Last week, I had a wonderful time having brunch with Caroline Starr Rose, a soon-to-be-published writer who has recently relocated back to this area. We were already online friends, so it was a blessing to meet her in person and share that unique fellowship of writers.
Caroline's debut novel is a middle-grade novel in verse. I'm a former verse writer who still likes to write lyrical prose. During our very stimulating conversation, we shared our experiences with the challenge of working with lyrical language.
I can't always control words.
On some days, I achieve full fluency and I write stuff that has power.
On other days, the words are stubborn and stiff.
My lack of control makes writing scary sometimes. That's when I have to start praying, so I can give up the responsibility and rely instead on a much better writer than myself. :-)
It might be different if I wrote literary fiction, or fiction without such tight generic requirements. Then I would be free to let the words just wander where they wanted to go.
It also might be different if I wrote in a plain style. If my only concern were characterization and plot, then words wouldn't matter so much. I would simply use the words I needed to convey the story, like a dramatist. Writers who work in this vein often use lots of dialogue--more than I use in my stories.
My problem is that I want to walk the line. I want to write commercial fiction, but I want the words to sing, at least part of the time. I want the beauty of language itself to increase the emotional power of my work.
In order to do that, I need some freedom. Paradoxically, it's a sense of freedom that allows me to bring language under my control, so it will respond to what I ask it to do.
The heavy demands of plot and character arcs in my genre do not always allow me that freedom.
So here is my question for you: how do you find freedom in your writing? When you start to feel bound by the demands of your genre, how do you loosen up and allow a sense of play in your work?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Writing Silence
Last night, I was watching a BBC production called The Duchess of Duke Street.
The acting was enjoyable and the historical detail amazing.
In addition, I loved the SILENCE.
There was no soundtrack.
Without a musical underscore, the language of the characters became more powerful and compelling.
Hearing that lovely hush reminded me of how seldom we can find silence these days. Roaring traffic and music blaring from the PA systems of every cafe and grocery store create a constant din whenever we leave our homes.
Back in the days when I studied theater, I learned that silence is one of drama's most powerful tools--just as important as words, and perhaps even more so. A character's silence can bring us to our knees with heartbreak or joy, in situations when speaking would be far less effective.
As novelists, however, we don't have access to the same kind of silence. Novels are composed of words, of imagined sound. We can't write real silence. The pages would have to be blank, which is kind of stupid (with apologies to any fans of experimental poetry!).
The closest we can get to silence is to have our characters perceive silence in another character. For example, if I am writing a scene in which a character goes through a strong emotional experience, such as sudden loss, I may choose to write that scene from a different character's perspective so I can show the tragedy through the pivotal character's silence rather than words.
Of course, novelists do own one tool that is NOT part of the dramatist's toolbox. We can reveal a character's thought. Dramatists can only do this through monologue that represents thought, which is not quite the same thing.
The challenge of depicting thought in our novels is to capture its real complexity. So often we fail in this task. My current challenge for my 1855 novel is to revise the POV characters' thinking in order to make their motivations and reactions more specific and multilayered.
My writer friend Allison Pittman creates a fascinating silent character in her new inspirational historical romance The Bridegrooms. One of the supporting characters is a young woman with selective mutism due to trauma--in other words, she doesn't speak, even though physically there is no barrier to her speech. However, Allison reveals aspects of this non-POV character's thought by using snippets of poetry written by this character to open each chapter of her novel. I loved this creative use of silence.
How do you handle silence in your work? Are there any scenes in which a character's silence plays a major role in the story? Do you portray any characters who are persons of few words?
The acting was enjoyable and the historical detail amazing.
In addition, I loved the SILENCE.
There was no soundtrack.
Without a musical underscore, the language of the characters became more powerful and compelling.
Hearing that lovely hush reminded me of how seldom we can find silence these days. Roaring traffic and music blaring from the PA systems of every cafe and grocery store create a constant din whenever we leave our homes.
Back in the days when I studied theater, I learned that silence is one of drama's most powerful tools--just as important as words, and perhaps even more so. A character's silence can bring us to our knees with heartbreak or joy, in situations when speaking would be far less effective.
As novelists, however, we don't have access to the same kind of silence. Novels are composed of words, of imagined sound. We can't write real silence. The pages would have to be blank, which is kind of stupid (with apologies to any fans of experimental poetry!).
The closest we can get to silence is to have our characters perceive silence in another character. For example, if I am writing a scene in which a character goes through a strong emotional experience, such as sudden loss, I may choose to write that scene from a different character's perspective so I can show the tragedy through the pivotal character's silence rather than words.
