Every Friday I'm trying to post an update of my trying to find an agent.
As I see it, there are three "standard" ways to get an agent in the literary world.
First, there's the traditional way of going through the slush pile. Based on agent information we can find online, we submit a query letter and maybe a few pages if the agent asks for it and see what happens. Several weeks ago, I did my first round of querying. Out of three agents, one wasn't interested based on the query and 5 pages, one asked for a partial and then said no, and one told me that she was no longer accepting new clients at this time.
Upon discussing this with some other writers, I was basically told that 2 of the 3 agents that I had tried -- even though they said they represent literary fiction -- don't actually represent that much literary fiction. I had been going by their guidelines, but I've been convinced now that it's better to actually look at the books they currently represent. The one agent that does represent quite a bit of lit. fic. was the one that told me she no longer accepts new clients. So, on this front, I'm actually holding back and doing more research so that I can be more systematic in my approach. I also may revise my first chapter since multiple reviewers have said it's the weakest chapter in the book. I hate beginnings!
A second way to get an agent's attention is to publish short stories in prominent literary magazines. I've had a few short stories that I was working on, but I neglected them as I was finishing my book. So, this week, I focused my energy on wrapping up some stories. I had one that was a finalist for a contest held by Glimmer Train. Glimmer Train is one of the biggest journals you can get into as a literary writer. They usually have several of their stories longlisted in Best American Short Stories. So, I have faith in this story and I finished getting it polished so that I can send it out again. I've also been working on a second short story that I'm hoping will be publishable.
The third way to get an agent is, of course, through connections. I don't have many connections right now, but I realize that I do have a few distant ones. In other words, I'm about three degrees removed from two of my favorite agents. Whether or not that will open any doors, is up in the air. But, I do think this is something to keep in mind as we all try to publish. The world is smaller than you think.
Does anyone have other ideas or tips for publishing? What are you all trying to do besides submitting queries? (Let's assume that you have already focused on the WRITING part of the journey, which admittedly, is a never ending process.)
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Who's Your Broccoli Writer?
I joined a writer's group that met in the back room of a gloomy café about five years ago. We gathered every week, carefully critiquing each other's pages late into the night. Often the café closed before we were done, giving me a chance to hear the barista, a tough-looking guy with tattoos and piercings, belt out superb renditions of Limp Bizkit songs.
The group was lead by two gray-haired writers named Rino and Mike. On several occasions, they would both tell me I needed to read more Proust. They did not tell anyone else this. Just me. In a comment that I took as a compliment then, but which I don't take as a compliment now, they told me I was trying to do what Proust did.
So, I tried to read Proust.
For those of you who don't know, Marcel Proust was a French writer who published in the early 1900's. Many critics consider him the best novelist of all time. His epic, translated as In Search Of Lost Time, is roughly 3,200 pages long with about 2000 characters in it. He published it in seven volumes, the first of which is titled "Swann's Way".
So, I got "Swann's Way" from the library. I read about a hundred pages of it, almost all of which were about a young boy not wanting to go to sleep. I thought, "That's a lot of words to spend on a young boy not going to sleep." I gave up.
A little later, another teacher of mine read the novel I was working on and told me to read Proust. I gave it another try. I got to about page 200, when the boy had finished discussing his sleeping habits and was now taking a walk around the neighborhood. I gave up.
I got a job after finishing graduate school and ended up having a commute that took longer than an hour. This was my chance! I got a copy of "Swann's Way" on audio. I played it during my drive. I was reminded of the sleeping and the walking. I went back to radio after about a week.
I read other books, many books, and my writing was improving, but I always had this nagging feeling that I should get back to Proust. Finally, I had the chance to come and live in Paris for six months -- that's where I currently am now. So, I tried Proust again, and this time...I thought it was okay.
I can definitely admire the guy. The book is funny at times and I did laugh out loud on several occasions. But, I read all of "Swann's Way" and came out of it thinking, "This guy's good, but he's no Tolstoy."
I went back to my writing. That's when I noticed something. Without my permission, Proust had changed my writer's voice. Instead of my usual depressed, clichéd work, I was noticing things in my story I had never noticed before. I was describing scenes more accurately, taking the time to be clear instead of reaching for the easiest summarizing detail I could come up with. My characters were more multidimensional: they were silly and serious and mad and paranoid. I even tried to be funny, something I never dared to do before. What was going on?
I realize now that I had stumbled upon my Broccoli Writer. Proust was the guy that I needed to read, not for pleasure, but for my writer's health. Though I didn't particularly like him -- and to be fair, I did like him a little -- reading Proust drastically improved my writing in a matter of weeks. I feel like I have a unique voice now that I didn't have before. And, I owe it to Proust and my mentors who encouraged me to read him.
So, who are your Broccoli Writers? Who are those authors who manage to help you see yourself more clearly and help you to improve your writing, even if you don't like them?
The group was lead by two gray-haired writers named Rino and Mike. On several occasions, they would both tell me I needed to read more Proust. They did not tell anyone else this. Just me. In a comment that I took as a compliment then, but which I don't take as a compliment now, they told me I was trying to do what Proust did.
So, I tried to read Proust.
For those of you who don't know, Marcel Proust was a French writer who published in the early 1900's. Many critics consider him the best novelist of all time. His epic, translated as In Search Of Lost Time, is roughly 3,200 pages long with about 2000 characters in it. He published it in seven volumes, the first of which is titled "Swann's Way".
So, I got "Swann's Way" from the library. I read about a hundred pages of it, almost all of which were about a young boy not wanting to go to sleep. I thought, "That's a lot of words to spend on a young boy not going to sleep." I gave up.
A little later, another teacher of mine read the novel I was working on and told me to read Proust. I gave it another try. I got to about page 200, when the boy had finished discussing his sleeping habits and was now taking a walk around the neighborhood. I gave up.
I got a job after finishing graduate school and ended up having a commute that took longer than an hour. This was my chance! I got a copy of "Swann's Way" on audio. I played it during my drive. I was reminded of the sleeping and the walking. I went back to radio after about a week.
I read other books, many books, and my writing was improving, but I always had this nagging feeling that I should get back to Proust. Finally, I had the chance to come and live in Paris for six months -- that's where I currently am now. So, I tried Proust again, and this time...I thought it was okay.
I can definitely admire the guy. The book is funny at times and I did laugh out loud on several occasions. But, I read all of "Swann's Way" and came out of it thinking, "This guy's good, but he's no Tolstoy."
I went back to my writing. That's when I noticed something. Without my permission, Proust had changed my writer's voice. Instead of my usual depressed, clichéd work, I was noticing things in my story I had never noticed before. I was describing scenes more accurately, taking the time to be clear instead of reaching for the easiest summarizing detail I could come up with. My characters were more multidimensional: they were silly and serious and mad and paranoid. I even tried to be funny, something I never dared to do before. What was going on?
I realize now that I had stumbled upon my Broccoli Writer. Proust was the guy that I needed to read, not for pleasure, but for my writer's health. Though I didn't particularly like him -- and to be fair, I did like him a little -- reading Proust drastically improved my writing in a matter of weeks. I feel like I have a unique voice now that I didn't have before. And, I owe it to Proust and my mentors who encouraged me to read him.
So, who are your Broccoli Writers? Who are those authors who manage to help you see yourself more clearly and help you to improve your writing, even if you don't like them?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
UN- Purple Prose, A Contemporary Example
Yesterday, I described how details can be used to reveal character along with other components of a story using a passage from Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. Today, I'm looking at a more modern piece of literature to show that details can also be used to flesh out a setting while also performing literary acrobatics to entertain the reader. This is a passage from Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated, a book that was so emotional for me, that at one point, I closed it after reading a scene because I wanted to stay frozen in the moment for as long as I could.
Here's the first paragraph of the second chapter from this wonderful book:
It was March 18, 1791, when Trachim B's double-axle wagon either did or did not pin him against the bottom of the Brod River. The young W twins were the first to see the curious flotsam rising to the surface: wandering snakes of white string, a crushed velvet glove with outstretched fingers, barren spools, schmootzy pince-nez, rasp- and boysenberries, feces, frillwork, the shards of a shattered atomizer, the bleeding red-ink script of a resolution: I will...I will...
On one hand, this is just a list of details. But, if you read it out loud, you'll hear some beautiful alliteration (wandering snakes of white string; feces, frillwork) and also some beautiful awkward alliteration (schmootzy pince-nez), and I always laugh at the ridiculousness of the phrase rasp- and boysenberries. Foer is able to be at once funny and graceful, a skill that ends up working even more beautifully in later emotional scenes of this book.
