Active Composition

Posted on April 21, 2014 by Dave Workman

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A blog for fiction writers and impending writers. An editor’s perspective.

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Active Writing (Part 3): Active Composition (Plotting)

To recap: I look for active writing—the life of a novel—on three distinct levels: 1. Voice. 2. Language. 3. Plot.

The late, great Elmore Leonard addressed this dilemma very well: “I try to leave out the parts that people skip.”

Simply put: Tell an exciting, engaging story. A writer divulges the highlights and skips the low points. Determining those potential chapters, scenes, paragraphs, sentences and words to exclude is no less important than what is written. Active composition is knowing the difference.

My advice (to reiterate from Simple, but Exciting): include only those ingredients that 1) build or strengthen plot development; 2) build or strengthen character development, or; 3) set the scene for the reader (where, who, when… perhaps why and how).

I shall chatter many times in this blog about the necessity of plotting… but it’s best to begin at the beginning. How does one go about preparing a good plot? It’s good to think ahead.

The most important preparation of Active Composition is this: Before you begin to write (or certainly before you write too much… as some writers approach a blank page, a fresh idea, a new novel, with blissful ignorance) is know where you’re going. Certainly before you finish your first chapter, I recommend knowing—at least intuiting—where your story will end.

Rule #14: Before you wander along too far, develop your story from A-to-Z. Meaning, formulate a solid game plan, either in your head or outlined on paper, ASAP. Be sure you have both your plot and your characters fairly well determined—with no insurmountable obstacles—from page 1 to THE END.

A hypothetical. Let’s say I want to write a novel about Lisa, a young, adopted woman with a prosthetic leg, who decides to walk from Miami to Seattle—a 3300 mile trek—to meet her birth mother for the first time.

In one sentence, I’ve outlined a credible protagonist, her intent, and the probable (or at least possible) conclusion of her ordeal. I can begin to intuit a host of conflicts and stimulating engagements along the way, an opportunity for personal growth (did I mention that Lisa’s afraid of the dark?), the chance of encountering many delightful or mischievous characters and, of course, the obligatory dramatic conclusion.

While I probably won’t know (not yet, not exactly) all of Lisa’s trials and tribulations along the way, I’m already intuiting my story ending in Seattle, with an encounter between Lisa and her mother. Will the woman be receptive? Will she be dismissive? Perhaps that element remains hazy. However, as a developing plot, I’ve mapped myself much or most of an A-to-Z game plan—a beginning to an end. I trust that I know enough about my character, and about myself as a writer, to begin my story.

It’s okay at this point that neither my protagonist nor I know what’s lurking around every corner. I may not know what specific event will transpire on page 25, or on page 250. Maybe Lisa finds true love along the way—but where? Walking through Georgia? Through Kansas? Through Oregon? Those specifics may still be whirling around my head. We need not know every detail before we embark. And even if we think we know, much will likely change as we continue the journey.

As I begin to compose the basic plot points of my novel, I’ll highlight only the highlights (and low-lights) of Lisa’s marathon walkabout that matter to a reader. It’s important to write only those situations or events that maximize drama and add relevance to your story. That’s Rule #12, by the way. I need not depict every one of the 6,508,014 steps that Lisa will endure to complete the trip—but I definitely want to mention the 2am tornado she encounters in Nebraska, the kind stranger in Tennessee, the motorcycle gang in Missouri and the moment she finds true love in Montana.

So active composition means including only the essential elements of her story, while eliminating or ignoring those parts that don’t move the plot forward. If Lisa picks up a discarded gum-wrapper on Interstate 40, outside of Rapid City—what’s the big deal? Doesn’t interest readers in the least. However, if Lisa finds a gum wrapper in Gainesville and vows to pick up every piece of rubbish she discovers along the way—that development becomes an important character trait and a plot point! As an author, I need not document every piece of trash she picks up, but show me a few unique examples… oh, and include the discarded Lottery ticket she plucks from the roadside in Buzzard Springs—that happens to be a $180 million winner. That’s probably worth a mention.