Of course, novelists do own one tool that is NOT part of the dramatist's toolbox. We can reveal a character's thought. Dramatists can only do this through monologue that represents thought, which is not quite the same thing.
The challenge of depicting thought in our novels is to capture its real complexity. So often we fail in this task. My current challenge for my 1855 novel is to revise the POV characters' thinking in order to make their motivations and reactions more specific and multilayered.
My writer friend Allison Pittman creates a fascinating silent character in her new inspirational historical romance The Bridegrooms. One of the supporting characters is a young woman with selective mutism due to trauma--in other words, she doesn't speak, even though physically there is no barrier to her speech. However, Allison reveals aspects of this non-POV character's thought by using snippets of poetry written by this character to open each chapter of her novel. I loved this creative use of silence.
How do you handle silence in your work? Are there any scenes in which a character's silence plays a major role in the story? Do you portray any characters who are persons of few words?
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Baby with the Bathwater: Editing Mindfully
I'm discovering that one of the most challenging aspects of editing is not throwing out the baby with the bathwater.
When I first received my editorial suggestions from my editors, I sat down and thought about where my novel was at that time and where I would try to take it over the course of the next thirty days.
One strength of the novel before edits was its pacing. By careful plot and scene design, I had built in that page-turner quality so there was never a moment where the novel dragged. My editors agreed, and there were no comments such as: "this wanders" or "I lost interest in this section."
My task, then, was to alter the novel so as to improve it in the ways they suggested without losing the long, complex plot and scene arcs that made it work well in its suspense. If there's one aspect of a novel to preserve, it should probably be the page-turner aspect. Over and over again, readers judge novels by whether they felt compelled to keep reading, even at the expense of a good night's sleep.
So here's where everything stands right now:
1) I am adding two major scenes.
As a result, I must delete an equal number of words, as my novel was very close to its maximum word count already. (104,000 is the absolute maximum for my genre, I've heard, because any more than that means the publisher has to switch to a different kind of binding which would eat into the profit margins.)
2) This means that I will probably delete most of one chapter about three-quarters of the way through the novel. Doing so will both alter one relationship in the way my editors suggest AND cut my word count. After that, I will start scraping and scavenging for more cuts. Yikes! :-)
3) Much of the rest of the editing task is massaging the text. The changes are subtle, and so I must go through each chapter with careful attention to dialogue and charaterization. The edits happen one sentence at a time, at random throughout each chapter. I make this character say something milder here, that character say something a little more flirtatious or ridiculous there. I change the weather here, and I insert a time marker there. It takes a LONG TIME to do this kind of work.
Still, I am enjoying it. It reminds me of standing behind a camera and turning the focus dial, slowly checking to see which rotation brings the picture into clear focus.
How about you? In your editing experience, have you done drastic edits where you rewrote major events in the plot, or have you done this kind of slow, detail-oriented 'change focus' edit? If you've done both, what do you think about the difference between these two kinds of revision? And what was the 'baby'--the strength in your novel that you did not want to throw out with the bathwater?
When I first received my editorial suggestions from my editors, I sat down and thought about where my novel was at that time and where I would try to take it over the course of the next thirty days.
One strength of the novel before edits was its pacing. By careful plot and scene design, I had built in that page-turner quality so there was never a moment where the novel dragged. My editors agreed, and there were no comments such as: "this wanders" or "I lost interest in this section."
My task, then, was to alter the novel so as to improve it in the ways they suggested without losing the long, complex plot and scene arcs that made it work well in its suspense. If there's one aspect of a novel to preserve, it should probably be the page-turner aspect. Over and over again, readers judge novels by whether they felt compelled to keep reading, even at the expense of a good night's sleep.
So here's where everything stands right now:
1) I am adding two major scenes.
As a result, I must delete an equal number of words, as my novel was very close to its maximum word count already. (104,000 is the absolute maximum for my genre, I've heard, because any more than that means the publisher has to switch to a different kind of binding which would eat into the profit margins.)
2) This means that I will probably delete most of one chapter about three-quarters of the way through the novel. Doing so will both alter one relationship in the way my editors suggest AND cut my word count. After that, I will start scraping and scavenging for more cuts. Yikes! :-)
3) Much of the rest of the editing task is massaging the text. The changes are subtle, and so I must go through each chapter with careful attention to dialogue and charaterization. The edits happen one sentence at a time, at random throughout each chapter. I make this character say something milder here, that character say something a little more flirtatious or ridiculous there. I change the weather here, and I insert a time marker there. It takes a LONG TIME to do this kind of work.
Still, I am enjoying it. It reminds me of standing behind a camera and turning the focus dial, slowly checking to see which rotation brings the picture into clear focus.
