Simple, But Exciting

Posted on December 14, 2013 by Dave Workman

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

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Simple, But Exciting
(Introducing a novel’s three essential components.)

If I could distill the fundamentals of potentially great storytelling, my advice would be this: Keep it simple, but exciting…exciting, but simple.

While such advice may seem paradoxical (“Paint it black, but paint it white.”) you’ll find a marvelous co-dependency at play in writing a novel that: 1) moves the story forward with clear, comprehensible language, without confusing or unnecessary intrusions, and; 2) imparts a breathlessness, a passion, a cerebral metamorphosis that transforms the reader’s reality into a fictional realm of your choosing.

One manages such duality by keeping: 1) the fundamentals simple, and; 2) your voice exciting.

Simple: The mechanics and structure of your writing, the clarity of your language. (Specifically, syntax, semantics and grammar*.) Note that simple doesn’t mean uninteresting or brief—nothing synopsized, summarized or truncated—but rather articulate and concise.

Exciting: The unique personality of your style and voice, the ebb and flow of your journey (that is, the structure of your plot), your joie de vivre. Your subtle—but oh-so-witty—nuance. Your tantalizing dialogue. (See Exciting, but Simple. Also see Dialogue.)

Even those writers who attempt to climb (metaphorically speaking) the Mount Everest of epic adventures or those who navigate the Pan’s Labyrinth of complicated plots, the basic mechanics of fiction remain fundamentally simple: Write in clear, precise sentences. (That’s Rule #7, by the way.) Communicate to your reader in intelligent thoughts, carefully constructed, while providing a constant, continual procession of relevant information. Don’t stuff various, complicated ideas into a single sentence. Give yourself permission to expand complex ideas into multiple sentences or paragraphs.

Think of writing a novel as being similar to a long trek through the Sahara. As a reader, I’m following the trail you’ve intentionally set out on page one. I must be able to follow (e.g.; comprehend) each footstep you take along the way. A misplaced thought or a convoluted sentence will give me pause. What did you mean? A muddled page and I may be stymied. A misplaced or badly written chapter and now I’m lost in the arid wastelands. Where am I? Which way did you go? Lose readers midway through that proverbial desert and they’re likely gone for good.

My advice? Don’t get deviously clever or snarkingly cute with readers. Don’t withhold necessary information or keep secrets—intending a sleight of hand later in the story. Yes, your characters can be mysterious, but no, your prose shouldn’t be. Do not write under the influence of an advanced thesaurus. Do not assume readers will meticulously ponder your words attempting to comprehend your subliminal brilliance, your existential aura, your interpretive, Nureyev-like rond de jambe. Sure, your plot can be multi-layered, but not your innuendo. Maintain a precise, lucid writing style. Once again—for emphasis!—write in clear, precise sentences.

Three Simple, Necessary Components

We’ll utilize three necessary components to successfully navigate a story—and we’ll continually weave these elements throughout our novel, like the spiraling filaments in a thread. New writers and first drafts (from experiened writers) often concentrate on building a plot. It makes sense — you want to know where you’re going and how to get there. But don’t neglect scene-setting and character-development, aspects of a novel that are no less important than the plot. (Personally, I think character-development may be more important. Just one guy’s opinion.)

And so, in no particular order, or of no particular importance:

• Scene-Setting. As a reader, I want to be grounded early in each new chapter or scene. Give me a glimpse of where I am, and who I’m with and, if appropriate, when. (After dark? Before lunch? Late autumn? 1947?) Depending upon one’s writing style, setting a scene can be elaborate enough to fill several pages (a la George R.R. Martin), or as sparse as a few suggestive words. For instance:

I’d spent half the night searching in vain for Patrick McMartin. I walked into Charlie’s ramshackle Bar & Billiards a little before noon. The place smelled like old cigarettes and older sweat. You know, the kind of establishment where patrons paid in dimes and quarters, where cockroaches and winos came to die.

Meaning that we’re not obliged to fill pages and pages with unnecessary minutia. As my old granny used to say, “You don’t need to eat the whole pig if all you want is a slice of bacon.” So it’s okay to impart juuuuust enough information to ground readers in a scene, to establish the where and when, perhaps the how or why—and to reveal any pertinent changes that might have transpired between the previous scene and this one. If the current location, time, characters present (…etc.) are similar/identical to the previous scene, then additional scene-setting may be minimal or unnecessary. Your job is simply to be sure that readers remain grounded in the reality of each particular moment. (For more details, see Scene-Setting.)

• Character Development. Give readers enough initial information to identify (or at least tease) the relevant strengths and weaknesses of every major character. Not all at once, of course, but after giving readers an initial visual (or emotional) rendition, continue to reveal additional quirks and idiosyncrasies, little bits of nuance here and there throughout the novel. Creating memorable characters often relies on highlighting subtleties—physical, emotional, psychological, unusual—all at an appropriately opportune time.

Just remember (and this is important enough to become a new rule) why people read fiction. Thus, Rule #13: Readers don’t read to find out What Happens. They read to find out What Happens to Whom. So don’t skimp on the whom part. Proper character development is essential.

• Plot Development. Reveal essential information that continually builds or strengthens your plot. Keep pushing the plot forward, either aggressively or subliminally, but constantly toward an inevitable conclusion of your design.