So, yeah, Rule #12: Leave out the boring parts. (Write only what matters to your story.)
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At the Scene of The (Left Coast) Crime

Posted on March 23, 2014 by Dave Workman

While I’ve long been an advocate and frequent attendee of the California Writers Conference scene, the Left Coast Crime Conference (Monterey, Mar.20-23) is my first foray into the fan-of-the-genre conference. And I’ve already penciled in my commitment to next year’s LCC in Portland, Oregon. The truth is, this is much more fun than writing.

Many of the fans are also authors and most of the authors are also fans. There’s a thrilling sort of intensity, a near obsessive adoration at play here. (Some flew in from the Right Coast to hang with their favorite writers. I find that intense.) The fans love new writers who, in turn, love the newly published writers, who in turn love the seasoned writers. And the elite—many of whom were present—clearly love the fans. I watched Sue Grafton get more hugs than a cute baby on Christmas morning. And she didn’t mind in the least.

Unlike the workshop-based writers conferences, where both egos and fears can sometimes run rampant, I’ve discovered the fan-based conference to be far more casual, even playful. Fans meet authors, chat with authors, eat with authors and immerse themselves in a genre they clearly love. I put the mystery fan up there with the romance and sci-fi/fantasy fan—dedicated, loyal and extremely knowledgeable. Many of the fans have tried writing, or else find themselves in the midst of their first effort—and what better way than to “feel the buzz.” And unlike the workshop atmosphere (where hopes are often dashed by a careless critique or two), the more casual ambiance of simply chatting about one’s profession, or obsession, strikes me as a far more pleasant way to soak it all up.

Far better for those just beginning to write, I think, to be mesmerized by the success of others than to to find oneself in the trenches too early. Yes, writing is hard. Yes, success is hard. But not beyond your dreams. If you’ve wandered through the Left Coast Crime Book Room, you see the astounding possibilities.

Notes From A Conference Room

So where’s the ice water?

As a first-time attendee, and first time panelist (“Now What? Industry Experts on New Publishing Options”) I devoted much of my attention to new writers, or those dangling from the precipice. The changing industry has orphaned many successful mid-list authors, who now find themselves struggling with the option of self-publishing or a smaller press. (A midlist author isn’t a best seller, but rather a self-sustaining author with a large enough fan-base to remain moderately successful, from book to book.) However, with the midlist author a vanishing species, what’s the alternative?

My co-panelists and I (moderator Stacey Cochran, Christine Munroe of Kobo and Jeffrey Weber of Stark Raving Group) were pretty much in total agreement for the duration. Yes, there’s hope. Options exist for new writers and authors in transition. Traditional publishing is in flux, and some writers will be lost to the Way Things Will Work—but I truly believe good writing will find a home.

Small presses (like Muse Harbor) are beginning to thrive—one author at a time. We’re planning just 12 titles for the 2015 calendar year, and not one David Baldacci or J.D. “Nora” Robb among them. Meaning we intend to prevail on the new and midlist author, and are hoping to boot at least one of them upstairs into that stellar category. We have only two publication slots available for our next year’s roster (and I came home with 30+ new manuscripts and queries from the Left Coast Crime crowd—so you do realize the necessity of very good writing) but if the increasing number new presses can churn out a dozen or two authors a year, gradually both writers and readers will find a new influx of talent worth their time and attention.

What about self-publishing? Sure, that’s a viable option. However, as panelist/author Claire Johnson said, “You don’t self publish because nobody else wants your work. You self publish because you want the control.” Meaning, good writing is still paramount. Self-publishing affords you the ultimate creative control—marketing, social networking, book design, management, accounting and ultimately pay-off as well—but you have to be ready for that challenge. If you’re self-publishing and still not succeeding, perhaps it’s time for a rewrite? A new novel? A fresh start.

