Two nights in a row now, I've skimmed the Advance Reader Copy for Fairer than Morning. It's only seven weeks until release. I try to imagine how those words will appear to someone reading them for the first time.
And I can't. I'm word blind, text blind, story blind, whatever you want to call it. I can read little chunks, but I can no longer absorb the story as a whole, as an organic development from beginning to end. I have read it too many times, edited it, proofread it word by word in the galleys.
And I'm kind of glad I can't read it right now. That way, it's all a big mystery to me. It's almost as if I didn't even write it myself.
It's also helpful because I'm working on my third novel, and I'm glad I can't be distracted by random thoughts about the first novel. I can finally relax and enjoy the process of original creation, in a way I haven't really been able to enjoy it for weeks.
The funny thing is, I know that I'm word blind in a different way as I write this first draft of novel #3. I've switched off the editing side of my brain so I don't worry too much about an adverb here and there, or word echoes, or any of the other stuff that drove me batty in the galley stage of Fairer than Morning.
Word blindness can have blessings.
Do you get word or story blind? Can you switch it on and off? What do you do when you go word or story blind, but you're not finished editing? Do you have any tricks to enable yourself to read your story again with new eyes?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Facebook Future
I've had some good conversations recently about Facebook, and whether or not the net effect of Facebook on our culture is positive or negative. I also watched The Social Network this past weekend, so Facebook is my topic of the week.
I think it's hard to tell at the moment how Facebook may change us as a society, because Facebook's effect on my generation (Gen X) is different than it will be on teenagers today. We're moving into uncharted territory. No society has ever been as screen-oriented as ours is becoming. But members of Generation X will always remember life before screens. We will always have a reference point based on landline telephones, LPs, and letters. Has anyone realized that we are the last generation of Americans who wrote letters? I wrote them up through college, because email didn't really take off until after I graduated from college.
As a precautionary measure, I am doing my best to ensure that my daughter will also have a childhood in which screens do not play a controlling role. This is difficult. Screens surround us, everywhere, and call us with their siren songs of entertainment, companionship, and news. Screens were almost non-existent in my childhood, as I watched very little TV and there were no personal computers until I hit 8th grade. It's inevitable that my daughter will grow up with more screen time than I did. For one thing, I use screens in front of her. I wish I didn't have to do it. Sometimes, I fantasize about moving to some rural spot with my family, trashing my computer, and forgetting about this writing business if it means I have to use screens. I just want to surround myself with animals, paper books, and growing things.
But that's not going to happen, as I'm not ready to give up a novel-writing career just yet. :-) It's hard for writers to go screenless and stay off social media, for a couple of reasons. The obvious one is that our work is done on computers, as is the work of most white collar workers these days. But more insidious is the nature of a novelist's work, and the isolation it requires.
Because of the long hours I spend working, it would be easy to start using Facebook and social media as my primary form of contact with other adults. After all, I don't need a babysitter to use Facebook. I can "talk" to people while I work, and some of them are very close friends with whom I have no in-person contact because they live hundreds of miles away.
But Facebook is not a substitute for real life. And if you're a Gen Xer or older, you don't need me to tell you that.
So tell me, how do you feel about Facebook and Twitter? Do you see them as a danger to a natural lifestyle, or will they benefit us in the long run? How do you think they will affect the generation of teenagers that is growing up stuck to their cell phones? Do you know anyone who has "opted out" of a screen-based life?
I think it's hard to tell at the moment how Facebook may change us as a society, because Facebook's effect on my generation (Gen X) is different than it will be on teenagers today. We're moving into uncharted territory. No society has ever been as screen-oriented as ours is becoming. But members of Generation X will always remember life before screens. We will always have a reference point based on landline telephones, LPs, and letters. Has anyone realized that we are the last generation of Americans who wrote letters? I wrote them up through college, because email didn't really take off until after I graduated from college.
As a precautionary measure, I am doing my best to ensure that my daughter will also have a childhood in which screens do not play a controlling role. This is difficult. Screens surround us, everywhere, and call us with their siren songs of entertainment, companionship, and news. Screens were almost non-existent in my childhood, as I watched very little TV and there were no personal computers until I hit 8th grade. It's inevitable that my daughter will grow up with more screen time than I did. For one thing, I use screens in front of her. I wish I didn't have to do it. Sometimes, I fantasize about moving to some rural spot with my family, trashing my computer, and forgetting about this writing business if it means I have to use screens. I just want to surround myself with animals, paper books, and growing things.
