One of my twitfic pieces was in @thaumatrope today:
"Does everyone in your family have blond hair and blue eyes?" "Yes, it's a strong family resemblance." "Do they all have tails, too?"
There's a real challenge to the 140 character limit. Some of my efforts in this regard are better than others. @thaumatrope is a paying market, which puts this particular piece on the good side of the bright, clear line.
Why was this wonderful?
In a previous post I talked about a piece I had finished, and how unsatisfied I was with it:
I just finished a 5000-word piece. It came out in a very workman-like fashion, with little in the way of spark or brilliance. The parts that are a bit more lyrical will almost certainly get whacked into submission by the editors, who prefer muted shades of pastels to splashes (or slashes) of primary colors.
I've got to stop taking on these assignments. This just wasn't very much fun to write. It felt like drudgery, and I'm afraid it will come across that way.
I got the comments on my first draft back from the editors: "Beautifully written... looks really good - more of a first Final draft ... glad to be working with you again".
Q. If I was so unhappy with it, why were the editors so pleased with this piece?
A. BECAUSE IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT THEY WANTED, YOU DOPE!
If I'd written it the way *I* wanted to write it, with lyrical turns of phrase that evoke love, loss and loneliness, they would have been really unhappy.
I was writing to a contract that called for dry prose, so I not only avoided adverbs in the writing of it, I carefully combed through it looking for adverbs I had missed. With great sadness in my heart, I went from cradle to cradle, and gently lowered a pillow over the wee sleeping face of each adverb, each parenthetical aside and each exclamatory phrase.
The end result met someone else's definition of near perfect, and that someone else was the editor.
The attentive student of writing will make note.
I just finished a 5000-word piece. It came out in a very workman-like fashion, with little in the way of spark or brilliance. The parts that are a bit more lyrical will almost certainly get whacked into submission by the editors, who prefer muted shades of pastels to splashes (or slashes) of primary colors.
I've got to stop taking on these assignments. This just wasn't very much fun to write. It felt like drudgery, and I'm afraid it will come across that way.
I got the comments on my first draft back from the editors: "Beautifully written... looks really good - more of a first Final draft ... glad to be working with you again".
Q. If I was so unhappy with it, why were the editors so pleased with this piece?
A. BECAUSE IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT THEY WANTED, YOU DOPE!
If I'd written it the way *I* wanted to write it, with lyrical turns of phrase that evoke love, loss and loneliness, they would have been really unhappy.
I was writing to a contract that called for dry prose, so I not only avoided adverbs in the writing of it, I carefully combed through it looking for adverbs I had missed. With great sadness in my heart, I went from cradle to cradle, and gently lowered a pillow over the wee sleeping face of each adverb, each parenthetical aside and each exclamatory phrase.
The end result met someone else's definition of near perfect, and that someone else was the editor.
The attentive student of writing will make note.
Chip away everything that doesn't look like an elephant
I've been wrestling with what to do about a novel that I wrote back in 2006. It has a few good bits, and the story arc isn't too bad, but overall I would have to classify it as crap. Not entirely worthless crap, but crap nonetheless.
Is this a problem?
Well, considering that it was the first novel I wrote, and a NaNoWriMo novel at that, I shouldn't be too hard on the poor little thing. I learned a tremendous amount about the nuts and bolts of writing, about the bigger picture issues of writing, and also about myself AS a writer. It holds a special place in my heart as the first large-scale effort of my fiction writing life.
Still... it's crap.
I keep meaning to rewrite it, to fix it, to turn it into the gripping action adventure piece I visualized.
* Cut out the slow, turgid opening, and make the reader work a bit at figuring out what the hell is going on for the first 15 pages.
* Turn all of that plodding, world-building exposition in the middle into snappy dialogue, preferably an argument between two attractive people. Even better if they are both dripping wet, and one of them is trying to hide an erection.
* Delete the 1000 words where the villain explains why she's going to kill the hero, the 300 words that laboriously describe the gun, and the 500 words that describe how he narrowly avoids being killed. Just have her draw, fire, hit him, and make that the end of a chapter before switching to one of the subplots.