Note that, in each scene you write, you’ll combine elements of scene-setting, plot development and character development. Include nothing else. Seriously. If you find yourself writing material that doesn’t 1) further the plot, 2) further develop a character or, 3) ground the reader in time and place, those scenes probably don’t belong in your novel. (And if those scenes somehow feel intrinsically important to the story, look closely—they’re likely touching upon one of the above ingredients.)

These three key elements, by the way, comprise Rule #5: Continually scene set, character build or move the plot forward. In novel writing, nothing else matters.

Okay, so here’s a brief hypothetical:

Barnaby awoke before dawn, shivering beneath the insufficient weight of a blanket that smelled of manure and wet straw. The frigid air lay heavy with smoke drifting from a myriad of scattered campfires that burned in the meadow. He gazed upward through the misty tendrils, into a coal black winter’s night. High amid the heavens, he could see the constellation Orion. The hunter.

…Come daylight, he knew, they would all become hunters.

He could hear a distant murmur of sleepless men, of braying horses. Somewhere in the tall grass, a young soldier sobbed. Even though he’d slept, Barnaby instinctively sensed dawn’s approach—soon the drums and bugles would beckon the war, and with its arousal, an unmitigated savagery would descend upon the brigade. Before sunset, many of those stirring restlessly around him would lay dead.

Not long ago, he might have wept at the thought of the carnage that morning would bring. But staring into the heavens, he wished for only solace. He longed for an eternity absent of fear, of hatred, of misery. For the first time since the fighting had begun, Barnaby found himself anticipating the absolute surrender of death, and relished its embrace.

…….….……
In the above paragraphs we find a piecemeal semblance of scene-setting and character development, although not much plot. Yet by the end of the passage, we infer a battle’s brewing (basic plot development) and, if properly scene-set, we suspect our character to be a soldier of some bygone era. Campfires. Horses. Bugles. Even by the discreet choice of names—Barnaby—the writer implies a subliminal clue. No, we don’t know which war…but we assume we’ll be told fairly soon and, if the writing moves us, we’re willing to wait. Nor do we have a clear physical description of Barnaby (our protagonist we presume, although still uncertain)—and yet we’ve glimpsed the lost fear in his soul. Another important character trait.

By juxtaposing well-considered snippets of information, each sentence becomes an integral piece of an enormous puzzle, yet none of the overall picture which will be revealed in haste. The writer utilizes only those pieces that properly fit, and has already begun interlacing individual filaments (of plot, character and grounding) that will eventually weave into a narrative tale. We may not know key elements of the character until far into the novel. We’re learning about this man piece by piece. We may not learn about the writer’s true intent in telling his story—perhaps not the war itself, but rather a young man’s journey to find himself, through various aspects of fate. The writer’s only begun to build a mystery of voice, of plotting, and yet each sentence is precise and methodical, like so many footprints in the sand, one after another after another in meticulous formation toward an inevitable conclusion.

One last note: When is simple too simple? When simple becomes passive. So keep your simple sentences active. (See Active Voice.) For instance:

Passive: John was sleeping. (Simple? Yes. Exciting? No.)

Active: John’s snoring reverberated through the house with the fury of an approaching thunderstorm. (Better.)

Remember: Simple, but exciting.
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*Syntax: The intentional arrangement of words and phrases to create well-formed (that is articulate and easily comprehensible) sentences.

Semantics: The specific meaning of a word, phrase or passage, as well as the relationship of various words to form a specific meaning, mood or intention (such as in the case of sarcasm or incoherence).

Grammar: An comprehensive term that defines the set of linguistic logic and rules of how a language is structured. For instance, in English: The big red house…. In French: La grande maison rouge… would directly translate as The big house red….

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Where to Start (Part 4)

Posted on June 23, 2012 by Dave Workman

A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Getting Down To It.

So maybe you’ve tried writing a few short stories. Or you’ve started a novel, cranked out a few pages or maybe a few chapters, but you’ve found the process… difficult. A bit daunting. Overwhelming. So let’s boil the process down to the bare bones — and perhaps get a better feel of what writing starting a novel is all about. So, for the moment, let’s forget about developing any sort of writing style, about pushing through writer’s block and other down-the-road potential obstacles, about winning that Pulitzer or interviewing with Oprah. For the moment we’ll stick to the preliminaries.

I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s worth repeating: There’s no single, best, one-size-fits-all approach to beginning a novel. Some first-time novelists simply plop themselves down in front of a notepad, a typewriter (because those still exist!) or a PC and begin to peck out a first line, and then another. And another. You’re starting out cold turkey, ready to bang out 300 or 400 pages without a second thought. You’ve got a story to tell and, by God, you’re going to tell it. Because if that’s your style, your intent, go for it! Writers have been writing first novels by the seat of their pants (some of those efforts destined to become best-sellers) for hundreds of years. You can’t argue with tradition.

Or maybe you’re a perfectionist. You’ve been planning your novel for months or even years — getting yourself mentally prepared, but not quite ready to, y’know, do the deed. You’ve read every How-To writing book ever printed, and you’ve memorized Strunk & White. Maybe you’re on your way to a Ph.D in creative writing. (Is there such a thing?) You’ve crossed your proverbial I’s and dotted your perennial T’s and only now, locked and loaded, are you ready to dare tap out those first few sentences.