The key to success? Many variables—with, for better or worse, a healthy quotient of “luck” among them—factor into a writer’s success. But I believe marketing to be a fundamental key. And few small presses (or large traditional publishers, for that matter) have yet to discover that magical “Can’t Fail” strategy. At Muse Harbor, we’re looking at traditional marketing solutions, but we’re also taking the “small steps” approach, building an author’s audience one loyal reader at a time. No, you won’t be partying with Dennis Lehane or Patricia Cornwell just yet…but with a bit of luck, diligence and perhaps another novel or two under your belt, maybe they’ll be calling you up for an invite of their own.

Muse Harbor Publishing Launches Young Adult Magical Mystery Novel April, Maybe June on March 20

Posted on March 19, 2014 by MHP

Muse Harbor Publishing Launches Young Adult Magical Mystery Novel “April, Maybe June” at Left Coast Crime 2014 – Monterey March 20

Popular Author Shalanna Collins Debuts “April, Maybe June” Novel as First Book in Bliss Sisters Magical Adventures Series.

Santa Barbara, CA (PRWEB) March 18, 2014

On March 20, 2014, Muse Harbor Publishing’s author of six published novels, Shalanna Collins, debuts her new Young Adult mystery with a magical twist, April, Maybe June to crime readers and writers during the sold-out Left Coast Crime Conference in Monterey, CA.

Collins, a seasoned past conference attendee, will be joined by her publisher, Muse Harbor’s Fiction Editor, Dave Workman, to meet new and veteran crime readers and writers, sign books and promote the launch of April, Maybe June.

Pamela Dean, Author of Tam Lin, and The Secret Country, says “April is the book’s delightful narrator, both witty and unintentionally funny, one of those kids people sometimes say were ‘born old,’ but young and earnest and energetic too. She is fiercely loyal to family and takes this to its logical conclusion in a twisty magical plot full of both humor and terror.”

Workman, crime noir author of On The Rocks, was recently coined by award-winning author Matthew J Pallamary as “The New Elmore Leonard.” Workman will be speaking on a Left Coast Crime Conference panel, promoting both his and Collin’s new crime novels, as well as looking for new authors to publish under Muse Harbor’s moniker.

Collin’s clever young adult novel April, Maybe June, finds home-schooled siblings April and June Bliss inadvertently sucked into their older cousin Arlene’s troubled life when the street-savvy 17-year-old disappears, then sends for their help via an inscrutable grimoire and a mesmerizing silver ring. When life turns supernaturally spooky, April and June must pull together to survive.

April, Maybe June is available on Amazon.com and Museharbor.com. For more of Collins’ writing, visit her blogs at shalanna.livejournal.com, shalannacollins.blogspot.com, deniseweeks.blogspot.com and Friend her on facebook.com/ShalannaCollinsBooks.

Collins graduated from Southern Methodist University with a BS in Computer Science and a BA in Mathematics and has published fiction in several genres, including mystery, fantasy, chick lit, and romantic suspense. She has also published books written as Denise Weeks. “April, Maybe June” is the first book in her Bliss Sisters Magical Adventures series. When she isn’t writing fiction, Collins tutors secondary school math, works as a literacy volunteer, does research on the Internet, and noodles on the piano. She and her husband live happily in a northern suburb of Dallas.

Based in Santa Barbara, CA, Muse Harbor Publishing was founded in 2011 as “writers helping writers, in service to our readers.”

Active Language

Posted on March 17, 2014 by Dave Workman

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A blog for fiction writers and impending writers. An editor’s perspective.

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Active Writing (Part 2): Active Language (Grammar, sentence structure, linguistics)

To recap: I look for active writing—the life of a novel—on three distinct levels: 1. Voice. 2. Language. 3. Plot.

I’ll keep this simple, for both your sake and mine. If you need a grammar lesson, we’re both in the wrong place.

But, in the English language (as compared to, say, Kayabi, and whatever Yoda spoke), the simplest way to invoke energy and emotion into sentence structure is typically: Subject (S) + Verb (V) + Object (O).

Thus (SVO): John kissed Mary.

John (S) + kissed (V) + Mary (O). Or else: Laura (S) + killed (V) + the snake (O).

As opposed to Mary was kissed by John. Or, The snake was killed by Laura. Or the heinously passive: It was the snake that was killed by Laura.

