

In order to compete with piracy, and to keep piracy down, e-books need to be affordable. Amazon has the right idea in that regard. But the Big Six are afraid that selling e-books at such a low price will be the end of their institution.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe brand loyalty carries more weight than a smaller price tag. But entire brand names have been built on the foundation of discount pricing. Mind, that isn't Apple. But the paperback certainly arrived on the scene as a quicker, cheaper alternative to the hardback. Affordable convenience seems to me to be the greatest seller in America today, and I just can't see E-Readership being any different. Perhaps I'm blind. Or perhaps the publishers are... we'll see what this decade brings!

--Drea

Read more »

Posted in: iPad,publishing,sylvanopolis,writing

Haven

Today is my last day of vacation before school starts, so I decided to treat myself to a rare day of writing with no other obligations. When I was eighteen, this activity was common, but it hasn't happened in months. I was daunted at the idea. These days, I sit down for an hour in the evening and turn out a few sentences, if I'm lucky, then get called away to other tasks. In the morning, when I'm at my best for writing, it seems I'm always busy. But today the calendar was clear so I took the challenge.

Let me say here that I am very, very easily distracted. I can't write with music on in the background, for example. I can write when my boyfriend is in the same room, but not if anyone else is nearby. If my room is even a tad out of order, I'll stop in the middle of a scene to tidy it. This might help explain why the manuscript for my second novel is only thirty pages long so far.

This morning I set up rules for myself: no opening a firefox window for anything except to check dictionary.com or google images (I use the latter one a lot to get visuals straight in my head); no getting up from my chair except to eat or use the bathroom; no staring off into space blankly for longer than I could help. Lately I've been spending all of my writing time on outlines. And don't get me wrong, outlines are important because I like having later events in mind when working on earlier parts of the book, but I have a habit of letting outlines consume me, and they gum up the process when I get frustrated because certain plot points aren't working as I want them to. So another rule was that I could have my outline page open while working, but I couldn't add to it.

I sat down and started to work. Before I knew it, it was one in the afternoon and I had produced a couple of pages. For me, that's pretty good. Between lunch and dinner, I wrote two more. I had forgotten how accomplished it makes me feel to create. As Neil Gaiman says, "The world always seems brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before."

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: gaiman,writing

Between the Margins

In high school and undergrad, I had a bad habit of spending class writing. Sometimes this would be a scene from Arylle that was burning to be recorded. Sometimes it would be jotted plot elements that couldn't wait for later. But most often, it would be experimentation. All of the things that I didn't dare to do during "writing time" for fear of wasting those precious minutes, was carried out here, in the back pages of my spiral-bound notebooks.

I was cleaning through my closet yesterday and realized just how much of this pastiche there is. During high school, when I was involved in the drama program, I wrote two pages of a play (about, creatively, a high school drama student). Never before or since have I written plays, nor have I felt the desire to. On the very last page of my organic chemistry notebook, there are three different pieces of bad poetry. Deep within my biology notes is an attempt at a nonfiction discussion of the stages of grief. Various dreams, story ideas that were never brought to fruition, shufflings of letters to create names (some used, most long forgotten), all grace the pages of my French notebook. In Sociology, I turned to different voices than I usually employ, from a first-person Holden Caulfield type narrator to an ethereal and detached one.

An interesting pair of pieces appeared in my English notebook. First this one:

What will I do when I can't hide from my fears anymore? There isn't much time; I don't have time. I can't think or I'll drown, can't speak or I'll choke. I'm asphyxiating because I can't confront, I'll never confront, I'll always hide and there's no way to stop it. If I try, I can black everything out until only the smallest scent of my fear remains, but what good will that do but postpone the inevitable? I dreamt of guns last night. I was shot to death by a stranger, shot to death several times, I think. But then I escaped and it happened all over again because I couldn't escape.

Then this:

Life is a strange sort of thing. I want to mold it into crazy shapes. I want to take it out on a date (I'll pay; life's never fair). I want to slam it against a wall and hurl abuses at it. I want to fill its pockets until they bulge. I want it to make love to me until I am exhausted. I want to reciprocate the favor. Leave me weak and wounded, but don't neglect me. Tell me anything so long as it's sincere. I'll try believing in it if it doesn't let me fall.

These are the only two examples I can find in my entire history of writing in which I have tried stream of consciousness. Usually, everything is thought out ahead of time and I only write when I am sure of what I want to say. As it is, these both end after only a short while, and have a rather abrupt conclusion. All the same, they've been hiding between pages on how to write essays and avoid plagiarism all these years and I had forgotten that they existed. To me, all of these discoveries were like hidden treasure, even the really embarrassing ones.