Either way, realize that this brazen new millennium offers new and exciting (or new and terrifying, depending upon your POV) approaches to prepping, drafting, writing and selling a novel. The Internet has changed the way we gather and research information, interact with other writers to learn a few trade secrets or swap stories, tips and secrets — Reddit’s r/writing sub for example, or NaNoWriMo, Writer’s Digest, Writers Helping Writers, Inkitt or Wattpad — and how we find agents, editors and publishers. New emerging (or emerged) markets such: Audio, ebooks, flash-fiction and fan-fiction Websites and how-to apps proliferate. Total strangers will tell you what to do, how to do it, and will occasionally rip you and your work to pieces with the joyous dexterity of a seasoned serial killer. Emotionally drained, you’re left to wonder, Am I really a horrible writer? Or is that new best friend and critic of yours just some rando psychopath? Sometimes it can be hard to tell. But refer again — and as often as necessary — to Rule #3. Write to please yourself. I call it my self-inflicted sanity rule.

Not to mention that you’ll come across people like me; well-meaning souls who harken our presence and thrash about with an austere sincerity (or else an utterly false pretense) eager to share our fabulous secrets of fame and fortune like so many boardwalk carnival barkers. (Another rule of thumb: If somebody’s asking you to pay for their unsolicited time and advice, think twice, fact check their credentials and don’t be afraid to run screaming into the night.)

Because, basically, writing a novel can be a lonely, isolating endeavor, and trusting oneself is paramount. Your guess about what makes a best-seller is as good an assumption as anybody else’s best guess. So, yeah, relying on your own intuition and common sense is a safe bet. If you get stuck or lost along the way, sure — it’s okay to seek advice or second opinions. But always remember that you’re captain of your own ship. If you find yourself sinking, it’s okay to swim for shore. But if you can weather the storms and make it to port, there’s no sweeter feeling. The first time you see your very own ISBN and/or Library of Congress PCN — few other thrills can compare. Because publishing a book feels very much like landing on the moon or skiing the Matterhorn. For anyone staring morosely at a blank screen, contemplating tapping out those first few pages, just be aware that the long journey ahead can be well worth the effort.

And if you don’t try, you’ll never know for sure.

So perhaps it’s time to explore that Yellow Brick Road. So let’s cut to the chase, bury that witch and skip forward. (Cue the Munchkins!) Because whether you’re contemplating beginning a novel or you’ve already started (or started over), I’ve listed (below) what I consider to be variations of that essential first step.

But give yourself permission to engage in a bit of introspection. A little self-analysis. Ask yourself a few basic Why? questions. Don’t worry, it’s painless. Ain’t nobody’s keeping score. And there are no wrong answers. But understanding your core motivation for writing is, I suspect, more important than you may realize. For instance:

Why have I chosen to write this particular narrative?

An easy question. Because any consideration short of I really don’t have a clue is acceptable. Writing for the sheer joy of writing is a completely okay. Writing to make a moral or social or philosophical difference is fine. Even writing to quiet that incessant static buzz between your ears is acceptable. What’s static after all but a frequency looking for a receptor? Writing may be that receptor. Many writers find that writing fiction quiets the brain, fills a void, provides meaning to an otherwise vacuous life. All valid reasons to begin writing. But not having a clue will only get you so far. A page or two. A chapter or two, before you realize it’s time to move along. To find another source of fulfillment. Sure, give yourself credit for trying, but perhaps your better suited for a different sort of creative endeavor? A less emotionally demanding adventure?

What’s my story about?

Because if you don’t know, readers probably won’t know (or care) either. (Also refer to What’s Your Intention.) Maybe you love reading fantasy, and you’re enamored with fire-belching dragons. However, sitting down to write about fire-belching dragons, but without any further consideration, won’t get you far. How well do you understand your MCs’ motivations? Their personalities? Your story must be different, unique and—above all—well thought out. Because perceiving a story is no less important than writing a story. (See First Drafts.)

What’s my end game? How to I best conclude my story?

Many writer’s have an idea, a concept, an inciting incident in mind—and that feels sufficient to jump down the rabbit hole. For some writers it’s sufficient, but for many of us, knowing the ending of our story is essential to our progress. When we know (or at least intuit) how our story ends, our characters also know. It’s much easier to choreograph our characters toward their fates, or their final destination—and with far fewer wrong turns or dead ends. Because, otherwise, many writers hit that ‘muddle in the middle’, and lose their way, or give up altogether. So know where you’re going, then figure out how to get there.

What do I risk by writing this (or any) book? Is it worth the price?

I’m no shrink, nor do I play one on TV, and I expect no Freudian answers. But are there risks writing a book? Yup. A risk of disillusionment, disapproval and disappointment, for starters. Losing touch with friends and family. Losing months or perhaps years of your life while staring at a computer screen (and wondering who’s going to pay the G&E bills). Most of us will face a buttload* of rejection, and sometimes repeatedly. Most of us who begin a novel — and brace yourself — won’t finish. Of those who do finish, a majority will not find a publisher. Of those who do, a majority will not make a sustainable living. Not trying to be a total bummer here—but those are the risks we learn to accept.