How about you? In your editing experience, have you done drastic edits where you rewrote major events in the plot, or have you done this kind of slow, detail-oriented 'change focus' edit? If you've done both, what do you think about the difference between these two kinds of revision? And what was the 'baby'--the strength in your novel that you did not want to throw out with the bathwater?
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The Butterfly Effect: Success With Novel Outlines
Most writers have heard the two self-labels we often use to describe our writing processes:
PLOTTERS are writers who plan out their plots in advance. They often outline. They do not feel secure without a guide to help them progress from beginning to end in an organized way. They often like to build in the four-act-structure to their works from the very beginning, so they don't have to go back and rewrite as much.
PANTSERS (short for "seat-of-the-pantsers") write their novels more improvisationally. They like the freedom of being able to take their stories in any direction as they write. They find outlines too restrictive. Sometimes they feel that outlines make their writing too stale and predictable. They thrive on the fresh discoveries they make as they write. They are willing to do more structural rewrites in exchange for their freedom in the process.
I am a plotter. I must have an outline to give me faith that I will actually finish the novel someday.
However, I use a process that preserves the freshness in the writing to walk a line between plotting and pantsing. I call it "the Butterfly Effect."
My initial outlines are simple. I write a sentence to describe what happens in each chapter. Sometimes, I start by knowing only the major plot arc, and composing a sentence-level outline for only the first ten or fifteen of thirty chapters.
My initial outlines are also NOT SO GOOD. :-)
If you saw my initial outline for the novel just contracted by Thomas Nelson, you would think "what on earth?" That crude outline bears very little resemblance to the final novel. In the first outline, my plot is heavy handed and vague. Many characters who appear in the final version of the novel are not present in that first twelve-chapter outline.
My outlines change as I develop each chapter because of the Butterfly Effect.
You've probably heard of this theory too: the idea that changing one small aspect of the world can cause a ripple effect that leads to major changes later. If you travel back in time and accidentally step on a butterfly, you may change the course of history.
I could not write well without allowing for a Butterfly Effect in my outlines.
When I write each chapter, I allow unplanned events and characters to enter my storyline if I sense they are good for the scene and don't ruin the overall major plot arc. In an early chapter of my debut novel, I needed additional conflict in a scene to keep it exciting. In walked a character I had never anticipated, to jazz things up a little. That character ended up creating a a significant storyline that enriched the whole novel. My outline metamorphosed into something more substantial and sophisticated because of the Butterfly Effect of that character's presence in the story.
Some novelists are truly PANTSERS and remain pantsers forever. They have an intuitive sense of plot and pacing that allows them to produce good work without a conscious plan.
But I've also met a lot of beginning novelists who stay in the pantser mode because on some level, they are afraid to try to work with an outline. The result is that they get stuck in endless rewrites and give up out of sheer frustration with the unwieldiness of their plot structure and the digression and slow pacing that resulted from a haphazard approach. Sometimes, they write themselves into a corner, plotwise, and give up because writer's block sets in.
If these things have ever happened to you, you might want to try working with a bare, sentence-level chapter outline and allowing for the Butterfly Effect to keep your writing fresh. And don't be afraid to let that first outline stink!
What are your experiences with outlines? Have they ever worked for you? Are you, like me, a die-hard plotter whose palms get clammy at the thought of no initial outline? If you're a pantser, do you end up rewriting a lot to shape the plot and pace, or does your intuition guide you pretty well in that first draft?
PLOTTERS are writers who plan out their plots in advance. They often outline. They do not feel secure without a guide to help them progress from beginning to end in an organized way. They often like to build in the four-act-structure to their works from the very beginning, so they don't have to go back and rewrite as much.
PANTSERS (short for "seat-of-the-pantsers") write their novels more improvisationally. They like the freedom of being able to take their stories in any direction as they write. They find outlines too restrictive. Sometimes they feel that outlines make their writing too stale and predictable. They thrive on the fresh discoveries they make as they write. They are willing to do more structural rewrites in exchange for their freedom in the process.
I am a plotter. I must have an outline to give me faith that I will actually finish the novel someday.
However, I use a process that preserves the freshness in the writing to walk a line between plotting and pantsing. I call it "the Butterfly Effect."
My initial outlines are simple. I write a sentence to describe what happens in each chapter. Sometimes, I start by knowing only the major plot arc, and composing a sentence-level outline for only the first ten or fifteen of thirty chapters.
My initial outlines are also NOT SO GOOD. :-)
If you saw my initial outline for the novel just contracted by Thomas Nelson, you would think "what on earth?" That crude outline bears very little resemblance to the final novel. In the first outline, my plot is heavy handed and vague. Many characters who appear in the final version of the novel are not present in that first twelve-chapter outline.