So I ask a personal favor to whoever has to sift through my things after my death: don't just toss the class notes. You might find something interesting in there. And if by some odd twist of fate I end up a fabulously famous author, your bank account will reward you for your effort.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: notebooks,writing

Libel

Quite often, authors “borrow” friends, family, or even passing strangers to make characters out of them. Despite the disclaimer that adorns the inside cover of many books, assuring the reader (and lawyers) that all of the people and places within these pages sprang from no where other than the author’s imagination, we are all guilty of fictionalizing reality from time to time.

With me, I find that sometimes I meet people so over-the-top that they seem a caricature already. A boy I once had a history class with, for example, who wore a different pair of designer sunglasses everyday all through class. A young goth man with his made-up face buried in a book of antique French poetry on the Paris metro. A girl with dark eyes and a strong laugh with a tattoo of cascading stars down her backbone that she would show to anyone who asked. All three made me pause and want to write them.

Many times, I do. The character starts out as a clone of their inspiration. In the case of Designer Sunglasses, this is how Karied Travan, a main character of my current novel, was born. I pasted D. S. directly into my world, coiffed blond hair, chiseled jaw and all. I wrote Karied as I imagined D. S. would react in the fictional world of Lirana. He would have to be rich, almost certainly spoiled, and possess an ego the size of the city. As I wrote more and more about him, though, I began to learn about Karied. I discovered his weaknesses, his all-consuming secret, both his artificial and true charm. He grew a family, a history, a future. And now he is almost unrecognizable from his roots as D. S., though he still resembles him physically.

Likewise, oftentimes characters spring from elements of ourselves. In the movie 9, a scientist uses a device to put pieces of his personality into nine homunculi, who then go on living after the apocalypse has killed all human life. Each of the nine creatures has a full character based on some of the scientist’s traits: the curious one, the power hungry one, the slightly neurotic one, etc. Although I would like to think that I don’t translate myself so blatantly onto the page, I know that my personality, interests, and beliefs seep through. Reading my novel, Erica said, was like reading a dictionary to my soul.

In the end, perhaps the most effective characters are a blend of both the known and the new. As we hone our craft and continue to write, we learn how to nurture characters into their full form, making them as real as if we just caught a glance of them on a crowded metro train.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: characters,inspiration,writing

Satisfaction Guaranteed

Writing is like sex.

Now wait a minute, hear me out. It’s not a bad simile.

When I write, I find that my progress mirrors the sex cycle. I have to get into ‘the mood’ first, and this sometimes takes a while. I stare at the computer screen, waiting for some spark of inspiration. What in the world are these people going to say next? How are they feeling? What does this place look like? At this point, the writing is rough and I have to convince myself that no, I would rather not browse facebook all evening instead. Captioned cat photos? Those can wait, really.

Suddenly, something clicks. This can be as small as a turn of phrase, an expression; or as major as a new plot development. I stop and think, “Hmm, not bad.” Another tentative line follows and I usually pause again. Easy characters help here. For some reason, characters are either easy or difficult to write; there’s never an in between level (Erica touched on this before). My characters either jump onto the page and practically move my fingers for me or they stare from a corner and make me coax out every syllable. When it’s time for a scene with difficult characters, sometimes the facebook urges win out. But once the flow begins, I fall into a rhythm. Line follows line and if I’m lucky, they make sense.

At this point, I forget the computer, the cramp in my leg, the cat pictures. I list deeper and deeper into the action until I’m there, standing among my characters. I no longer have to wonder what will happen next because it’s already happened without my thinking about it.

This grows stronger and stronger. I’m a transcriber, a channel. I can’t record the things I see before me quickly enough. It builds and builds and builds.

Then I’m pulled out, blinking. If it was good, I’m pleased with what I see before me. If I’ve betrayed a character in some way, it feels like faking and I have to delete it all. But it’s usually good. Once the rush is gone, I’m done. Writing even a single word more feels forced.

If I’m interrupted before hitting the crescendo (such as when the phone rings or I have to be at work in five minutes and I have a fifteen minute commute), I feel groggy until I can get back to the writing. All day long I’ll be preoccupied with a single line of dialogue, or a problematic character. I feel like I’m viewing the real world through a haze and my concentration on every other subject is impaired. When I get back to writing, it takes longer than before to find the rhythm. My story is a stubborn partner.

Incidentally, Hemingway said that sex and writing make bad bedfellows; that the same energy producing a physical orgasm also goes into the creative process of stories. Once he had achieved the former, he said, making any process on the latter was almost impossible until he had built up a need again. Consolation for celibate writers?

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: hemingway,sex,writing

On Inspiration

As writers, the topic of inspiration is pivotal to our craft. If we were never inspired, we would never write. Or at least, our writing would be extremely dull. When we say that we have ‘writer’s block,’ we mean that we suffer from a lack of inspiration. Writing has become a chore, a drudge. We have to drag ourselves to the keyboard or notebook. Every word is like beating at a colossal wall. This happens to most every writer at some point (some might argue that the majority of their time is spent in this state). How, then, do we re-immerse ourselves? The answer is both simple and complex: we find inspiration. Simple because it can be found anywhere. Complex because, well, if it were really that easy, we would all have written a score of brilliant novels by now.