Just a few paragraphs later, there are more descriptions of these items drifting up out of the water when one of the W twins, Chana, goes into the water to explore:
She picked up the hands of a baby doll, and those of a grandfather clock. Umbrella ribs. A skeleton key. The articles rose on the crowns of bubbles that burst when they reached the surface. The slightly young and less cautious twin raked her fingers through the water and each time came up with something new: a yellow-pinwheel, a muddy hand mirror, the petals of some sunken forget-me-not, silt and cracked black pepper, a packet of seeds…
Foer is able to unify some disparate objects by emphasizing their human-ness (the hands of the clock and the ribs of the umbrella, the skeleton key, the crowns of bubbles) and there's that almost too clever phrase "silt and cracked black pepper."
The bottom line when writing anything is that you want to be interesting. The problem with purple prose is that, most of the time, people find it boring. But, by making your details serve more than one role in the story, whether it reveals personality, social class, poetic artistry, or anything else, you'll keep the reader engaged because they will be constantly interacting with your book, focused on picking up all of the nuances you have put into it.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
UN- Purple Prose, A Classic Example
Last week, Lady Glamis (who I've decided is also incredibly nice, and whose books I'd like to read) posted a valuable lesson on Purple Prose. When we write, we should avoid adding flowery details that don't serve any function other than giving details. One way to fix the problem of purple prose is to cut the extraneous information during revision. But, there are great examples when details, LOTS of them, don't end up sounding purple. This happens when the author makes use of the details not only to create a scene, but also to help reveal character, culture, status, and other aspects of the story. In this post, I'm looking at a classic example to show how the best details serve multiple functions. Keep in mind that I usually get criticized for not having enough details, so the fact that this works for me means that there is something in the description that is holding my attention. This is a passage from one of my favorite books -- sorry, but I'm Old School-- Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy:
Although her dress, her coiffure, and all the preparations for the ball had cost Kitty great trouble and consideration, at this moment she walked into the ballroom in her elaborate tulle dress over a pink slip as easily and simply as though all the rosettes and lace, all the minute details of her attire had not cost her or her family a moment's attention, as though she had been born in that tulle dress and lace, with her hair done up high on her head, and a rose and two leaves on top of it…
It was one of Kitty's best days. Her dress was not uncomfortable anywhere; her lace berthe did not droop anywhere; her rosettes were not crushed nor torn off; her pink slippers with high, hollowed-out heels did not pinch, but gladdened her feet; and the thick rolls of fair chignon kept up on her head as if they were her own hair. All the three buttons buttoned up without tearing on the long glove that covered her hand without concealing its lines. The black velvet of her locket nestled with special softness round her neck. That velvet was delicious; at home, looking at her neck in the looking-glass, Kitty had felt that that velvet was speaking. About all the rest there might be a doubt, but the velvet was delicious. Kitty smiled here too, at the ball, when she glanced at it in the glass. Her bare shoulders and arms gave Kitty a sense of chill marble, a feeling she particularly liked. Her eyes sparkled, and her rosy lips could not keep from smiling from the consciousness of her own attractiveness.
What I find amazing about this section is that I get completely overloaded with details but the writing still works for me. We know basically everything there is to know about Kitty's outfit as she is entering a ball. But, we also know a lot more. We know that Kitty has put a lot of time into this very eleborate gown. We know that she has a certain charm -- she knows how to wear this gown. She knows how to carry herself. She's probably been to balls like this dozens of times before, always elaborately dressed and trying to look her best. But, this is not a typical day. Because, we know, though her glamour may have come at the cost of her comfort in previous balls, today, everything is perfect. Her rosettes are not crushed or torn. Her slippers do not pinch. Tonight is a charmed night, and Tolstoy is able to really give us a feeling for just how perfect this night is by describing everything from her feet up to her hair, not missing a thing, to ensure us that, indeed, everything is perfect in its totality. And, then he goes on to describe even more details, this time dipping into the realm of things that most people probably wouldn't even consider. The gloves do not conceal the lines of her hands. The velvet is speaking! Her bare arms not only look like marble, but like chill marble. This is a girl that really cares about her appearance and the impression that she is going to make. (My belt rarely matches my shoes, on the other hand.) This entrance to the ball is something very important to Kitty's life. And, through the descriptions, we get a sense of who Kitty is: a young woman, just breaking into the social world. Her mind is not distracted by thoughts of peace and war, money, death. No. All she cares about at this moment is making a grand entrance. And, in that, we understand who she is at this moment in her life, completely, before she is forced to grow up.
So, while details can be boring, they can also be used to great effect when they reveal more than what is obvious. Tomorrow, I'll break down a more contemporary passage that I like, in the hopes of showing even more ways that details can be made interesting.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Honesty in Critiques
Who are the readers you rely on to give you honest critiques?
Are you ever afraid that the world is sugar coating the truth?
I'm a member of an online writers community, and two in-person writer's groups. I also have about a dozen other friends who write and read. Whenever I have the chance, usually only with stories that I consider to be more or less done, I call upon these people to give me feedback. I don't consider myself a literary master--shocking, I know--but I think that in my ten years of writing I have occasionally produced a story that people like. So, when I should happen to stumble upon these more successful pieces, my reviewers will give me compliments and tell me they are ready for me to submit. (Sometimes, of course, there are differences in opinion. My most recent example was when several of my reviewers said a story was ready to go while one said they thought I had Attention Deficit Disorder.) Still, I am much more likely to accept negative criticism than compliments. If someone says they think a story is successful and complete, my first internal thoughts are that A. They think the story is so bad they want me to give up on it, B. They liked it, but they didn't REALLY like it, or C. I'm so horrible that even though they hate this, they think it is the best thing I've ever produced. If someone is critical, only then will I accept that they are being totally honest with me. I realize this is wrong and sort of insane. On the other hand, I tell myself that there is something good about being skeptical and hard on myself, and I hope I'm right.
When I finished my novel in mid-January the first thing I did was call upon my people to read it and tell me what they think. Those kind souls were willing to read the entire book and give me thorough critiques on them. So far, I've gotten three reviews on the whole book and about a dozen reviews on the first fifty pages. People are suggesting small changes in wording, and they are catching a handful of typos. But, overall, they are agreeing with me that this thing is done. So, what do I do? I feel flattered for about a minute, and then I call them liars. I ask them more questions. I make them rank my book against Anna Karenina and Water For Elephants and The Road and Me and Orson Welles. I make them rank me as a person against Jhumpa Lahiri and Michael Chabon and Jonathan Safran Foer. I basically pester them until they get so fed up with me that they ignore my emails or tell me to go to bed. Thankfully, they are friends, so this anger is only temporary.
For the record, should any of them read these blog posts, I do sincerely thank them all for their time and effort and I'm sorry for being so paranoid.
In the end, I think it is up to the writer do decide when a story is done and whether or not it is good. One of my best stories, in my opinion, wasn't liked by any of my reviewers when I wrote it a few years ago. I ended up getting that one pubished in, Rosebud, my most prestigious journal at the time. The reviews I get end up being valuable whether they are complimentary or not because they help me see my book in a clearer way, which gives me the insight to revise it or not.
Are you ever afraid that the world is sugar coating the truth?
I'm a member of an online writers community, and two in-person writer's groups. I also have about a dozen other friends who write and read. Whenever I have the chance, usually only with stories that I consider to be more or less done, I call upon these people to give me feedback. I don't consider myself a literary master--shocking, I know--but I think that in my ten years of writing I have occasionally produced a story that people like. So, when I should happen to stumble upon these more successful pieces, my reviewers will give me compliments and tell me they are ready for me to submit. (Sometimes, of course, there are differences in opinion. My most recent example was when several of my reviewers said a story was ready to go while one said they thought I had Attention Deficit Disorder.) Still, I am much more likely to accept negative criticism than compliments. If someone says they think a story is successful and complete, my first internal thoughts are that A. They think the story is so bad they want me to give up on it, B. They liked it, but they didn't REALLY like it, or C. I'm so horrible that even though they hate this, they think it is the best thing I've ever produced. If someone is critical, only then will I accept that they are being totally honest with me. I realize this is wrong and sort of insane. On the other hand, I tell myself that there is something good about being skeptical and hard on myself, and I hope I'm right.
When I finished my novel in mid-January the first thing I did was call upon my people to read it and tell me what they think. Those kind souls were willing to read the entire book and give me thorough critiques on them. So far, I've gotten three reviews on the whole book and about a dozen reviews on the first fifty pages. People are suggesting small changes in wording, and they are catching a handful of typos. But, overall, they are agreeing with me that this thing is done. So, what do I do? I feel flattered for about a minute, and then I call them liars. I ask them more questions. I make them rank my book against Anna Karenina and Water For Elephants and The Road and Me and Orson Welles. I make them rank me as a person against Jhumpa Lahiri and Michael Chabon and Jonathan Safran Foer. I basically pester them until they get so fed up with me that they ignore my emails or tell me to go to bed. Thankfully, they are friends, so this anger is only temporary.