My outlines change as I develop each chapter because of the Butterfly Effect.
You've probably heard of this theory too: the idea that changing one small aspect of the world can cause a ripple effect that leads to major changes later. If you travel back in time and accidentally step on a butterfly, you may change the course of history.
I could not write well without allowing for a Butterfly Effect in my outlines.
When I write each chapter, I allow unplanned events and characters to enter my storyline if I sense they are good for the scene and don't ruin the overall major plot arc. In an early chapter of my debut novel, I needed additional conflict in a scene to keep it exciting. In walked a character I had never anticipated, to jazz things up a little. That character ended up creating a a significant storyline that enriched the whole novel. My outline metamorphosed into something more substantial and sophisticated because of the Butterfly Effect of that character's presence in the story.
Some novelists are truly PANTSERS and remain pantsers forever. They have an intuitive sense of plot and pacing that allows them to produce good work without a conscious plan.
But I've also met a lot of beginning novelists who stay in the pantser mode because on some level, they are afraid to try to work with an outline. The result is that they get stuck in endless rewrites and give up out of sheer frustration with the unwieldiness of their plot structure and the digression and slow pacing that resulted from a haphazard approach. Sometimes, they write themselves into a corner, plotwise, and give up because writer's block sets in.
If these things have ever happened to you, you might want to try working with a bare, sentence-level chapter outline and allowing for the Butterfly Effect to keep your writing fresh. And don't be afraid to let that first outline stink!
What are your experiences with outlines? Have they ever worked for you? Are you, like me, a die-hard plotter whose palms get clammy at the thought of no initial outline? If you're a pantser, do you end up rewriting a lot to shape the plot and pace, or does your intuition guide you pretty well in that first draft?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
How to Have a Great Editorial Call
The team working on my novel includes me, my in-house editor from Thomas Nelson, and a freelance editor with a lot of experience in the field, especially with historicals. I can't say enough good things about my first phone call with my editors yesterday.
When I received my editorial letter last Friday, I was very grateful that it was only seven pages long! (If you've heard much about editorial letters, you know that they can sometimes run as long as fifteen or twenty pages.) I was also very happy to see the clarity and precision with which my editors identified areas in which we could refine certain aspects of the novel. Some of these suggestions were things I had suspected on a subliminal level, but hadn't quite been able to put my finger on. Others were subtle improvements I hadn't considered that would ensure the credibility of every aspect of the story.
In a couple of areas, I agreed with their observation about the story, but had a different solution to propose. This made me nervous. After all, I'm a debut author. How would they react to my suggestions? Having never participated in an editorial call, I had no idea what to expect.
I was happy and relieved to discover that my editors really mean it when they say we are a team. They appreciated my openness to their suggestions and solutions, and they offered me the same open-minded attitude when I proposed some of my ideas.
So, even in my newness to the editorial process, I think I may have a few tips for anyone who might be nervous about that initial editorial call. Here's how I prepared to have a great conversation with my editors:
1) I took time to appreciate the blessing of their input. It's too easy to take someone's excellent advice for granted. But I considered how different things might have been, if my editors were not so insightful and intelligent. And then I wallowed in gratitude! :-) I also expressed my appreciation to them. From what I've heard, authors can sometimes be a royal pain in the rear. Editors may not always get grateful responses for their hard work and effort to help. It's good to thank them, as we would like to be encouraged ourselves.
2) When I came across a suggested solution that didn't strike me as the right fit (and there were only two or three of those), I thought hard about how to address the underlying story or character issue in a different way. Everyone brings a strength to the table when the editorial process begins. Editors bring a wealth of experience and a fresh perspective on the story. This fresh perspective is a wonderful help for an author who has been working on the story for a year or more. At the same time, the author's long immersion in the story has given her in-depth knowledge of the mechanics of the plot and how the whole concoction works together. The author may come up with some innovative solutions in response to the editor's suggestions.
3) I was well-prepared. I had gone through the entire letter marking it up with my response, most of which was "Yes! Agreed! Great idea! Here's how I'm going to do that." I then numbered my points in the order I wanted to make them, so I could address the simplest things first and leave time to address the more complex issues at the end. As we went through the letter, I referred the editors to the page we were discussing so we could all follow the line of the conversation without confusion. Sometimes, the issues under discussion are pretty complicated. I knew it would be better to have a paper reference in front of me to keep me focused.
But there's one element for which I can't take any credit when it comes to having a great editorial call. And that is:
4) Have great editors.