But that's not going to happen, as I'm not ready to give up a novel-writing career just yet. :-) It's hard for writers to go screenless and stay off social media, for a couple of reasons. The obvious one is that our work is done on computers, as is the work of most white collar workers these days. But more insidious is the nature of a novelist's work, and the isolation it requires.
Because of the long hours I spend working, it would be easy to start using Facebook and social media as my primary form of contact with other adults. After all, I don't need a babysitter to use Facebook. I can "talk" to people while I work, and some of them are very close friends with whom I have no in-person contact because they live hundreds of miles away.
But Facebook is not a substitute for real life. And if you're a Gen Xer or older, you don't need me to tell you that.
So tell me, how do you feel about Facebook and Twitter? Do you see them as a danger to a natural lifestyle, or will they benefit us in the long run? How do you think they will affect the generation of teenagers that is growing up stuck to their cell phones? Do you know anyone who has "opted out" of a screen-based life?
Monday, February 14, 2011
How to Take Compliments on Your Novel
When I was a young girl, I had trouble taking compliments. I did not know what to do if someone said: "I like your singing," or "You're smart."
My father taught me to say a simple "Thank you." I was not to deny the compliment, not to blow my own horn, and not to denigrate myself in my embarrassment. Just say thank you. I learned that lesson quickly when it came to run-of-the-mill compliments. "Nice dress." "Thanks!" "I like your story!" "Thank you." To my relief, it worked! I was even able to enjoy the compliments.
But now my endorsements are coming in, and this is praise of a different nature.
Here's why. The authors who are endorsing my novel are fine writers. This means I take their opinions very seriously. It also means my endorsers are eloquent, and they write endorsements as well as they write their own novels.
Like most writers, I have unvoiced dreams about future readers as I labor over each novel--dreams that all the sweat, tears, and prayer I've poured into that novel are going to mean something to someone else.
Well, when my endorsements came back, it felt to me as if some of those whispery dreams had just been spoken into reality. These endorsements were not a light "I like your story" to which I had learned to say "Thank you!" with a cheery grin. They were powerful, specific statements about my novel's nature and worth.
What I really wanted to do was throw my arms around the knees of my endorsers and bawl. Fortunately, none of them lives within 400 miles of me, so I could not.
In all but one instance, I restrained myself and sent back a very sincere thank you. In the last case, I succumbed to my emotions and sent back an email in which I tried to articulate my full reaction to the endorser's kindness.
The reasons for such an emotional reaction are complex. Yes, it's partly about validation, and about finally having some readers other than friends and critique partners. But my emotions also include a feeling of unworthiness, and an urge to reassure the person who is praising my novel that I know I'm not "all that," when you really get down to brass tacks. I want her to know that I am aware that my book and I are not the same thing, and that I'm not going to puff up my ego because I think I am solely responsible for whatever goodness the novel has. I've known a few narcissistic writers who made the mistake of believing their own press, and I have a horror of ever becoming like that.
But here's what I learned. You can't have a discussion like that via email. It's too complex, and too deep. My endorser, ever-gracious, responded kindly to my attempt at self-explanation. She probably remembers her own early endorsements and how strange and humbling it was to hear direct high praise.
Nonetheless, I ruminated on it afterwards and realized the truth all over again.
Just say thank you.
How do you respond to praise, either in ordinary life or in your work?
My father taught me to say a simple "Thank you." I was not to deny the compliment, not to blow my own horn, and not to denigrate myself in my embarrassment. Just say thank you. I learned that lesson quickly when it came to run-of-the-mill compliments. "Nice dress." "Thanks!" "I like your story!" "Thank you." To my relief, it worked! I was even able to enjoy the compliments.
But now my endorsements are coming in, and this is praise of a different nature.
Here's why. The authors who are endorsing my novel are fine writers. This means I take their opinions very seriously. It also means my endorsers are eloquent, and they write endorsements as well as they write their own novels.
Like most writers, I have unvoiced dreams about future readers as I labor over each novel--dreams that all the sweat, tears, and prayer I've poured into that novel are going to mean something to someone else.
Well, when my endorsements came back, it felt to me as if some of those whispery dreams had just been spoken into reality. These endorsements were not a light "I like your story" to which I had learned to say "Thank you!" with a cheery grin. They were powerful, specific statements about my novel's nature and worth.
What I really wanted to do was throw my arms around the knees of my endorsers and bawl. Fortunately, none of them lives within 400 miles of me, so I could not.
In all but one instance, I restrained myself and sent back a very sincere thank you. In the last case, I succumbed to my emotions and sent back an email in which I tried to articulate my full reaction to the endorser's kindness.