Maybe you’ve heard of the Aspiration, Inspiration, Perspiration philosophy of novel writing? If not, here’s the gist:

Aspiration is about having a desire and ambition—the eagerness — to write a particular story. Maybe it’s based on family history or a newspaper article or an old movie you once saw, and intend to improve upon. Maybe you’ve read a thousand fantasy novels and thought, I can do that! But having a specific goal in mind can be crucial to boy your joy of writing and your success.

Inspiration is simply another word for your creativity. Every chance you get, consciously or subliminally, your brain is concocting clever scenarios about this and that and some other thing. What if this happens? What if that happens? What would happen if…? Meaning, you’re comfortable concocting clever, witty characters in well-conceived settings (or realms), and then giving them something exciting, profound and memorable to accomplish or survive.

Perspiration is perhaps the most challenging of the three. Perspiration is all about your ability to persevere, page after page after page. Day after day, night after night. It’s about excusing yourself (not always, but often) when you’re friends are knocking back tequila shooters down at the Disco. It’s about potentially isolating yourself from friends and families for months or years, and about accepting criticism (when valid) and about pushing forward despite reservations and self-doubt and either the fear of failure or fear of success whispering furiously in the back of your brain. (Also see Fundamentals for a deeper dive into this philosophy.)

But enough with the negativity already! Back to the fun and frolic of telling a good story.

As previously discussed, most story ideas begin as a snippet of thought or a fragmented concept, perhaps a random daydream or a tasty soundbite thrown your way from mass- or social-media. Maybe you’ve piled on additional, if nebulous, ideas as well. Once you have a basic story in mind — either a partially considered, loosely threaded beginning, middle and ending in mind, or simply that aforementioned inciting incident — it’s up to you to expand upon those concepts into an eventual, fully-formed novel.

Do realize that no set rules exist for proceeding. If my last few posts feel unhelpful or cumbersome, no worries! (And this is as close to a disclaimer as I’ll come.) But since every writer’s brainwaves, intuitions, coping skills and experiences are unique, I’m unlikely to speak with either eloquence or efficacy to every novice writer. So take from me what you will, disregard the rest and Google your way toward any number of variable alternative sources. The great thing about the Internet; There are a million different sources and resources awaiting your arrival. (Then again, the terrible thing about the Internet is: There are a million sources and resources out there.) So choose well, Pilgrim!

As previously mentioned, one can simply sit down—with a note pad, a voice recorder (some of us do!), a typewriter or PC—and begin to lovingly craft a vision; word by word, page by page, and scene by scene. But if blindly charging forward into the fray isn’t your style, no worries! Some writers mull their stories for months or years (it’s a kind of creative procrastination) waiting until they feel the moment is ripe to actually begin a draft. However, f you consider yourself a creative procrastinator, or else suspect your impending story as being only half-baked, I offer a few suggestions that may (or may not) help you with a little forward momentum. For instance:

The Outline. I’ve already mentioned the potential value of outlining in my previous post—but it’s a valuable tool, and well worth exploring. The process may begin as little more than bullet-pointing a potential story line—although some writers use index cards tacked to cork board, or mark major plot points on a chalkboard; others will voice record their thoughts or simply jot random thoughts on a notepad or two. (I’ve tried that, but I tend to misplace notepads with alarming frequency.) If you need a refresher on the benefits of outlining, HERE it is.

The Synopsis.

While your outline allows you to essentially expand various story ideas, a synopsis is, conversely, an encapsulation of ideas. A summary. If you’re able to define your plot in a page or two or three, you’ll begin to better understand the crux of your novel. Maybe your exciting sci-fi alien encounter is really a love story. Or your tale about two army deserters in a terrible war is basically a story of finding courage. A schoolyard tale about bullies and weaklings is ultimately a story about building unlikely friendships. So a synopsis can be a quick-glance guideline or as a daily reminder of where your story’s heading. (I’ve known a writer or two who’ll tape a synopsis above their desk. Every morning, it becomes both a prompt and an an inspiration.

If creating a synopsis seems frivolous or overwhelming (and it may) take a deep breath and try this: What’s your favorite novel? See if you can write an synopsis about that book, without the pressure of summarizing your own words. Synopsize a few novels and abridging your own work may feel less daunting.

For example:

Amidst the rumble of an approaching Civil War, we find Scarlett O’Hara, the spoiled, teen-aged daughter of a wealthy Atlanta plantation owner, caught in her own giddy social bubble. Scarlett is clueless about the meaning of life, or the value of honor—although as the war rages, she discovers newfound courage and an inkling of character. Briefly married, she is quickly widowed by the calamity of war. Shortly thereafter, Scarlett’s beloved plantation, Tara, falls victim to the advancing Union army, and she must decide between her love of the land and her dedication to friends and family. She falls under the spell of a rebel blockade runner named Rhett Butler. The two are unsuited, but soon after the war’s end, she weds Rhett not for love but rather for his brash charisma and wealth—his ability to save Tara from the ravages of a lost war. However, their happiness quickly spirals into bitterness and remorse—and Scarlett ultimately decides that saving her home, Tara, is more important than saving her marriage. Still, she gathers the strength to hope for a brighter future.

Sure, it’s a sketchy synopsis, and incomplete (for instance, no mention of Ashley, of Melanie, or of Scarlett’s children), but it carries forth the deep core of the plot. Now, what about your story ideas? Can you define its heart and soul—even before you write word one? Discovering the essence of your unwritten novel can prove useful—and the sooner the better. Finding the essence of your story is so crucial that it’s now a rule.