For the record, should any of them read these blog posts, I do sincerely thank them all for their time and effort and I'm sorry for being so paranoid.
In the end, I think it is up to the writer do decide when a story is done and whether or not it is good. One of my best stories, in my opinion, wasn't liked by any of my reviewers when I wrote it a few years ago. I ended up getting that one pubished in, Rosebud, my most prestigious journal at the time. The reviews I get end up being valuable whether they are complimentary or not because they help me see my book in a clearer way, which gives me the insight to revise it or not.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Jhumpa Lahiri and Mavis Gallant: I Need to Learn How to Network
Do you network? Can you network? Every week I'm trying to keep you posted on my road to publishing my novel. Last night I went to a reading with Jhumpa Lahiri and Mavis Gallant at the Village Voice Bookstore in Paris. Lahiri is one of my favorite living authors, and both of them write extroadinary short stories. Only the addition of Alice Munro could have made it a better night. Lahiri was cool and poised as she explained that 87-year-old Gallant was one of her heroes and the person who inspired her to write the three linked stories in Unaccustomed Earth. She read a section of the first of those stories and Gallant read two beautiful and hilarious pieces that got the entire audience blushing. One of them involved an erotic escapade with the entire English army. It was a great night, and I had the opportunity to give Lahiri a few stuttering compliments.
But, I'm left wondering if there was anything I could do to make a better or bigger impression on Lahiri. After all, I love her writing, and I think we have the same literary goals of creating dramatic and character-based universal stories. Having Lahiri read my book, even if she thought it was bad, would be an incredible experience. And, if she liked it, maybe she would offer a blurb or an introduction to her agent, Eric Simonoff, who is one of my dream agents. (I'm waiting for more feedback on my novel and query before I submit to him.) And yet, I didn't mention any of this to Lahiri. And, maybe I shouldn't have. I'm sure she gets requests like that all the time and they probably drive her bananas. But, a charming person, a witty person, probably could have come up with something that opened doors without being offensive. We all know someone like this, right? The one that just happens to be jogging when she finds Cormac McCarthy's hat and ends up getting invited to hang out with him in his think tank? Or, the one who loves reading about dung beatles and discovers that Don Delillo also loves reading about dung beatles? I've never been good at networking. I avoid large gatherings and I tremble around people I admire. Yet, here I am with a novel, trying to figure out how I can get it published. So, can a shy person learn to network? And, is networking essential to getting that dream blurb or agent or editor? At least I got to see these two amazing writers in person.
But, I'm left wondering if there was anything I could do to make a better or bigger impression on Lahiri. After all, I love her writing, and I think we have the same literary goals of creating dramatic and character-based universal stories. Having Lahiri read my book, even if she thought it was bad, would be an incredible experience. And, if she liked it, maybe she would offer a blurb or an introduction to her agent, Eric Simonoff, who is one of my dream agents. (I'm waiting for more feedback on my novel and query before I submit to him.) And yet, I didn't mention any of this to Lahiri. And, maybe I shouldn't have. I'm sure she gets requests like that all the time and they probably drive her bananas. But, a charming person, a witty person, probably could have come up with something that opened doors without being offensive. We all know someone like this, right? The one that just happens to be jogging when she finds Cormac McCarthy's hat and ends up getting invited to hang out with him in his think tank? Or, the one who loves reading about dung beatles and discovers that Don Delillo also loves reading about dung beatles? I've never been good at networking. I avoid large gatherings and I tremble around people I admire. Yet, here I am with a novel, trying to figure out how I can get it published. So, can a shy person learn to network? And, is networking essential to getting that dream blurb or agent or editor? At least I got to see these two amazing writers in person.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Show Don't Tell: Part II
Okay, so here's where Cormac McCarthy and Virginia Woolf come into play. I happen to admire both of these writers tremendously. But, what happens when we compare the two? McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Road, is mostly full of showing. (For my formal definitions of showing and telling, check out yesterday's post.) In a few places we get insight into the protagonist's mind, but those moments are rare, and the action does a lot of the work. Without giving too much away, this is the story of a father, the protagonist, and son trying to survive in a harsh world. The threats and conflicts are mostly external: extreme weather, hunger, bad guys with guns. (There is one big internal struggle that I'll get to in a moment.) Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse, on the other hand, is mostly telling. In just the first few pages, very little action happens, and yet we get paragraph after paragraph of internal thoughts. We find out what worries the characters, what amuses them, and what they think of the other characters. Here, the conflicts are psychological.
So, who's the stronger writer? McCarthy plays by the Show-Don't-Tell rule, so that's one point for him, right? Well, the answer is that it depends on the subject matter. Virginia Woolf tells because her subject matter, the characters' myriad of thoughts, would be invisible to us in any other way. We see physical signs of thoughts, but if a man, let's call him "The Thinker" is sitting at a bench with his chin in his hand, do we know exactly what he's thinking about? If a little boy is red in the face, do we understand that he's not frustrated because he lost the soccer game but because he understood for the first time that, even when a person tries their very best, sometimes they still fail? If your goal is to illuminate the internal thoughts of multidimensional and complex characters; if, like Woolf's Mrs. Ramsay, your character has a thousand thoughts about a thousand things while she is silently altering her son's pants, then chances are, to express those thoughts, you will need to tell. McCarthy's interests in The Road lay externally. He was portraying a changing world and the thin line between good and evil. For the most part, the struggles were so basic that they didn't need to be dissected in detail. So, for him, showing was more valuable because it made us experience the subject matter he was interested in. And, for the one struggle that was internal, McCarthy ended up using many telling lines to convey it. (Sorry for the vagueness, but I don't want to ruin the story for anyone who hasn't read it.)
I think the main reason the Show-Don't-Tell rule came into existence was because it's more engaging for a reader to have to observe physical signs and interpret them to the character's emotions, and being engaging keeps the reader interested in your work. But, if your range of emotions goes beyond simple sadness or anger or fear, then telling can be equally interesting because you are illuminating subtle thoughts and emotions that the reader might never even know existed. So, the key, I think, is to be interesting and to not be so obvious as to be boring. Chances are you will want to show sometimes and tell at other times depending on what you are writing about. It's a matter of choosing the best tool for the job.
So, who's the stronger writer? McCarthy plays by the Show-Don't-Tell rule, so that's one point for him, right? Well, the answer is that it depends on the subject matter. Virginia Woolf tells because her subject matter, the characters' myriad of thoughts, would be invisible to us in any other way. We see physical signs of thoughts, but if a man, let's call him "The Thinker" is sitting at a bench with his chin in his hand, do we know exactly what he's thinking about? If a little boy is red in the face, do we understand that he's not frustrated because he lost the soccer game but because he understood for the first time that, even when a person tries their very best, sometimes they still fail? If your goal is to illuminate the internal thoughts of multidimensional and complex characters; if, like Woolf's Mrs. Ramsay, your character has a thousand thoughts about a thousand things while she is silently altering her son's pants, then chances are, to express those thoughts, you will need to tell. McCarthy's interests in The Road lay externally. He was portraying a changing world and the thin line between good and evil. For the most part, the struggles were so basic that they didn't need to be dissected in detail. So, for him, showing was more valuable because it made us experience the subject matter he was interested in. And, for the one struggle that was internal, McCarthy ended up using many telling lines to convey it. (Sorry for the vagueness, but I don't want to ruin the story for anyone who hasn't read it.)
I think the main reason the Show-Don't-Tell rule came into existence was because it's more engaging for a reader to have to observe physical signs and interpret them to the character's emotions, and being engaging keeps the reader interested in your work. But, if your range of emotions goes beyond simple sadness or anger or fear, then telling can be equally interesting because you are illuminating subtle thoughts and emotions that the reader might never even know existed. So, the key, I think, is to be interesting and to not be so obvious as to be boring. Chances are you will want to show sometimes and tell at other times depending on what you are writing about. It's a matter of choosing the best tool for the job.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Show Don't Tell: Part I (or Cormac McCarthy versus Virginia Woolf)
I've always been told to show and not to tell. Teachers, writer's group members, writing buddies have always mentioned this. Show don't tell! So, that's what I tried to do for a long time. When someone felt embarrassed, I had them turn red. When someone was angry, they crossed their arms or stomped away. Sad? Shed a tear! And then, along came Mary Yukari Waters. She's the author of the critically acclaimed short story collection The Laws Of Evening and her stories were included in The Best American Short Stories anthology two years in a row. I had the chance to take a class with her at UCLA, and she taught us a very different lesson in showing versus telling. It's a long lesson, so I'm going to break it up into two parts. And, to give you a preview, the rule, as I see it, is not "Show Don't Tell," but "When to show, and when to tell." Because, indeed, there is a time and place for both, and Cormac McCarthy and Virginia Woolf will help me to explain in Part II.