* etc., etc., etc.
I actually have mapped out a whole set of fixes and new plot elements. I've even written some of the scenes for the "revision" of the book.
Am I better off just starting over? Will revising and rewriting be more troublesome than simply writing it all afresh? If I print out a copy of the MS as it currently exists, and make a note of what to save & what to chuck, I can just salvage what was good whenever I get there in the story.
Instead of a forced, scalpel-glinting, bone-deep makeover imposed on my much beloved, but deeply flawed first effort, this feels more like creating the conditions for a rebirth. The original soul in a new and better body.
Damn, I sound like a mad scientist, don't I? Good thing I don't run a cloning & cryogenics lab.
Still, this makes me feel much better about how to proceed. Since I'm all about framing the emotional context for my writing, look for notes on my progress.
A bit early for this
I would say that it's a bit early for someone, especially the University of Chicago Magazine, to compare my writing to that of Elmore Leonard or Richard Price. Gritty realism requires realism, after all.
However, since this was done in a tweet, perhaps different standards apply?
However, since this was done in a tweet, perhaps different standards apply?
Competition
I entered a piece in the Flash Fiction 40 competition over at Editor Unleashed. It will look familiar to anyone who's read this blog recently, but that's OK, since very few people read this blog.
I was reading some of the other entries, some of which appears a bit, well, unpolished. I was feeling pretty good about my chances, but then I read one really good one that put me on notice.
There are a lot of talented writers out there.
I was reading some of the other entries, some of which appears a bit, well, unpolished. I was feeling pretty good about my chances, but then I read one really good one that put me on notice.
There are a lot of talented writers out there.
Quality and care
Before I decided to take writing seriously, I just told stories to people. They made people laugh, made them think or even (sometimes) made them cry a bit. People loved my stories. I heard so many times, "You should write that one down!"
So, I did. I wrote some of them down in complete form, others just as a set of notes for a plot.
Back when I was just telling stories, I never worried about the quality of my storytelling. It all just came out, and it was fun.
Now, I feel like it's a struggle to tell a story. Despite my declaration about getting the "is it good enough to publish" monkey off my back as I write, it's still there. I had more fun writing Sunlight on the Plaza Below than I've had in a long time. I never intended to do anything with that piece other than post it here as an exercise. I thought it was not bad.
In considering the possibility of submitting it somewhere that does flash fiction, though, my eye turns jaundiced and I see nothing of value there at all. The fact of course is that I really should let the editors decide. Practical and rational restraint is a useful skill, but I shouldn't prejudge this stuff so harshly.
So, I did. I wrote some of them down in complete form, others just as a set of notes for a plot.
Back when I was just telling stories, I never worried about the quality of my storytelling. It all just came out, and it was fun.
Now, I feel like it's a struggle to tell a story. Despite my declaration about getting the "is it good enough to publish" monkey off my back as I write, it's still there. I had more fun writing Sunlight on the Plaza Below than I've had in a long time. I never intended to do anything with that piece other than post it here as an exercise. I thought it was not bad.
In considering the possibility of submitting it somewhere that does flash fiction, though, my eye turns jaundiced and I see nothing of value there at all. The fact of course is that I really should let the editors decide. Practical and rational restraint is a useful skill, but I shouldn't prejudge this stuff so harshly.
Writing tools - free as in beer
A blog post by Tobias Bucknell describes the logistical nuts and bolts of how he writes a novel. Everyone's process will be different, of course, but for him, it begins with slips of paper to capture ideas. Organization and actual writing comes after that. The comments contain some discussion of free software tools that help organize the process of writing a novel, such as Writer's Cafe and CopyWrite. There are many others, of course, some of which are free, some of which aren't.
There are other tools that are just for the getting-text-on-the-page part of writing, minimalist tools like PyRoom and Q10. Another program, Crimson Edit is a pretty minimalist writing environment that let's you have different files/chapters open in the tabs of a single WIP. It appears to be intended primarily as a tool for computer programmers, but it looks like it would serve quite well for novelists. My pals @stoolpigeon and @Shadow_Wrought tipped me off to a couple of these.