The reasons for such an emotional reaction are complex. Yes, it's partly about validation, and about finally having some readers other than friends and critique partners. But my emotions also include a feeling of unworthiness, and an urge to reassure the person who is praising my novel that I know I'm not "all that," when you really get down to brass tacks. I want her to know that I am aware that my book and I are not the same thing, and that I'm not going to puff up my ego because I think I am solely responsible for whatever goodness the novel has. I've known a few narcissistic writers who made the mistake of believing their own press, and I have a horror of ever becoming like that.
But here's what I learned. You can't have a discussion like that via email. It's too complex, and too deep. My endorser, ever-gracious, responded kindly to my attempt at self-explanation. She probably remembers her own early endorsements and how strange and humbling it was to hear direct high praise.
Nonetheless, I ruminated on it afterwards and realized the truth all over again.
Just say thank you.
How do you respond to praise, either in ordinary life or in your work?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Tin Man Novel, Scarecrow Novel
I read a novel and I didn't care for it. And I'm going to name the novel, because its author has won two Booker Prizes and he doesn't need my approval to feel good about himself. :-) I'm going to use this example to tell you about tin man novels, but I want to make this caveat beforehand. Taste in novels is highly subjective. Some of you may read a novel I call a tin man novel and think it's the best thing you've ever read. And it well may be. My tin man novel is another reader's work of genius.
But for the sake of this discussion, my tin man novel is Oscar and Lucinda, by Peter Carey. And as you might expect from my comparison, my problem with this novel is that it's all head and sheen, but it has no heart. At least, according to my taste.
I most often encounter tin man novels in literary fiction. They are written in beautiful, stylish prose, and filled with interesting ideas or allusions. Their characters are offbeat.
But tin man novels are too clever and too conscious of their own artistic merit. They're written from the head, and it shows. The elemental moral passion of the artist does not drive these novels. Tin man novels impress me very much with the talent and intellect of their authors. But in the end, they seem to proclaim "I am a good writer" more than anything about the human condition, God, or the world we live in. Tin man novels overwhelm their own stories with their heavy themes and their painstakingly-constructed designs. They can't come to life without heart. They can't feel real. They will never make me cry.
And then there are the scarecrow novels. Scarecrow novels are full of feeling, and easy to get to know. But they don't have any "brain," so they're often poorly-written and may include stereotypes. Still, a scarecrow novel is more likely to be commercially-successful than a tin man novel, because its passion can overcome its flaws, for readers who don't care too much about prose style. As a result, we find more scarecrow novels on bestseller lists, and more tin man novels on short lists for literary prizes.
And you and I may completely disagree as to which novels might earn these descriptions. I love those friendly, private book debates with my best friends in which we laugh a lot as we defend the merits of our chosen authors.
It's possible that I may someday write a tin man novel or a scarecrow novel. I hope not! I hope that by using these two extremes as a reminder, I can steer between their dangers and remember to temper passion with mind, and to infuse design with feeling.
How does the balance between heart and head work in your own writing?
But for the sake of this discussion, my tin man novel is Oscar and Lucinda, by Peter Carey. And as you might expect from my comparison, my problem with this novel is that it's all head and sheen, but it has no heart. At least, according to my taste.
I most often encounter tin man novels in literary fiction. They are written in beautiful, stylish prose, and filled with interesting ideas or allusions. Their characters are offbeat.
But tin man novels are too clever and too conscious of their own artistic merit. They're written from the head, and it shows. The elemental moral passion of the artist does not drive these novels. Tin man novels impress me very much with the talent and intellect of their authors. But in the end, they seem to proclaim "I am a good writer" more than anything about the human condition, God, or the world we live in. Tin man novels overwhelm their own stories with their heavy themes and their painstakingly-constructed designs. They can't come to life without heart. They can't feel real. They will never make me cry.
And then there are the scarecrow novels. Scarecrow novels are full of feeling, and easy to get to know. But they don't have any "brain," so they're often poorly-written and may include stereotypes. Still, a scarecrow novel is more likely to be commercially-successful than a tin man novel, because its passion can overcome its flaws, for readers who don't care too much about prose style. As a result, we find more scarecrow novels on bestseller lists, and more tin man novels on short lists for literary prizes.
And you and I may completely disagree as to which novels might earn these descriptions. I love those friendly, private book debates with my best friends in which we laugh a lot as we defend the merits of our chosen authors.
It's possible that I may someday write a tin man novel or a scarecrow novel. I hope not! I hope that by using these two extremes as a reminder, I can steer between their dangers and remember to temper passion with mind, and to infuse design with feeling.
How does the balance between heart and head work in your own writing?
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