First off, let's be clear on what exactly showing and telling are. Most people don't really have a clear view of this. I didn't until just a few months ago, even though I somehow managed to please my reviewers. Telling is different from summarizing. I think that's the biggest misconception. Saying that someone hiked up a mountain isn't telling, it's showing. But, of course, you can show with different amounts of detail. Someone might say the line, "She hiked up a mountain," is telling because we don't experience this character hiking up a mountain. So, we can include the dirt and the trees and the blisters on her feet and the mosquitos. We can include the trickling rivers and the birds and the altitude sickness. We can include the kindly sherpa who is eyeing her in a less-than-wholesome way. That might make someone content, but another reader might ask for more. What did the mosquito sound like? How old was the Sherpa? Description of concrete details can have several iterations, but this is more of a question of degree. And, it all falls under the category of showing. Telling, on the other hand, occurs when a writer includes passages that can't be observed directly. This would include things like sadness, anger, confusion, lust.
So, let's define terms. We'll say that showing details are all those things that can be captured by a video camera or some other analytical device. Sights, smells, textures, sounds, all of that stuff is showing. Telling details are all those things that can't be captured by a machine: feelings and thoughts. "She turned red" is showing. "She was embarrassed" is telling. "He ate the entire pizza," is showing. "He was hungry," is telling. Got it? More tomorrow!
First off, let's be clear on what exactly showing and telling are. Most people don't really have a clear view of this. I didn't until just a few months ago, even though I somehow managed to please my reviewers. Telling is different from summarizing. I think that's the biggest misconception. Saying that someone hiked up a mountain isn't telling, it's showing. But, of course, you can show with different amounts of detail. Someone might say the line, "She hiked up a mountain," is telling because we don't experience this character hiking up a mountain. So, we can include the dirt and the trees and the blisters on her feet and the mosquitos. We can include the trickling rivers and the birds and the altitude sickness. We can include the kindly sherpa who is eyeing her in a less-than-wholesome way. That might make someone content, but another reader might ask for more. What did the mosquito sound like? How old was the Sherpa? Description of concrete details can have several iterations, but this is more of a question of degree. And, it all falls under the category of showing. Telling, on the other hand, occurs when a writer includes passages that can't be observed directly. This would include things like sadness, anger, confusion, lust.
So, let's define terms. We'll say that showing details are all those things that can be captured by a video camera or some other analytical device. Sights, smells, textures, sounds, all of that stuff is showing. Telling details are all those things that can't be captured by a machine: feelings and thoughts. "She turned red" is showing. "She was embarrassed" is telling. "He ate the entire pizza," is showing. "He was hungry," is telling. Got it? More tomorrow!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Classic Plot Structure
The traditional structure of a story begins with an introduction, an inciting event where the protagonist encounters a conflict, followed by the rising action where the conflict builds. This rise leads to the climax of the story and ends with a short denouement and resolution. Sounds easy enough, right? In fact, for experienced writers, it probably sounds so easy that it seems boring and something that should be avoided. After all, modern literature pushes the boundaries of storytelling. Writers jump through time and space. They layer stories over stories. The highest forms of literature are character driven, forcing plot to the backseat. While I agree with all that, I have come to firmly believe that the classic plot structure is something that is ultimately the most engaging form for the reader.
Think about anytime a person tells you a story about anything. Think about what you expect from them in that story. At least for me, I want to be set up. I want to know the situation and the stakes. I want to know how significant the event was. And, I want to be told the best part last, because after I know that, I'll be ready to move on.
My car recently caught on fire. A thirty-two-year-old gangster, who was thankfully arrested, started it by throwing a lit match into the gas tank. It happened on Tuesday around 4 pm. I had just parked in front of a Ralph's grocery store. My refrigerator was empty so I needed some vegetables and salad dressing to make lunch for myself.
Do those last details just sort of fade out into the abyss of insignificance? Or, if you're looking really hard to admire it, maybe it just drips with irony that the beginning of the adventure was so boring, barely even worth mentioning. Either way, there is a feeling that this story has been told in the wrong way.We don't want to be let down at the end.
I should say that the climax of the story doesn't have to be the point when the most dramatic action has to take place. But, it has to be the most moving part of the story, whether that part is grounded in action, insight, or emotion. The story above could still be saved as long as, say, something even more powerful is found at the end. Maybe a line like, "It was the best day of my life." Suddenly, we have the feeling that the teller knows how to tell the story. He has put something interesting at the end for us. He has given us insight into the character, into the (emotional) conflict and into the character's unconscious desire.
I recently taught a short writing class with students who were all very experienced. In my first class, I discussed the classic plot structure and I gave them an assignment that I thought would be simple. Come up with twenty stories in a week. Don't worry about developing characters. Don't worry about details or voice or language or even grammar. Just write twenty stories that follow this classical structure. My goal was to have the students internalize the form. I figured if this way of thinking could be at the forefront of a writer's mind, then and only then will they be successful in using that structure to make something more complex. The results the following week were that almost everyone was mad at me for assigning something so difficult. Only two or three students finished it. But, they all thanked me and said it was a lesson worth learning, something they thought they understood but didn't.
See also this post.
Think about anytime a person tells you a story about anything. Think about what you expect from them in that story. At least for me, I want to be set up. I want to know the situation and the stakes. I want to know how significant the event was. And, I want to be told the best part last, because after I know that, I'll be ready to move on.
My car recently caught on fire. A thirty-two-year-old gangster, who was thankfully arrested, started it by throwing a lit match into the gas tank. It happened on Tuesday around 4 pm. I had just parked in front of a Ralph's grocery store. My refrigerator was empty so I needed some vegetables and salad dressing to make lunch for myself.
Do those last details just sort of fade out into the abyss of insignificance? Or, if you're looking really hard to admire it, maybe it just drips with irony that the beginning of the adventure was so boring, barely even worth mentioning. Either way, there is a feeling that this story has been told in the wrong way.We don't want to be let down at the end.
I should say that the climax of the story doesn't have to be the point when the most dramatic action has to take place. But, it has to be the most moving part of the story, whether that part is grounded in action, insight, or emotion. The story above could still be saved as long as, say, something even more powerful is found at the end. Maybe a line like, "It was the best day of my life." Suddenly, we have the feeling that the teller knows how to tell the story. He has put something interesting at the end for us. He has given us insight into the character, into the (emotional) conflict and into the character's unconscious desire.
I recently taught a short writing class with students who were all very experienced. In my first class, I discussed the classic plot structure and I gave them an assignment that I thought would be simple. Come up with twenty stories in a week. Don't worry about developing characters. Don't worry about details or voice or language or even grammar. Just write twenty stories that follow this classical structure. My goal was to have the students internalize the form. I figured if this way of thinking could be at the forefront of a writer's mind, then and only then will they be successful in using that structure to make something more complex. The results the following week were that almost everyone was mad at me for assigning something so difficult. Only two or three students finished it. But, they all thanked me and said it was a lesson worth learning, something they thought they understood but didn't.
See also this post.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Review of Unaccustomed Earth By Jhumpa Lahiri
Jhumpa Lahiri won the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Prize and the Pulitzer Prize for her first collection of short stories, Interpreter of Maladies. After her successful debut novel, The Namesake, Lahiri has come out with a second collection called Unaccustomed Earth.
Unaccustomed Earth is a beautiful group of long short stories that once again focuses on interrelationships and the emotional dramas of domestic life. What I most admire about this work, and Lahiri's work in general, is that she has given herself (and earned) the right to explore a quiet and compelling avenue of writing that doesn't give in to the pressures set upon other writers to have a hook or a platform. Hook! Platform! Whenever I read about getting published or go to agent and publisher panels, everyone says we have to have a hook and a platform. But, Lahiri manages to make a name for herself by sticking to the classic techniques of writing stories about people and life and leaving it at that. This point is made much more clearly in the article, "The Confident Artist" by Boris Kachka in New York Books. Her hook is that she doesn't have a hook. Her platform is that she is who she is. I so admire Lahiri's willingness to write sincerely and explore her characters' lives in a very organic way that sometimes results in a dramatic climax and sometimes doesn't.
Because, actually, some of these stories that are filled with emotion end very quietly, almost boringly. Reading this work gives me the feeling of following peoples' lives to a place that is either interesting or not as interesting, just as life is sometimes interesting and not interesting. Lahiri once said that each short story was an experiment for her. She doesn't know how they're going to end. What's beautiful is that this collection seems to have both those stories that ended well and those that sort of receded, and this diversity gives more insight into Lahiri's writing than her previous work does. Readers can start to understand how she thinks and how she delves into her subject matter without forcing anything. Even in her last story, which ends in a way that most writers would tell you not to end a story, Lahiri manages to create a perfectly natural circumstance that doesn't feel artificial or overly dramatic. This book is exquisite, and I expect even greater things from her in the future.