I've used Q10 and quite like it. I didn't realize how distracted I actually was by my writing environment. It's much better than the stripped-down MS Word environment that I often use for writing. Interestingly, I find the default orange-on-black color scheme of Q10 serves as a visual cue to my brain to open up and begin actually writing. My usual screen space is black on white, or very colorful and active. The totemic value of this very retro screen is like sinking into the writing mood. This is almost certainly a much better habituation cue than a cigar or a glass of scotch.
All of this makes me reflect on how people organized and wrote books pre-word processor, pre-typewriter and pre-ballpoint pen. It's all the more impressive an effort, and reminds me yet again that good writing arises from the dedication and skill of the writer. Good tools help, but they are only as valuable as the hand that guides them.
There are other tools that are just for the getting-text-on-the-page part of writing, minimalist tools like PyRoom and Q10. Another program, Crimson Edit is a pretty minimalist writing environment that let's you have different files/chapters open in the tabs of a single WIP. It appears to be intended primarily as a tool for computer programmers, but it looks like it would serve quite well for novelists. My pals @stoolpigeon and @Shadow_Wrought tipped me off to a couple of these.
I've used Q10 and quite like it. I didn't realize how distracted I actually was by my writing environment. It's much better than the stripped-down MS Word environment that I often use for writing. Interestingly, I find the default orange-on-black color scheme of Q10 serves as a visual cue to my brain to open up and begin actually writing. My usual screen space is black on white, or very colorful and active. The totemic value of this very retro screen is like sinking into the writing mood. This is almost certainly a much better habituation cue than a cigar or a glass of scotch.
All of this makes me reflect on how people organized and wrote books pre-word processor, pre-typewriter and pre-ballpoint pen. It's all the more impressive an effort, and reminds me yet again that good writing arises from the dedication and skill of the writer. Good tools help, but they are only as valuable as the hand that guides them.
Article done, not what I hoped for
I just finished a 5000-word piece. It came out in a very workman-like fashion, with little in the way of spark or brilliance. The parts that are a bit more lyrical will almost certainly get whacked into submission by the editors, who prefer muted shades of pastels to splashes (or slashes) of primary colors.
I've got to stop taking on these assignments. This just wasn't very much fun to write. It felt like drudgery, and I'm afraid it will come across that way.
I've got to stop taking on these assignments. This just wasn't very much fun to write. It felt like drudgery, and I'm afraid it will come across that way.
This is not a sex scene
She reached over and turned out the light. She leaned forward in the darkness to pull her cotton nightshirt down over her thighs, and to pull the blankets up to her chin. She was cold.
He lay, listening to her. As always, he was too warm. There was a time when he would have reached for her, using his warmth as a lure to draw her in. There would have been happy sighs and familiar jokes about the way to a woman's heart.
She would have pressed herself against him. His passion had always risen to her touch. Sometimes it was a simple presence between them as they held each other, sharing their warmth. Often, it became the physical focus of their contact, and they would have made love. His warmth would have spread to her and through her. Afterwards, she too would have been too warm for heavy blankets.
He lay, listening to her. As always, he was too warm, but he said nothing. She turned onto her side, presenting her back to him, not as an invitation as in that far gone past, but as her nightly dismissal.
He lay, listening to her. As always, he was too warm. There was a time when he would have reached for her, using his warmth as a lure to draw her in. There would have been happy sighs and familiar jokes about the way to a woman's heart.
She would have pressed herself against him. His passion had always risen to her touch. Sometimes it was a simple presence between them as they held each other, sharing their warmth. Often, it became the physical focus of their contact, and they would have made love. His warmth would have spread to her and through her. Afterwards, she too would have been too warm for heavy blankets.
He lay, listening to her. As always, he was too warm, but he said nothing. She turned onto her side, presenting her back to him, not as an invitation as in that far gone past, but as her nightly dismissal.
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