By rearranging the sentence structure to the less energetic Object + Verb + Subject (OVS), a writer is placing the action’s instigator at the end of the sentence and slightly altering the emphasis. And in longer, more complex sentences, both nuance and structure can become uncomfortably apparent. You’re also clogging your story with extremely passive verbs; “was” and “were;” unnecessary prepositions, pronouns, articles and the so-called “little” phrases (e.g.; it would, that were, of the, by which). Such utterly unexciting placeholders act as a buffer between words and action.

For instance, a subtle but distinct difference exists between: Prince Clarion crushed the giant orc’s head and The head of the giant orc was crushed by Prince Clarion. While both structural formats can and will ultimately co-exist in your novel, play with the most active structure first. This is especially important in scenes of passion, action, high tension or terror.

Rule #6: The Jumping Cow Rule (Active vs. Passive Voice). I learned this tenet once upon a time in Eng. Lit. 101. The rule remains the connective tissue of everything I write:

Active (SVO): The cow jumped over the moon.
Passive (OVS): The moon was jumped over by the cow.
Bad passive (WTF): It was the moon that was jumped over by the cow.*

An active/passive correction can be as simple as choosing a more active verb, or as complex as restructuring a sentence. For instance:

Uninspired but acceptable: The moon was bright.
Better: The moon burned brightly.
Or even the more elaborate: The full moon blazed with an intensity that illuminated the village in a mystical chalky sheen.

Because once a writer can identify the difference between active and passive writing, one seldom returns to the excruciatingly mundane.

While I doubt any author can (or should) write an entire novel strictly using SVO sentence structure, I do suggest keeping this grammatical sequence as a staple tool for active writing. And, no, simply because Hemingway frequently used passive voice, you may not. And, no, because David Foster Wallace did so in present tense—“I am this” and “I am that”—you may not. “It was…” is glaringly overused in modern fictive writing. More often than not, excessive passive voice is a sign of tired writing. Meaning your brain’s full. Put down your pencil. Take a walk. Take a nap. Clean the house. Because most “it” usage can transmogrify into far more descriptive prose. Occasionally, ~~it fits~~ such sentence structure may suffice your needs, but most often, ~~it does not~~ your words can be easily rearranged with far more passion and creativity.

A good many novice writers (and even published pro’s) can occasionally slip into a steady flow of passivity. Be on the constant lookout for:

It was a dark and stormy night. Linda was sleeping. There was a noise that awakened her with a start. What was that? she wondered. Was somebody standing outside her door. Was it her husband, Teddy? It was because she didn’t know that she tiptoed to the door. There was only silence beyond the door. Linda was scared and we, dear reader, are ready to close this book forever.

So look closely for any steady stream of passive sentence structure beginning with tired phraseology: It was, They were, There was—and the dreaded It was because…. Each of these sentences can be actively rearranged (and the more you begin to do so, the easier such restructuring becomes).

I’ve occasionally come upon an interesting side-effect of passive language. If a writer twists and contorts various, meaningless phrases long and hard enough, the words sometimes almost sound correct. In fact, a writer may even be convinced that such lavish flow of language sounds positively Shakespearean. But this style of writing is roughly akin to spritzing a pig in expensive French perfume. He may smell nice for awhile, but you still won’t want to kiss him.

For example, this sentence still smells like a pig: Of that substance to which Richard was most disinclined ever to confront, he promised himself never again to touch it to his lips.

Keep your message simple. What’s the idea you’re trying to impart here? Basically, it’s that: Richard hated chocolate, right?

So how might one say that creatively, and yet without losing your basic premise? How about: Richard couldn’t understand the world’s love affair with chocolate. On his tongue, the candy oozed like motor oil, and tasted, to his best perception, like dirty butter.

A simple thought, distinctly perceived, clearly transmitted. Active, not passive.

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* Exceptions always exist, BTW. You’ll occasionally, eventually find this particular phraseology a perfect fit for your needs and, by all means, use it. However, if you find yourself using this grammatical gremlin as a basic structural pattern—then no, you’re not infusing sufficient excitement into your writing. You’re using passive language way too often..