Unaccustomed Earth is a beautiful group of long short stories that once again focuses on interrelationships and the emotional dramas of domestic life. What I most admire about this work, and Lahiri's work in general, is that she has given herself (and earned) the right to explore a quiet and compelling avenue of writing that doesn't give in to the pressures set upon other writers to have a hook or a platform. Hook! Platform! Whenever I read about getting published or go to agent and publisher panels, everyone says we have to have a hook and a platform. But, Lahiri manages to make a name for herself by sticking to the classic techniques of writing stories about people and life and leaving it at that. This point is made much more clearly in the article, "The Confident Artist" by Boris Kachka in New York Books. Her hook is that she doesn't have a hook. Her platform is that she is who she is. I so admire Lahiri's willingness to write sincerely and explore her characters' lives in a very organic way that sometimes results in a dramatic climax and sometimes doesn't.
Because, actually, some of these stories that are filled with emotion end very quietly, almost boringly. Reading this work gives me the feeling of following peoples' lives to a place that is either interesting or not as interesting, just as life is sometimes interesting and not interesting. Lahiri once said that each short story was an experiment for her. She doesn't know how they're going to end. What's beautiful is that this collection seems to have both those stories that ended well and those that sort of receded, and this diversity gives more insight into Lahiri's writing than her previous work does. Readers can start to understand how she thinks and how she delves into her subject matter without forcing anything. Even in her last story, which ends in a way that most writers would tell you not to end a story, Lahiri manages to create a perfectly natural circumstance that doesn't feel artificial or overly dramatic. This book is exquisite, and I expect even greater things from her in the future.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Trying To Get Published
I thought I'd share where I am in my own novel publishing journey. Luckily, I don't have to backtrack too far from where I started. Basically, I spent the last five years and a few months finishing my first novel. (Okay, this is actually my third novel, but it's the first one that I took seriously, the first one I substantially revised, and the first one I'm trying to get published. And, along the way, I've published a few short stories and I won a few awards for my writing, so it wasn't all just THE BOOK.)
I write literary fiction, and this book is based on a visit I made to Thailand, so it also has a multicultural component. I completed my last draft in mid-January and right now copies of my book are floating around the world as my VERY kind writer friends are reading it over and giving me their feedback.
I was trying to be good. I was trying to wait patiently until I got the reviews back. I am still in the process of carefully researching agents and writing the best query letter I can. But, I couldn't quite maintain my Zen. Just a couple of weeks after some of my first reviews got back from my friends, I came up with a draft of a query letter and I submitted to three agents. One is a superstar, and rumors and internet sources suggested that she wasn't taking anymore clients at this time. I sent her my query, and a day letter her assistant got back to me and said that she wasn't accepting anymore clients at this time. Dagnabbit. I also tried two young but popular agents. One of them sent me a rejection within a couple of days. The other one asked me for a partial and then, two weeks later, kindly said that he just wasn't connecting with it enough to represent it. So, for now, I'm 0 out of 3 on my agent quest. I know I should have a healthy attitude. I know that three agents isn't very many, and finding an agent is like finding a spouse, and I should look for one that really loves my work and all that. Well, the truth is that I'm discouraged. Plenty of times I'm down on myself and I think my writing is garbage. But, there are moments when I'm actually proud of this book, when I feel like there is a bit of insight and humanity and love in it, and I'm anxious to have strangers read it. (I say strangers because I have made most of my friends read it already.)
I've been spending a lot of time reading other blogs and commiserating with writers who are also going down this road. I decided to post this message because I know I find comfort when other people describe similar trials. So, here I am. 0 out of 3. I don't have any other queries out at this moment. I am finally able to slow down and be more systematic. I'm trying to find agents who are representing work that I think is similar to my own. I'm seeing if I might be able to get some author blurbs -- unlikely, but I'm trying anyway. And, I'm waiting until I get more feedback from my friends. I think I currently have four copies of my novel out in the ether, with three reviews back and two mentors willing to read it when they have time in the next couple of months. So, that's where I am. I'll try to keep you all updated as things happen...or don't happen.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Third Person Point Of View
Like first person point of view, third person point of view permits both a close, intimate relationship with characters or a distant, reflective relationship. Whereas the first person point of view recounts the actions in the story using the subject "I", in third person characters are referred to as he, she, or it. Third person point of view also requires some other decisions regarding the narrative voice and the limitations of knowledge of the characters.
In a first person story, the narrative voice is the voice of the character referring to himself, herself, or itself as "I". In the third person point of view, the narrator is less defined. It often implies an invisible observer of the story, sometimes attributed falsely to the writer. While the writer is, of course, writing the story, the narrator of the story can have a completely different voice and personality. For example, a normally funny person can write a third person story using a serious voice, or vice versa. A happy person can write in a dark voice ,and vice versa. When choosing to write in third person, it's important to decide on a voice you are going to use in order to provide consistency and to help define the language of your piece.
The other consideration when using third person is whether or not the narrator will have insight into the characters' thoughts. In a limited point of view, the narrator may only be allowed -- this allowance set upon by the writer -- to observe external actions of the characters. For example, "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd." Here, the thoughts of the character must be inferred by observing the character's actions. This point of view can be effective in a more active story, and it forces readers to engage more with the writing if they want to understand a character's motivations.
Alternatively, the author may have access to one or a few character's thoughts in the strangely termed limited omniscience. "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd. He hoped he would not make the same embarrassing mistake he made the last time he tried to lead the group." Here, readers are allowed to see what the character is thinking, something the other characters of the story may not know. It allows for a lot of irony to be used and also brings the reader closer to the happenings of the story because, in many ways, this point of view is similar to the first person point of view.
And, finally, in the omniscient point of view, the narrator has access to any and every part of the story. Nothing is out of reach. "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd. He hoped he would not make the same embarrassing mistake he made the last time he tried to lead the group. The crowd members were anxious. Some of them whispered behind their hands, recalling the incident last week when his blunder had resulted in an arena full of laughter. Though he would never hear of it directly, they had all started calling him 'Flubbermouth'. Sitting in the front row with her hands folded in her lap, Christine Adell pitied him." The omniscient point of view has been less fashionable in a lot of contemporary literature, but its power can still be seen in the classics. My hero, Leo Tolstoy, for example, was such a supreme master of omniscience that he not only went inside the minds of characters in a hunting scene section of Anna Karenina, but he also went into the minds of the dogs.
In a first person story, the narrative voice is the voice of the character referring to himself, herself, or itself as "I". In the third person point of view, the narrator is less defined. It often implies an invisible observer of the story, sometimes attributed falsely to the writer. While the writer is, of course, writing the story, the narrator of the story can have a completely different voice and personality. For example, a normally funny person can write a third person story using a serious voice, or vice versa. A happy person can write in a dark voice ,and vice versa. When choosing to write in third person, it's important to decide on a voice you are going to use in order to provide consistency and to help define the language of your piece.
The other consideration when using third person is whether or not the narrator will have insight into the characters' thoughts. In a limited point of view, the narrator may only be allowed -- this allowance set upon by the writer -- to observe external actions of the characters. For example, "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd." Here, the thoughts of the character must be inferred by observing the character's actions. This point of view can be effective in a more active story, and it forces readers to engage more with the writing if they want to understand a character's motivations.
Alternatively, the author may have access to one or a few character's thoughts in the strangely termed limited omniscience. "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd. He hoped he would not make the same embarrassing mistake he made the last time he tried to lead the group." Here, readers are allowed to see what the character is thinking, something the other characters of the story may not know. It allows for a lot of irony to be used and also brings the reader closer to the happenings of the story because, in many ways, this point of view is similar to the first person point of view.
And, finally, in the omniscient point of view, the narrator has access to any and every part of the story. Nothing is out of reach. "With a trembling hand, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth and spoke to the crowd. He hoped he would not make the same embarrassing mistake he made the last time he tried to lead the group. The crowd members were anxious. Some of them whispered behind their hands, recalling the incident last week when his blunder had resulted in an arena full of laughter. Though he would never hear of it directly, they had all started calling him 'Flubbermouth'. Sitting in the front row with her hands folded in her lap, Christine Adell pitied him." The omniscient point of view has been less fashionable in a lot of contemporary literature, but its power can still be seen in the classics. My hero, Leo Tolstoy, for example, was such a supreme master of omniscience that he not only went inside the minds of characters in a hunting scene section of Anna Karenina, but he also went into the minds of the dogs.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
First Person Point Of View
First person point of view involves using "I" as the narrator of the story. This morning, my alarm went off, I hit the snooze, and I went back to sleep. This is a popular point of view for much of contemporary storytelling, and has been at least partially responsible for creating some of the most memorable characters in history (think Catcher in the Rye or Moby Dick among others.) First person point of view is a fast way to establish a major character in the book, at least usually, and its traditional rules can keep writers adhered to a clear voice and realm of consciousness.