Rule #11: Get acquainted with your story. Find your core elements. Because the more you know now, the fewer pages you’ll trash later.

Oh, and don’t delete your synopsis after you finish a draft or two. Agents and editors and publishers will ask for it. (At least I’ll ask.) Your synopsis can serve as your literary calling card, whence you submit your manuscript to agents or publishers.

An expanded synopsis. (Optional.) A synopsis is a synopsis is a synopsis—but like an outline or a draft, you’re constantly creating room for growth and improvement. As your plot coalesces, ain’t nothing wrong with updating your synopsis as well. Add a little padding, either before you begin to write or as you begin your first draft. It’s okay to use your synopsis (or outline) as a fluid primer or blueprint. It’s perfectly okay to update your synopsis—so feel free to add another 5 or 10 or 20 pages, exploring any newfound ideas. Make mistakes. Think fresh thoughts. Re-evaluate. Leave blanks. Every time I finish a synopsis, even a first draft, I find myself with a few dozen gaps where I’ve typed [IDEA TO COME]—and yes, again in bright, bold red—before moving along to those ideas that are freely flowing. Trust that every idea you need will arrive—and in its own damn time. Writing a novel is funny that way.

PS: If you’re one of those people loathe to leave a blank space, who must write every word precisely in chronological order, who must pen every thought with unwavering exactitude, striving for immediate perfection, my advice is this: Get over yourself! There’s no such thing as perfect writing. And certainly while attempt to piece together a synopsis or first draft! Even polished and ready for publication, there’s no single solution—no perfect sentence or perfect page or perfect chapter in a perfect book (that can’t be altered, tweaked, deleted or rethought. Every word we write (or don’t write) is a subjective impulse. Writing Harold hated his dance classes rather than Harold disliked his dance classes won’t bring your novel any closer to literary Nirvana. Do your best… and then move along. Remember, perfection is an illusion—a Siren singing sweetly on the rocks of self-importance and ultimate disillusion. We do the best we can, and we also finish the book.

By the way, it’s now a rule. Rule #100: Get over yourself!

Character Profile (Aria). Some writers choose to visualize their main characters (specifically their protagonist and antagonist) before they begin to draft out a story. They feel that creating this sort of personal bio can better hone the creative process, and can even help with plot structure. I’ve known writers who’ll look for digital images of real folks in the hopes to better establish a more familiar (and hence believable) entity in their own minds. Such intense scrutiny isn’t necessary—but it can’t hurt, either. For certain writers, depicting these people can help establish both a physical and emotional bond, even if most of these characteristics and physical attributes never make it to the page. The purpose of the literary aria is simply to help the writer’s vision.

I believe that some readers appreciate in-depth revelations of a character’s physical description, emotional band-width and various personal qualities. Others prefer to deduce such visual and emotional characteristics for themselves. So creating elaborate physical descriptions are obviously a matter of choice. For instance consider the somewhat pithy:

Marshal Dusty Yates stood at the edge of town, watching the sun rise. Yates had seen more evil in the last few days than most men would see in a lifetime. He absently brushed his fingers against the pistol holstered against his thigh and wondered if he’d live long enough to see sundown.

Or, conversely, the more detailed:

Marshal Dusty Yates, six foot, three inches of pure, mean Texan, stood grizzled and hungover at the edge of town, watching the sun rise. A hard-edged, ruggedly handsome man, Yates had seen more evil in the last few days than most men would ever see in a lifetime. He absently brushed his fingers against the smooth pearl handle of the Colt Peacemaker holstered against this thigh and, with a deep sigh, wondered if he’d live long enough to see sundown.

Both versions paint an adequate description of our hypothetical lawman, so it’s really only a factor of your writing style and the amount of detail you wish to impart.

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When you’re ready, you’ll begin writing.

First Draft. Like an outline, your first draft is a basic tool. Yes, you’re in actual writing mode (feels good, doesn’t it?) but at this point, most writers are still slowly picking their way forward, working out the kinks, aware that much of your story may be in its embryonic stage—and subject to continual change. For most of us, our first draft will most often look like shit. Don’t sweat it! Subsequent drafts should eventually produce the book you want, and deserve.

See First Drafts for more info.

Second Draft. You’re adding additional depth and nuance to your characters and honing your plot. You’re adding colors and sounds and smells and honing both dialogue (conversations) and internal monologues (deep, inner thoughts). You’re revealing nuanced character traits and subtle innuendo, twists and turns and, if appropriate, cliff-hangers. With your first draft, you’ve already built a creature of muscle and bone, now you’re adding frizzy blonde hair and freckles and one unlaced hi-topped Keds. You’re “putting the red on the apple” as they say.

By the way, don’t think of a second draft as being a strict, chronological procedure. My use of the term ‘Second Draft’ encompasses all further drafts—third, fourth, fifth, 38th, etc. Personally, I’ll rework and edit my first 50-100 pages perhaps a dozen times, my middle second half as much and my ending—which I usually discover somewhere during the middle of my story—a few times. (Although I’ll often fuss over my final chapter quite a bit. Getting it right is essential.) But I’ll often skip jump back and forth over scenes and chapters and work on specific trouble spots—wherever my brain decides to take me at any given moment.