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Active Voice

Posted on February 17, 2014 by Dave Workman

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A blog for fiction writers and impending writers. An editor’s perspective.

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Active Writing (Part 1): Active Voice

When I’m editing a work of fiction, I look for active writing—the life of a novel—on three distinct levels: 1. Voice. 2. Language. And, 3. Plot.

Active writing…the antithesis of passive writing. Friends who write and creative writing teachers, editors and agents, publishers and critics and helpful relatives at Thanksgiving dinner—they’re always imploring us to “Write active, not passive.” So what part of the creative writing process—voice, style or composition—should continually sparkle with activity?

The answer is: Yes, yes and yes. All of the above.

As writers, we should strive to constantly, continually push a character toward conflict, or else pull her away again. Rule #8: Keep characters in motion—either rushing toward action or retreating again. For instance:

We’re either pushing our lovers toward everlasting happiness, or else dragging them away, toward the heartbreak of loneliness.

We’re pushing our swashbuckling adventurer toward finding that buried treasure, or wrenching her away again, thwarted by a shipwreck or a raging storm or a bout of cholera.

We’re pushing an intrepid band of Hobbits toward Mount Doom, or dragging them away (…and again and again and again and again).

Or think of such continual movement this way: A novel is like an aardvark, a living creature that must both inhale and exhale to survive. Both actions are equally important for survival. Pushing forward is a fictive inhalation: plot driven, visually stimulating and action-oriented. Pulling away is fictive exhalation: Character-oriented; an emotional, thoughtful, psychological or spiritual response.

For instance:

Inhale: A thousand snarling, brain-craving zombies lurch through a dark tunnel, hungry for you and your family. At the other end, you find the tunnel hopelessly blocked! But, wait! You discover a service hatch! While you all scramble safely through that well-placed emergency exit, Aunt Mildred trips over her shoelaces, falls and gets munched. (An inhalation scene is typically visually rich and plot-oriented. A battle. A hot romance. A mystery revealed. A chase. A munched aunt.)

Exhale: Sobbing afterwards, you and your family mourn poor Aunt Mildred. Still, for the moment you’re safe and sound! Time for a nap. (An exhalation scene is typically informational and character-oriented; poignant or empathetic, revealing or mysterious. An important conversation, an inner monologue. A nap.)

But, wait! Suddenly you remember that your late Aunt Mildred had been carrying your only map to the Zombie-Free Safety Zone! Without that map, you’re toast. Overhead, thunder rumbles ominously. Time to push forward toward unknown horrors. Time for another deep inhalation!

See a pattern developing? As writers, if we’re not constantly pushing or pulling, inhaling or exhaling, we’re miring the plot, our characters, in mundanity. Passive Writing (as opposed to Active Writing) is pretty much total exhalation. Ask an aardvark to exhale continually for 300 pages and what happens? Right. Dead as a doornail.

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Another crucial element of Active Writing? Remember the age-old, somewhat obtuse and often marginalized basic fiction-writer’s adage: Show, Don’t Tell? Yes, the axiom remains a valid reminder to allow readers to emotionally experience (rather than simply observe) your story. New writers often overtly auto-focus on plotting—that is, in getting the reader from here to there, and ultimately do so as quickly as possible, and with very little sense of style, wit and panache. In that relentless drive to write a ‘complete’ plot, those same writers forget about those equally important attributes: scene-setting and character-development.

Simply put, Show, Don’t Tell is a reminder to stop and smell the roses along the way. Meaning… show the reader the gleam of the diamond, the glint of hard steel, the fragrance of new blossoms in the spring—and not simply tell us, it’s a rock, it’s a sword, it was warm.

When showing, not telling (essentially, using active, not passive voice), the writer’s relying on a bare-bones, superficial sort of prose. Repetitive, inclusive passive voice produces very little excitement. Active voice greatly enhances a book’s enthusiasm and exuberance.
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