But, even with the first point of view, there are subtle variations within it that writers should be aware of. Consider the differences between these three passages:
A. When the doctor gave me the news, I fell to the ground and clutched my knees. He continued to speak, but I just shook my head and said, "No, this can't be happening." An hour later, I realized I was sitting in the cafeteria, eating a salad covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I usually tend to avoid.
B. The doctor gave me the news, but his words got lost by the sound of my blood pulsing in my ears. I felt cold and weightless. My muscles lost their strength, and I fell to the ground and clutched my knees -- all I had to rely on now was myself. I lost my awareness of my surroundings for awhile. I vaguely remember hands helping me up and guiding me down a brightly lit hall. My full awareness didn't return until I was in the cafeteria eating a salad covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I tend to avoid.
C. I realize how ridiculous I must have looked. I was in shock when the doctor gave me the news, and I fell to the ground and clutched my knees like a child. I lost awareness of my surroundings, but a pair of nurses helped me up and led me to the cafeteria. Even though my mind was distracted, my body moved on its own through the food line and to a table. I had fixed a salad for myself, one covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I tended to avoid. I wasn't conscious of this at the time, but now I realize that I was learning how to take care of myself.
All of them are told from the first person point of view, but other choices give you different versions of the same story. In A. the first person point of view stays right with the character externally and in the present tense. We experience the scene step by step, almost objectively and don't get distracted by internal thoughts that are often vague and difficult to relate to. It brings an immediacy to the story and keeps the pace moving quickly. In B. we are given insights into the character's reactions through internal thoughts. This version sinks into the character's head and gives us more of an emotional perception. In C. some time has passed. This narrator has had the chance to reflect on the hospital experience and provide more intellectual reasoning for the character's behavior. This point of view implies that the speaker has gained some wisdon that wasn't there before.
So, even after you have decided to write a story from the first person point of view, be conscious of the closeness of that point of view to the character and to the action. Do we experience everything from the outside? Do we delve into immediate thoughts and emotions? Do we experience that story after years of reflection? All of these styles are equally valid and can be used to tell equally compelling stories, but the same story can vary greatly depending on the nuances of the first person point of view.
But, even with the first point of view, there are subtle variations within it that writers should be aware of. Consider the differences between these three passages:
A. When the doctor gave me the news, I fell to the ground and clutched my knees. He continued to speak, but I just shook my head and said, "No, this can't be happening." An hour later, I realized I was sitting in the cafeteria, eating a salad covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I usually tend to avoid.
B. The doctor gave me the news, but his words got lost by the sound of my blood pulsing in my ears. I felt cold and weightless. My muscles lost their strength, and I fell to the ground and clutched my knees -- all I had to rely on now was myself. I lost my awareness of my surroundings for awhile. I vaguely remember hands helping me up and guiding me down a brightly lit hall. My full awareness didn't return until I was in the cafeteria eating a salad covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I tend to avoid.
C. I realize how ridiculous I must have looked. I was in shock when the doctor gave me the news, and I fell to the ground and clutched my knees like a child. I lost awareness of my surroundings, but a pair of nurses helped me up and led me to the cafeteria. Even though my mind was distracted, my body moved on its own through the food line and to a table. I had fixed a salad for myself, one covered with beets and kidney beans, two foods I tended to avoid. I wasn't conscious of this at the time, but now I realize that I was learning how to take care of myself.
All of them are told from the first person point of view, but other choices give you different versions of the same story. In A. the first person point of view stays right with the character externally and in the present tense. We experience the scene step by step, almost objectively and don't get distracted by internal thoughts that are often vague and difficult to relate to. It brings an immediacy to the story and keeps the pace moving quickly. In B. we are given insights into the character's reactions through internal thoughts. This version sinks into the character's head and gives us more of an emotional perception. In C. some time has passed. This narrator has had the chance to reflect on the hospital experience and provide more intellectual reasoning for the character's behavior. This point of view implies that the speaker has gained some wisdon that wasn't there before.
So, even after you have decided to write a story from the first person point of view, be conscious of the closeness of that point of view to the character and to the action. Do we experience everything from the outside? Do we delve into immediate thoughts and emotions? Do we experience that story after years of reflection? All of these styles are equally valid and can be used to tell equally compelling stories, but the same story can vary greatly depending on the nuances of the first person point of view.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Tips for Writing First Paragraphs
Figuring out how to start your story is one of the hardest challenges when you are revising your work. If you've been reading about publication trends, you've probably felt threatened by the importance of that first paragraph, how it is your only chance to win a reader over and get their attention. Without that perfect opening paragraph, publishing is hopeless! I'm sure this is true to some extent, but I wanted to share some less stressful advice on how to think about your novel first paragraphs.
I'm a staff editor for the online flash-dedicated SmokeLong Quarterly. (We had over 88,000 unique visitors to our site in 2008.) I'm also a regular at book stores and libraries, often perusing books I've never heard of before. When I approach a new story (our submission process keeps the authors anonymous) or a new book, rarely do I make any sort of decision based on the first paragraph. Titles matter. Covers matter. (I'm just being honest.) And, usually, I'll read three to five random paragraphs throughout the work to get a feel for the quality of the writing. That is to say, that I look at almost everything EXCEPT for that first paragraph. Why? Because the first paragraph has been given so much attention that it is sometimes misleading as to how an author writes and also because, at least to me, so many of them sound the same as writers try to introduce the character, the setting, the time, the conflict, all in a few sentences.
A few months ago, I had the extreme pleasure of having dinner with Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander and Paint It Black and the young adult novel Kicks. Aside from serving some great food -- I particularly remember the beautiful cheese platter -- Janet gave me some great reassurance on writing the first paragraph, something that I admit to completely revising about seven hundred times. Janet said simply, Don't worry about telling the reader EVERYTHING. It's true. Isn't there something enticing about getting into a book slowly, uncovering the details of time and place and character piece by piece? What Janet said really took a lot of pressure off of me, and I was able to cobble together a first paragraph that I was much happier with than I had ever been before.
Another point I want to make about the first paragraph is that the first sentence and the "hook" are not necessarily the same thing. I've seen this get confused over and over again among writers. The hook for a book is more of a the short statement about the story that can be used to capture someone's attention. A girl watches her family from heaven after being killed and cut up into little pieces. A father tries to save his son in a post-apocalyptic world. These sentences get you attention, but they are not the first sentences of the works they describe. I think the term got confused when writers were trying to convey the idea of capturing a reader's interest with that first sentence. Of course one should strive to do that, but keep in mind that the sentence can be a snag rather than a hook. The one sentence doesn't have to inspire the reader to finish the whole book. It only has to get the reader to go to the next sentence, which should make the reader go to the next sentence, until they find themselves unwittingly led to that beautiful end of your story, something that is also challenging to write.
Lastly, you don't necessarily have to worry about perfecting your last paragraph until you have your story complete. This, of course, depends on your writing style. But, if you are like me, your story may evolve so much that what you thought you were writing about in the beginning isn't what you ended up writing about at the end. Your revision may consist of throwing away 30,000 words, just to pick a random number completely out of thin air. The beauty of revision is that you have 20/20 hindsight so that you can tailor your first paragraph to lead you most effectively to your last.
I'm a staff editor for the online flash-dedicated SmokeLong Quarterly. (We had over 88,000 unique visitors to our site in 2008.) I'm also a regular at book stores and libraries, often perusing books I've never heard of before. When I approach a new story (our submission process keeps the authors anonymous) or a new book, rarely do I make any sort of decision based on the first paragraph. Titles matter. Covers matter. (I'm just being honest.) And, usually, I'll read three to five random paragraphs throughout the work to get a feel for the quality of the writing. That is to say, that I look at almost everything EXCEPT for that first paragraph. Why? Because the first paragraph has been given so much attention that it is sometimes misleading as to how an author writes and also because, at least to me, so many of them sound the same as writers try to introduce the character, the setting, the time, the conflict, all in a few sentences.