After I finish my first draft, I’ll typically revisit my early scenes because now I better understand my overall story, and my characters’ personalities and motivations—and I’ve gone as far as rearranging scenes or rewriting completely new opening prose to best fit the nature and nuance of my grand finalé. I never assume my opening lines will survive intact…because they rarely do.

Also be aware that while a “shitty first draft” is fairly common among writers, we all have our own systemic approaches to drafting. Because no two are alike, no two first drafts will be alike. Some writers (I believe sci-fi master Arthur C. Clarke was one) crafted one page a day — or so go the rumors — and rarely if ever revisited or redrafted a written page. If that system works for you, great! For the rest of us, however, the redrafting and editorial processes can take months. Even longer.

The Stick-it-in-a-Drawer Phase. Seriously. Put it away for a week or a month. Try to forget that you’ve ever written it. Me? I use that time to begin contemplating a new book. Or read or else OD on old movies…anything to take my mind off that work-in-progress.

Polishing. Time’s up! Read your story again with fresh brain cells. Tweak and polish each page. Cut every uncertain or unnecessary word that doesn’t want to fit, un-garble every phrase that feels plodding or slow. Fill in the gaps…even if that means adding scenes or chapters. Trim threads from the tapestry. Be sure every aspect belongs. Speed up the action or, when it doubt, truncate or eliminate the morass. If you feel something reads slow, don’t assume it isn’t. If you think it is, your readers will think so too. Definitely find ways to truncate or tweak the slow spots. Oh, and kill your darlings.

And there’s your finished novel. Piece of cake, right?

– – – – –

* Buttload = 126 gallons of wine. Seriously. A butt is a real unit of measurement.

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Good Writing, Bad Advice

Posted on January 2, 2012 by Dave Workman

A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Good Writing, Bad Advice.

My name (once again) is Dave Workman. I’m a content (developmental) editor IRL. I’m also an author. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a bit of knowledge that may help new writers beginning a long and often arduous (although hopefully rewarding) journey. Might I impart any significant pearls of wisdom on this page? I offer no assurances. Nobody in this business—in any business—can guarantee success. Finding a publisher is sometimes more luck (sadly) than skill. Good timing rather than dedication. Sometimes it’s who you know. Sometimes it’s who your daddy knows. Success is a subjective son-of-a-bitch with a chip on one shoulder and a crazed twinkle in its eye.

But knowing how to write well can’t hurt. And knowing a few basic rules along the way can definitely ease the process. Success may be elusive, but for an unprepared or apathetic writer, success is probably little more than a fuzzy daydream.

Do you know the Numero Uno, Most Common, Most Discouraging, and the Tragic Probable Outcome of all novel-length endeavors? It’s not finishing the book. Losing interest or losing your way, losing your nerve or losing your religion. It’s fear of success or fear of failure or fear of wrestling all those words into place, from “Once upon a time…” to “…They lived happily ever after.” If you can overcome the multitude of hurdles you’ll face and finish a manuscript (even a first draft!) you’re already closer to success than most.

Finish the book. That’s Rule #1.

In this and subsequent posts, I’ll attempt to reveal what many publishers seek in terms of a desirable manuscript, although—bottom line?—it’s very likely a polished, professional and unique voice. Yes, voice. A publisher (or agent) is far more likely to accept an uncanny voice over a complex, complicated or convoluted plot structure. Lock two fully-developed characters in a closet, give them exceptional dialogue and quirky or witty personalities worth exploring, and a publisher will likely consider that manuscript over a done-to-death story about brain-sucking aliens attacking Las Vegas. (Although if your aliens have quirky, well-constructed personalities, a potential agent/publisher will take a close look as well.)

But let’s face it—only so many finite plot-lines exist in literature. They’ve all been covered ad nauseam. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy is eaten by giant squid. (It’s been done.) But a unique voice is yours alone. Exclusive. Inimitable. Priceless. For a writer, creating a unique voice, creating memorable characters, is imperative. By infusing excitement, passion, eccentricity, pathos, wit and charisma into your story’s various characters can be money in the proverbial bank.

Okay, enough preamble. Although I do have one significant bit of advice to share: Don’t listen to anybody (and certainly not to me) if the advice doesn’t resonate. Go with your gut. Go with your own instincts. By all means, listen selectively to proffered advice—accept feedback when it’s constructively given—although I suspect some 80-90% of what you hear won’t work for you. However, that remaining 10-20% may prove priceless. So do keep an open mind! (See Confronting Criticism.) Remember, success is as much about breaking rules as following them. If it feels right, crayon outside the lines. I think Gandhi said that. Maybe not.

To illustrate, here’s a true story. This one still gives me nightmares. I still wake up cringing.

The most single, most horrific, most god-awful perverse piece of advice I’ve ever encountered occurred during a week-long writers’ conference in Southern CA. (And while a writers’ conference can be a wonderful, magical, scintillating experience… again, be careful who you listen to.)

One evening, a panel of “editorial experts” bequeathed their brilliance to a capacity filled auditorium of eager, fledgling writers. An attendee stood and asked a panelist a question, and in doing so happened to mention that her nearly-completed novel filled some 360 pages. About 90,000 words.