The reason why I didn’t write my customary post yesterday was because I was visiting a place that used to be my sure-fire inspiration kick. My grandparents live in a remote seaside village on the northern California coastline. It has a population of 280; the people are outnumbered by the seals that bask along the rocky coastline. When I was a child, every summer involved a three-day trip to this paradise of pine and fog and salt. Every afternoon we would hike along the cliffs, search for garter snakes in the tall grass, or venture into the icy water until the pangs in our thighs receded to numbness. In the evenings, I would sit in the big bay windows facing the sea and write until the sun grew large against the horizon and submerged itself for the night. This was my Eden, a cool draught after a sticky summer spent in my hometown.

I was always told that it would be temporary. My grandparents aged and grew weak – my grandfather, physically; my grandmother, mentally. This autumn they moved into a nursing home a few miles up the road from their community. Their house sold within days after being put on the market. My father has been placed in charge of the estate, so yesterday my parents, sister, and I piled in the car and drove up for the first time in two years. Papers needed signing, errands needed to be run. We ended by taking my grandparents out to lunch at a Mexican place off the side of Highway 1. Red paint had been sponged on the walls. The only decoration was a large painting of a rooster with a noble expression on its face (if roosters could ever be said to look noble) while two silhouetted roosters fought in a stormy sky behind him. If artists ever suffer from artist's block, this one had a terminal case.

My grandmother has no idea who I am anymore. I waved broadly as my mother led her into the restaurant. She stared past me, looking nervous, and only took the seat across from me with much coaxing from both my parents. My grandfather is almost immobilized after a series of strokes. He finds talking difficult and is dependent on an oxygen machine.

“How are things?” my father tried helpfully.

My grandmother was silent, intent on drinking the salsa. My mother directed her to the chips instead.

“Not too good,” my grandfather said with a stiff shrug.

I stared at the roosters and tried not to think.

Desperate for conversation, my father said, “Melissa’s got some big news to share with you guys. Don’t you, Melissa?” He doesn’t approve of my engagement or like my fiancé, but his voice took on an animated tone and I played along.

“I got engaged,” I said, holding out my left hand.

Surprisingly, my grandmother took it, and stared down into the ring. “It’s beautiful,” she said. The only distinct words she said all through lunch.

My grandfather’s face lit up. “Congratulations!” he exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!”

Is it really, I wondered, when the only ends are to divorce, die young, or end up like this?

But this was just a passing thought, interrupted as my grandfather asked for my fiancés name and repeated it after me like code. “Ee-ly-jah. That’s a good name. Do you have a date yet?”

I told him and he nodded. “We’re the fifteenth of that month. Fifty-six years ago.”

“Has it been that long?” my grandmother murmured, surprised.

“A long time,” my grandfather responded, not looking at her. She was already back to dipping her fingers in the salsa.

Lunch finally ended and we said our it-was-nice-to-see-you’s. One final “Congratulations!” from my grandfather and they were gone.

“Come on,” my father said to us. “Let’s go for a walk.”

We returned to the trail along the cliffs that I’ve walked so many times. I hurried on ahead of the others, not sure why I was rushing. Here was the secret stairway down to a beach, the gentle cove that was the best place to watch seals, the tide pools that we used to find starfish in, the rock that I climbed all the way to top of one morning and felt reborn. I reached the grove of trees with the crumbling picket fence, the one that I used to imagine was a place in my stories and any moment a character or two would peer out from just behind that bend. No place has ever made me want to write as much as this has. No where have I learned as much about a story as here.

But yesterday, I felt numb. The trees were just trees, slightly crooked. The fence was decaying. There was no magic here. If there ever had been, it was long gone.

My family caught up with me and we turned to head back. The sun was already low in the sky and if we weren’t out of the mountains by nightfall, it could be dangerous.

On the way home, I found my thoughts returning to my first novel, the one that isn’t very good. I’ve put it aside for the time being because, in all honesty, I’m tired of it. So much of it was written there, at my grandparents’ house by the sea. Now that it’s gone, where will I go to find my inspiration?

But as I thought more, I remembered the sponged-red walls of the restaurant. The noble rooster. My grandmother’s blank, but sincere smile. I wanted to write them all, and I have here. They didn’t take me to other worlds, perhaps, but they had driven me to the page nonetheless. Fantastical reality. Better than realistic fantasy.

The sun dipped into the ocean for the night just as we descended the last peak and forsook Highway 1 for inland-bound roads. I scrambled for my pen.

-Melissa

Read more »

Posted in: inspiration,northern california,writing