A few months ago, I had the extreme pleasure of having dinner with Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander and Paint It Black and the young adult novel Kicks. Aside from serving some great food -- I particularly remember the beautiful cheese platter -- Janet gave me some great reassurance on writing the first paragraph, something that I admit to completely revising about seven hundred times. Janet said simply, Don't worry about telling the reader EVERYTHING. It's true. Isn't there something enticing about getting into a book slowly, uncovering the details of time and place and character piece by piece? What Janet said really took a lot of pressure off of me, and I was able to cobble together a first paragraph that I was much happier with than I had ever been before.
Another point I want to make about the first paragraph is that the first sentence and the "hook" are not necessarily the same thing. I've seen this get confused over and over again among writers. The hook for a book is more of a the short statement about the story that can be used to capture someone's attention. A girl watches her family from heaven after being killed and cut up into little pieces. A father tries to save his son in a post-apocalyptic world. These sentences get you attention, but they are not the first sentences of the works they describe. I think the term got confused when writers were trying to convey the idea of capturing a reader's interest with that first sentence. Of course one should strive to do that, but keep in mind that the sentence can be a snag rather than a hook. The one sentence doesn't have to inspire the reader to finish the whole book. It only has to get the reader to go to the next sentence, which should make the reader go to the next sentence, until they find themselves unwittingly led to that beautiful end of your story, something that is also challenging to write.
Lastly, you don't necessarily have to worry about perfecting your last paragraph until you have your story complete. This, of course, depends on your writing style. But, if you are like me, your story may evolve so much that what you thought you were writing about in the beginning isn't what you ended up writing about at the end. Your revision may consist of throwing away 30,000 words, just to pick a random number completely out of thin air. The beauty of revision is that you have 20/20 hindsight so that you can tailor your first paragraph to lead you most effectively to your last.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Should You Join A Writer's Group?
I've been a member a few writer's groups during my ten years of writing. Writer's groups have advantages and disadvantages, and using them to help your writing and publishing career requires self-discipline, a bit of luck, and some partial, but not complete loyalty. I'll explain.
What can writer's groups do for you? You are more likely to get honest critique from a writer's group that has decided to meet for the purpose of improving themselves. The peer pressure within a group can help writers be productive, especially if they like to have schedules and expectations put on them. (In my groups, we always give a gentle nudge when a person hasn't brought in any writing for a couple of weeks.) And, you can benefit from the things that other members of the group learn through outside sources.
How can writer's groups be bad?
As with all groups, there is going to be a group mentality in some of the decisions that are made. Writing is difficult and with enough persuasion some people can be convinced to give it up or to not push themselves as much as they should. Failed attempts at publishing or revisions can often be frustrating, and the problem can get worse if these failed attempts cause other members to give up before they even try. If the majority of the group has lower standards, or if they have particular aesthetic preferences, the masses might be able to persuade a writer to go in the wrong direction, or to sound more like the rest of the group, or to give up completely.
So, what are some essential things to make sure your group is successful?
1. Make sure members of the group are dedicated to meeting regularly and bringing work with them every time they meet. Start a schedule and stick to it. If you are going to stop for the holidays, announce that ahead of time and also schedule when meetings will start again.
2. Make sure members participate. Allow everyone to voice their opinion and to share their own desires for their writing. If a person has nothing to read, they should still attend the meeting and review other people's work.
3. Allow members to be parts of other groups and classes so that they can improve themselves and bring new skills to the group. This is where the partial loyalty comes in. Throughout the evolution of any group, critiques will change as members learn new things. What wasn't ever a problem before, can suddenly be the most important issue in literature for one person. Hear the new critique and understand that focus changes as we improve.
4. Critique in such a way that you celebrate the positive aspects of everyone's work while being direct about the negative aspects. You will respect each other more, trust each other's opinions, and improve faster.
5. Respect each others goals and priorities. Not everyone wants a Nobel prize. Members of my groups have had dreams of writing stories for Lifetime or NPR. Some people just want to write light stories that make other people happy. Books are around for many reasons, and all of those reasons are valid.
If you manage to get a motivated group together that is honest and direct and willing to push themselves, a writer's group can be a great way to improve your skills.
What can writer's groups do for you? You are more likely to get honest critique from a writer's group that has decided to meet for the purpose of improving themselves. The peer pressure within a group can help writers be productive, especially if they like to have schedules and expectations put on them. (In my groups, we always give a gentle nudge when a person hasn't brought in any writing for a couple of weeks.) And, you can benefit from the things that other members of the group learn through outside sources.
How can writer's groups be bad?
As with all groups, there is going to be a group mentality in some of the decisions that are made. Writing is difficult and with enough persuasion some people can be convinced to give it up or to not push themselves as much as they should. Failed attempts at publishing or revisions can often be frustrating, and the problem can get worse if these failed attempts cause other members to give up before they even try. If the majority of the group has lower standards, or if they have particular aesthetic preferences, the masses might be able to persuade a writer to go in the wrong direction, or to sound more like the rest of the group, or to give up completely.
So, what are some essential things to make sure your group is successful?
1. Make sure members of the group are dedicated to meeting regularly and bringing work with them every time they meet. Start a schedule and stick to it. If you are going to stop for the holidays, announce that ahead of time and also schedule when meetings will start again.
2. Make sure members participate. Allow everyone to voice their opinion and to share their own desires for their writing. If a person has nothing to read, they should still attend the meeting and review other people's work.
3. Allow members to be parts of other groups and classes so that they can improve themselves and bring new skills to the group. This is where the partial loyalty comes in. Throughout the evolution of any group, critiques will change as members learn new things. What wasn't ever a problem before, can suddenly be the most important issue in literature for one person. Hear the new critique and understand that focus changes as we improve.
4. Critique in such a way that you celebrate the positive aspects of everyone's work while being direct about the negative aspects. You will respect each other more, trust each other's opinions, and improve faster.
5. Respect each others goals and priorities. Not everyone wants a Nobel prize. Members of my groups have had dreams of writing stories for Lifetime or NPR. Some people just want to write light stories that make other people happy. Books are around for many reasons, and all of those reasons are valid.
If you manage to get a motivated group together that is honest and direct and willing to push themselves, a writer's group can be a great way to improve your skills.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Are We Supporting Ourselves?
Lately I've been feeling guilty about my book buying habits. Here I am, a struggling novelist hoping that readers would give me a chance and buy my book (when the time comes). But, do I do that myself?
What are the last books I've purchased full price for?
Let me think.
Um.
And, when I do buy books, as I'm planning to do today, which ones am I choosing between? Currently, I'm trying to decide between buying Pulitzer Prize Winning The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz, Janet Fitch's Paint It Black, and a book from Stephanie Meyer's series Twilight. I realized that I don't even really notice most novels unless they've already gotten a ton of critical and popular acclaim. So, how do these new books build readership? How do they get the attention they want and often deserve? To break out, assuming a writer didn't start with a million dollar advance and publisher co-op deals, debut novels somehow need to be stumbled upon by anxious readers, and not only that, but these readers have to open the books, read them, and actually consider giving them a chance.
As a writer, I am completely intimidated by the blockbuster publishing models that seem to be gaining popularity. This system works because book buyers choose books based on advertising and word-of-mouth. And, to try and play by these rules, I find myself planning ways to get blurbs, personal recommendations to agents, and developing the ever important hook and platform for my book. Basically, I am doing everything I can to make my book a blockbuster, knowing full well that it is impossible for every decent book out there to be THE ONE.
If any system other than the blockbuster model is to work, readers have to explore unheard-of books and give new writers a chance. I'm guilty of not doing this, myself, and I doubt I'm alone.
So, I have made a deal with myself to buy a new full-priced book at least every month. And, something I've already started doing is that I'm putting more effort into recommending books I think my friends will like and giving books as gifts. I'm set on exploring new books, books I've never heard of, with the idea that I might be able to change publishing trends. And, what I suspect will happen, is that I will find many, many books that will astound me, even though no one else has told be how good they are.
What are the last books I've purchased full price for?
Let me think.
Um.
And, when I do buy books, as I'm planning to do today, which ones am I choosing between? Currently, I'm trying to decide between buying Pulitzer Prize Winning The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz, Janet Fitch's Paint It Black, and a book from Stephanie Meyer's series Twilight. I realized that I don't even really notice most novels unless they've already gotten a ton of critical and popular acclaim. So, how do these new books build readership? How do they get the attention they want and often deserve? To break out, assuming a writer didn't start with a million dollar advance and publisher co-op deals, debut novels somehow need to be stumbled upon by anxious readers, and not only that, but these readers have to open the books, read them, and actually consider giving them a chance.
As a writer, I am completely intimidated by the blockbuster publishing models that seem to be gaining popularity. This system works because book buyers choose books based on advertising and word-of-mouth. And, to try and play by these rules, I find myself planning ways to get blurbs, personal recommendations to agents, and developing the ever important hook and platform for my book. Basically, I am doing everything I can to make my book a blockbuster, knowing full well that it is impossible for every decent book out there to be THE ONE.