Without a moment’s preamble—without a speck of empathy or a grain of intelligence—the so-called expert replied, “It’s too long. Cut twenty thousand words.”

This Expert of Knowing Everything While Knowing Nothing had no clue about the nature of the story or its genre, or of the writer’s level of craft, the tenor of the book. Simply “cut it.” The writer was, of course, crushed. And I have never forgotten my frustration over that absurdly idiotic remark.

Should anyone tell you to arbitrarily cut (or add) pages without otherwise knowing your story—it’s intent and purpose—smile politely and walk away. I’ve read too many manuscripts that feel truncated and unfinished… only to discover that the writer had been previously advised to “cut, cut, cut!” without further direction or counsel. In desperation, many writers blindly begin hacking all the style and nuance from an otherwise excellent story.

Think of a novel as a living, breathing person. As an editor, if I feel a story needs to lose a bit of weight, I’ll not advise a writer to remove its liver or stomach or left arm. The process is to shrewdly exercise your book—cautiously trimming adverbs, adjectives and excess verbiage like so many bloated fat-cells. Eliminate scenes or chapters that do nothing for the story but flatter your ego. Prune those sections carefully, little by little. Or feed it more Skittles, should the opposite be true.

I acknowledge that the above-referenced workshop occurred before the Age of e-publishing. Stricter rules applied once upon a time (although stupidity didn’t count back then, either). And I continue to hear agents and editors and the so-called “people in the know” advising writers to cut or add pages, to alter a manuscript in order to satisfy some personal itch or the guidelines of a publishing system that no longer exists.

The biggest problem today? Since the emergence of e-books and self-publishing (around 2008-ish), the industry remains in flux. No one’s certain of the new rules yet. But in this rapidly changing paradigm of 21st century novel writing, here’s my best advice: Trust yourself—and hone those basic skills of storytelling in the (somewhat paradoxically) simplest, yet most exciting voice you can muster.
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Posted on January 1, 2012 by Dave Workman

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A notebook for fiction writers and aspiring novelists. One editor’s perspective.

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Welcome to the blog!
……Here’s what’s what.

My name is Dave Workman. I’m an author and freelance editor (formerly an acquisitions and developmental editor for Muse Harbor Publishing). Several years ago I began writing Rules of Engagement for beginning (or curious) writers, based on what I perceive to be fundamental obstacles that many of us confront when starting, or struggling through, a new novel. Perhaps I can offer useful advice—or maybe not—although I certainly know what excites me as a reader. Thus, the following comments (although RoE remains a work-in-progress) may be worth a look.

INTRO. Good Writing, Bad Advice. Ultimately, it’s your book.
Rule #1: Finish your book.

1. Where to Start. (Part 1). Exploring your inciting incident.

2. Where to Start (Part 2). Your first line should be the most thoughtfully crafted sentence of your story. • Also, don’t know exactly how or where to start? (I have a suggestion.)
Rule #2: Make your story’s first line enticing enough to immediately hook readers.

3. Where to Start (Part 3). Outlining. (If you’re a first-time novelist, outlining may be more important than you think. Even if you’ve written a dozen-or-so novels…it’s still important.)

4. Where to Start (Part 4). Getting down to it. (Starting for real).
Rule #3: Write to please yourself.
Rule #11: Get acquainted with your story.
Rule #100: Expecting perfection? Well, get over yourself. Beginning a novel is often messy, complicated and fraught with sleepless nights of panic, self-doubt and uncertainly. However, trust me, you’ll improve. Patience, pilgrim… patience. (Also see #13: Perfection below.)

5. First Drafts. Writing is a two-part process. Part 1: The Idea. And, Part 2: The Implementation. A first draft is a writer’s attempt to make that difficult transition between creative right-brain thinking and logical left-brain doing. • Also, don’t expect perfection (or even coherence) in a first draft. It’s not a finished product, just a basic, roughly-hewn tool we use to ‘get where we’re going.’

6. A Few Common Obstacles. The 6 most common obstacles that most novice novelists confront. (Also See: More Common Obstacles—#39 below.)

7. Fundamentals. Discovering those so-called ‘pillars’ of a successful novel. Sometimes it’s nature. Sometimes it’s nurture. Success is likely a combination of both. • Also, the Hierarchy of Competence.
Rule #17: Make a hard copy (paper) back-up of your manuscript every now and then, even when working in draft mode. (See Finagle’s Law. But brace yourself.)

8. Simple, But Exciting. Juggle precision with passion. • Also: Introducing the novel’s Three Essential Components.
Rule #7: Write in clear, precise sentences. Communicate to your reader in intelligent thoughts, carefully constructed, while providing a constant, continual procession (discreetly or indiscreetly) of relevant information.
Rule #5: Continually 1. scene-set; 2. character-build, or; 3. move the plot forward. When writing fiction, nothing else matters. Page by page, a good novel should seamlessly blend all three components.
Rule #13: Readers don’t read novels to find out What Happens. They read novels to find out What Happens to Whom. Sufficient character development is as essential as your plot.

9. Exciting, But Simple. Juggle passion with precision.
If you’re not fully engaged in your writing, potentially dull and tedious prose won’t thrill readers. But innovative, excited, passionate writers tend to produce innovating, exciting and passionate prose. Too much passion, however (the dreaded ‘purple prose’) can quickly drown a reader in the unintelligible. So it’s important to find that balanced, literary ‘sweet spot.’