I have no way of knowing how many editors are as good as mine. But from my experience with editors I've met at conferences, I suspect there are many good editors out there. I don't want to be a Pollyanna, and sure, there may be rotten apples in any profession, or people who are less expert than others. But without any effort, I can think of at least six editors I've met who were obviously kind, very intelligent and well-read. So my hope for all of you is that when your book makes it into the editorial process, you get one of these great editors.
Not all publishing houses follow this procedure in which they first send an editorial letter, then follow up with a call. Some friends have told me that they just get a phone call, or perhaps the call precedes the letter. Personally, I really like the way Thomas Nelson does it, because it allowed me time to ruminate on the suggestions before we talked.
I hope this is helpful! What do you think? Have you heard other good stories about editorial experiences? Or perhaps you know authors who eventually realized that their editors were correct about many things, even if the initial editorial response was a shock?
When I received my editorial letter last Friday, I was very grateful that it was only seven pages long! (If you've heard much about editorial letters, you know that they can sometimes run as long as fifteen or twenty pages.) I was also very happy to see the clarity and precision with which my editors identified areas in which we could refine certain aspects of the novel. Some of these suggestions were things I had suspected on a subliminal level, but hadn't quite been able to put my finger on. Others were subtle improvements I hadn't considered that would ensure the credibility of every aspect of the story.
In a couple of areas, I agreed with their observation about the story, but had a different solution to propose. This made me nervous. After all, I'm a debut author. How would they react to my suggestions? Having never participated in an editorial call, I had no idea what to expect.
I was happy and relieved to discover that my editors really mean it when they say we are a team. They appreciated my openness to their suggestions and solutions, and they offered me the same open-minded attitude when I proposed some of my ideas.
So, even in my newness to the editorial process, I think I may have a few tips for anyone who might be nervous about that initial editorial call. Here's how I prepared to have a great conversation with my editors:
1) I took time to appreciate the blessing of their input. It's too easy to take someone's excellent advice for granted. But I considered how different things might have been, if my editors were not so insightful and intelligent. And then I wallowed in gratitude! :-) I also expressed my appreciation to them. From what I've heard, authors can sometimes be a royal pain in the rear. Editors may not always get grateful responses for their hard work and effort to help. It's good to thank them, as we would like to be encouraged ourselves.
2) When I came across a suggested solution that didn't strike me as the right fit (and there were only two or three of those), I thought hard about how to address the underlying story or character issue in a different way. Everyone brings a strength to the table when the editorial process begins. Editors bring a wealth of experience and a fresh perspective on the story. This fresh perspective is a wonderful help for an author who has been working on the story for a year or more. At the same time, the author's long immersion in the story has given her in-depth knowledge of the mechanics of the plot and how the whole concoction works together. The author may come up with some innovative solutions in response to the editor's suggestions.
3) I was well-prepared. I had gone through the entire letter marking it up with my response, most of which was "Yes! Agreed! Great idea! Here's how I'm going to do that." I then numbered my points in the order I wanted to make them, so I could address the simplest things first and leave time to address the more complex issues at the end. As we went through the letter, I referred the editors to the page we were discussing so we could all follow the line of the conversation without confusion. Sometimes, the issues under discussion are pretty complicated. I knew it would be better to have a paper reference in front of me to keep me focused.
But there's one element for which I can't take any credit when it comes to having a great editorial call. And that is:
4) Have great editors.
I have no way of knowing how many editors are as good as mine. But from my experience with editors I've met at conferences, I suspect there are many good editors out there. I don't want to be a Pollyanna, and sure, there may be rotten apples in any profession, or people who are less expert than others. But without any effort, I can think of at least six editors I've met who were obviously kind, very intelligent and well-read. So my hope for all of you is that when your book makes it into the editorial process, you get one of these great editors.
Not all publishing houses follow this procedure in which they first send an editorial letter, then follow up with a call. Some friends have told me that they just get a phone call, or perhaps the call precedes the letter. Personally, I really like the way Thomas Nelson does it, because it allowed me time to ruminate on the suggestions before we talked.
I hope this is helpful! What do you think? Have you heard other good stories about editorial experiences? Or perhaps you know authors who eventually realized that their editors were correct about many things, even if the initial editorial response was a shock?
Monday, August 2, 2010
Editorial Letter Arrives!
My editorial letter arrived, as promised, at the end of last week.
I am going to postpone my post about it, however, until after my scheduled phone call with my editor. So later this week, probably Wednesday, I'll describe for you the experience and fill in whatever I learn from the phone call.
Until then...
I am going to postpone my post about it, however, until after my scheduled phone call with my editor. So later this week, probably Wednesday, I'll describe for you the experience and fill in whatever I learn from the phone call.
Until then...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