If any system other than the blockbuster model is to work, readers have to explore unheard-of books and give new writers a chance. I'm guilty of not doing this, myself, and I doubt I'm alone.
So, I have made a deal with myself to buy a new full-priced book at least every month. And, something I've already started doing is that I'm putting more effort into recommending books I think my friends will like and giving books as gifts. I'm set on exploring new books, books I've never heard of, with the idea that I might be able to change publishing trends. And, what I suspect will happen, is that I will find many, many books that will astound me, even though no one else has told be how good they are.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
That Elusive Second Novel
So, here's the deal. It's hard to write your first book. If you're like me, it's one of the hardest things you have ever had to do. Maybe it took you years. Maybe you've lost jobs and friends over it. Maybe it forced you to confront pockets of your life that you hadn't anticipated on opening. But, you did it. And maybe you even got an agent and an editor and a publishing contract. No matter where you are along this process, congratulate yourself that you have that first book done. But, what about your SECOND book?
Now, the rules are different, aren't they?
You've told that life story you've always been meaning to tell. If the book has been published, you've created a record of sales for yourself, so that every publisher afterwards can now look up how well your first book did. If you want to carve out a career, you have to write something even better, add more thrills, create more vivid characters, top those sales! Right?
Some advice that the brilliant Merrill Joan Gerber once gave to me while I was an undergraduate at Caltech taking one of her classes was to make sure your next project is already underway before your first project gets published and reviewed. Why? Because once you have an agent and a publisher and literary fans, a whole new crop of expectations will sprout up under your boots. You'll hear voices that tell you to replicate the parts of your last book that worked. Other voices will tell you to change the parts of your book that were criticized, even if they happened to reflect that intangible part of you: the soul. But, if your project is already underway before all of these other complications start, you have at least given yourself a headstart and a chance to stay true to your own voice before those other voices chime in.
Now, the rules are different, aren't they?
You've told that life story you've always been meaning to tell. If the book has been published, you've created a record of sales for yourself, so that every publisher afterwards can now look up how well your first book did. If you want to carve out a career, you have to write something even better, add more thrills, create more vivid characters, top those sales! Right?
Some advice that the brilliant Merrill Joan Gerber once gave to me while I was an undergraduate at Caltech taking one of her classes was to make sure your next project is already underway before your first project gets published and reviewed. Why? Because once you have an agent and a publisher and literary fans, a whole new crop of expectations will sprout up under your boots. You'll hear voices that tell you to replicate the parts of your last book that worked. Other voices will tell you to change the parts of your book that were criticized, even if they happened to reflect that intangible part of you: the soul. But, if your project is already underway before all of these other complications start, you have at least given yourself a headstart and a chance to stay true to your own voice before those other voices chime in.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Joy Of NOT Getting Published
The path to publication is paved with tar and tacks and the shards from broken vodka bottles. Literary agents, at least popular ones, receive thousands of query letters a year. They have to read these letters, read through requested partials, read through full manuscripts, and then they must still deal with clients and editors and publishing houses and publicity...and their own lives. With millions of aspiring novelists around the world, the chances of getting published are low, at least from what I hear.
Recently, I've been reading various tips and tricks and statistics regarding publication and, usually, I step away from my computer with this feeling of drowning among an ocean of writers who are all flailing their unsolicited manuscripts in the air, and there, way over there, is the tiny lighthouse of agents searching for that one sign of life among the crashing sea foam. I'm usually depressed for an hour. I think about how much more reasonable self-publication can be. And then, I think about Emily Dickinson.
Because, in some ways, Emily had it right. She kept her poems in a drawer with no attempt to get them published. She wasn't trying to be a star. She wasn't trying to make history. She wrote for the joy of writing. She wrote for herself.
And, along with the personal, emotional stuff that many people will probably chalk up to cowardice or denial, there is also the satisfaction and experience that comes from actually finishing the darn thing.
Nathan Bransford, blogging agent superstar, recently posted a good reminder about whether or not you can query an agent before your novel is done. The answer is simply, no. I mentioned that there are millions of writers out there, but how many of them have actually finished their book? Finishing a novel is a huge step, and one that any writer should be truly proud of. Tied to finishing my doctorate, something I thought I would never be able to accomplish, finishing my first novel has been the most difficult thing I've ever done, and I'm proud of it. I'm not the most organized person in the world. My room is usually covered in dirty laundry and dinner plates and books and manuscripts. And, unfortunately, my mind is no more pristine than my environment. For me to accomplish any large project requires all the concentration I can muster.
So, after you have finished your novel. After you have revised it and developed the characters and revised it and created a plot and revised it and checked it for typos and revised it, stop for a minute or two. Be happy with where you are in the moment. Enjoy the fact that you WROTE A BOOK. Then, jump into the sea if you want to.
Recently, I've been reading various tips and tricks and statistics regarding publication and, usually, I step away from my computer with this feeling of drowning among an ocean of writers who are all flailing their unsolicited manuscripts in the air, and there, way over there, is the tiny lighthouse of agents searching for that one sign of life among the crashing sea foam. I'm usually depressed for an hour. I think about how much more reasonable self-publication can be. And then, I think about Emily Dickinson.
Because, in some ways, Emily had it right. She kept her poems in a drawer with no attempt to get them published. She wasn't trying to be a star. She wasn't trying to make history. She wrote for the joy of writing. She wrote for herself.
And, along with the personal, emotional stuff that many people will probably chalk up to cowardice or denial, there is also the satisfaction and experience that comes from actually finishing the darn thing.
Nathan Bransford, blogging agent superstar, recently posted a good reminder about whether or not you can query an agent before your novel is done. The answer is simply, no. I mentioned that there are millions of writers out there, but how many of them have actually finished their book? Finishing a novel is a huge step, and one that any writer should be truly proud of. Tied to finishing my doctorate, something I thought I would never be able to accomplish, finishing my first novel has been the most difficult thing I've ever done, and I'm proud of it. I'm not the most organized person in the world. My room is usually covered in dirty laundry and dinner plates and books and manuscripts. And, unfortunately, my mind is no more pristine than my environment. For me to accomplish any large project requires all the concentration I can muster.
So, after you have finished your novel. After you have revised it and developed the characters and revised it and created a plot and revised it and checked it for typos and revised it, stop for a minute or two. Be happy with where you are in the moment. Enjoy the fact that you WROTE A BOOK. Then, jump into the sea if you want to.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Review of Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
I recently read Sara Gruen's book Water for Elephants, which was a New York Times Bestseller, a Book Sense #1 Pick of the Month, and has ranked consistently high on Amazon, along with selling, I think it was, at least 2 million copies. This novel tells the story of Jacob Jankowski and his adventures on a circus train, where he works as an unofficial veterinarian and falls in love with a glamorous performer named Marlena in this not-so-glamorous and often violent circus world. Interwoven among chapters of high-drama antics are quieter chapters about Jacob as a ninety or a ninety-three-year-old resident in a retirement center in the days before the circus is coming into town. My honest analysis of this book is that I didn't love it. BUT, I should point out that I tend to be a lover of the classics, preferring Anna Karenina to Life of Pi and Light In August to The Kite Runner.
Having said that, I have a lot of praise for the book. Gruen carefully researched her subject matter, and from that was able to depict what I assume is a historically accurate depiction of circus life during the depression. Gruen mastered the language of the times and recounted interesting adventures, several of them based on anecdotes preserved from people in the know. She also created sympathetic characters in the people and the animals along with colorful villains and quirky minor players. All of this adds up to an entertaining read that for many people will be quite the adventurous romp.
I admire Gruen. I have a lot to learn from a writer with such an amazing ability to create a book like this. Style, prose, and emotional complexity aren't everything -- though I personally value them -- and Gruen shows that one can engage readers, millions of readers, by perfecting the more fundamental elements of storytelling: creating sympathetic characters, an interesting setting, and a plot structure that builds to an dramatic and surprising climax.
Having said that, I have a lot of praise for the book. Gruen carefully researched her subject matter, and from that was able to depict what I assume is a historically accurate depiction of circus life during the depression. Gruen mastered the language of the times and recounted interesting adventures, several of them based on anecdotes preserved from people in the know. She also created sympathetic characters in the people and the animals along with colorful villains and quirky minor players. All of this adds up to an entertaining read that for many people will be quite the adventurous romp.
I admire Gruen. I have a lot to learn from a writer with such an amazing ability to create a book like this. Style, prose, and emotional complexity aren't everything -- though I personally value them -- and Gruen shows that one can engage readers, millions of readers, by perfecting the more fundamental elements of storytelling: creating sympathetic characters, an interesting setting, and a plot structure that builds to an dramatic and surprising climax.
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