10. Active Writing (Part 1). Active Voice. How to find it. How to keep it.
Rule #8: Keep characters in motion. Either through action or dialogue, you’re continually pushing characters toward drama or pulling them away from drama. Also see Show, Don’t Tell below.

11. Active Writing (Part 2). Active Language (Grammar).
Rule #6: The Jumping Cow Rule (Active vs. Passive Voice).

12. Active Writing (Part 3). Active Composition (Plotting)
Rule #14: Develop your story from A-to-Z. Know where you’re going.

13. Perfection. Do your best, and then move on.
Rule #25: Perfection in writing doesn’t exist. (Don’t burn out or waste years attempting to find it.)
Rule #4: Do the best you can. That’s all readers can ask.

14. Action/Reaction. A novel is an endless series of relevant connections. Every paragraph you write is like a puzzle piece that must fit into a specific, coherent place within a specific, coherent premise.
Rule #10: In fiction, for every action, provide an appropriate reaction. Over and over and over.

15. Show, Don’t Tell. What’s it even mean? Because we’ve all heard this advice a thousand times before… but it’s still a valid axiom. So don’t dismiss it! • Also, exploring E-Prime writing.

16. What’s Your Intention? A brief guide to rational writing.
Rule #29: Your characters may remain mysterious, elusive or distracted, but your prose must remain clear and concise.

17. Focus on the Now. Stay in the moment.
Rule #16: Focus on the now. Write one thought at a time, and don’t worry about the rest.

18. My Favorite Films About Writers and Writing. A personal aside.

19. Finding Your Voice (Part 1). Find a style and stick with it.
Rule #9: A great novel is not so much what you tell, but how you tell it. All writers develop a unique style. Finding yours is imperative.

20. Finding Your Voice (Part 2). Do your characters speak to you?
Rule #12: Shut up and let your characters tell their own stories.

21. Finding Your Voice (Part 3). Point of View: Narrative vs. Authorial Voice.

22. Write The Daydream. What’s a novel, but a daydream we write down and embellish, expand and hone into something coherent, dramatic and hopefully entertaining?

23. Plotting (Part 1). Plotting is simply a series of sequential What if? questions (and answers) relevant to your story.

24. Plotting (Part 2). Fiction is all about drama. (Even raucous comedies are about the drama.) So don’t dismiss the drama.
Rule #27. Make drama (big drama, little drama) your novel’s constant companion.

25. Story vs. Plot. What’s the dif? • Also, resolving the “My-story’s-too-short!” dilemma.

26. Action vs. Information. The Oil & Water of Novel Writing.
Rule #26: Don’t mix Action and Information scenes. Keep these two incompatible concepts (relatively) separate.

27. Dialogue (Part 1). Writing Great Dialogue: An Absolute Necessity.
Rule #30: Create dialogue that—like the basic fundamentals of fiction—accomplishes one of three specific goals. Dialogue must: 1) Set a scene; 2) Develop/refine a character and/or; 3) Move the plot forward.

28. Dialogue (Part 2). Writing Great Dialogue: Balancing reality and fiction — two very distinct styles of chit-chat.
Rule #39: Never reveal too much relevant information too quickly.
Rule #39A: ...but relevant or not, always keep dialogue witty and compelling.

29. Dialogue (Part 3). Writing great dialogue isn’t about epic plotting. It’s simpler than that. Rule #41: Great fiction isn’t about ‘what happens.’ It’s about ‘what happens to people.’

30. Dialogue (Part 4). Dialogue vs. Internal Monologue. The key to precise communication with your readers is knowing when to use what. • Also, Communication via TV, Radio, Social Media and Texting

31. Dialogue (Part 5). Writing Great Dialogue in First Person (POV).
Rule #45: First Person POV readers aren’t expecting absolute authenticity so much as absolute personality.

32. Dialogue (Part 6A). The Q. & A. page.
Rule #48: Don’t use dialogue as an alternative to directly depicting action or drama.

33. Dialogue (Part 6B). The Q. & A. page (Cont’d).

34. Dialogue (Part 7). Attribution. (AKA: Dialogue Tags.) The ‘he said/she said’ of writing dialogue. Because sometimes visual subtleties matter.
Rule #55: Don’t just write dialogue, write active dialogue. Avoid ‘talking heads’ scenes by maintaining visual stimulation or plot momentum during scenes of intense dialogue.

35. Dialogue (Part 8). When not to use dialogue.

36. Character Development. Quite possibly the most important part of your story.

37. Scene-Setting. Scene-setting is often the most overlooked of the three essential components of novel writing.
Rule #28: Every scene we write, before we begin (or before we continue) to propel our plot forward, we must establish a viable setting for our characters, and a firm grounding for our readers. And we must do so every time we move a character to a new time or place, scene after scene.

38. Confronting Criticism. Sooner or later, we all confront criticism. How we regard such feedback can be crucial to our eventual success.
Rule #99: Knowing the difference between constructive criticism and counter-productive criticism is crucial. (And this is where I tell you why.)

39. More Common Obstacles. Are you still finding those first few scenes/chapters difficult or impossible to write? I’ve already mentioned a few common obstacles that writers face. (See #5 above.) Maybe it’s time to look inward and investigate further.

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