A friend of mine mentioned an interest in writing, but he said he hadn't found the time yet. He considered taking a week off work and just focusing on writing for that whole week. I discouraged doing this because it didn't resolve the initial problem: finding consistent time to write.
Dedicating a week to writing instead of a full-time job would be wonderful for many of us, but if that is the only time available for writing, then that one week will not suffice. Any project started will hang in limbo until the next vacation, and whatever flow of ideas available at that time will be lost.
To produce fiction, we must write regularly. And by regularly, I mean as close to daily as possible. For me, it's part of my early-morning routine. In the past, I've used slots of time at night. But each day, I know when writing time is scheduled.
Life happens, though. Schedules break due to the random events around us. Depending on writing's priority in one's life, the writing schedule either gets interrupted or rises above other items. That's up to the individual. But if life's events are constantly getting in the way of a writing schedule, I would argue that it's not really a schedule in the first place - it's simply a wish akin to dreams of weight loss or accumulating wealth.
If you want to write, you must carve out the time. Look at your current schedule, and push it into a slot somewhere. But to do this, something must give. What are you willing to trade? Be careful in your answer, though. If you have a family, my suggestion is to carve out time from something personal (if possible); for example, stop playing video games every night (or play them much less), and write instead. Don't continue in personal hobbies and then tack writing on top of them unless you want to take time away from your spouse, children, or friends.
Time is finite on this world. Use it wisely.
Showing posts with label advice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advice. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Avoiding Fantasy Stock Characters
A stock character is one that embodies an archetype or falls into basic stereotypes or cliches. For example, the brave knight or the evil lord. Especially in writing adventure fantasy or high fantasy, it's easy to slip into stock characters because these forms are so familiar. But if we don't break the molds, we'll find our writing is nothing but a pastiche of others' work; any originality will fade behind the distracting cliches.
A character cannot simply be an elf any more than a character can simply be a man; that doesn't identify anyone (even if he has his own name). Delve into their personality, their background, their mannerisms. The character can still be readily associated with a specific magical race and be well defined. For example, a distinct dwarf character can still love mining.
If you feel like you're stuck, watch people. Observe their behavior, especially anything quirky. Embellish these things for your characters, and you'll see them stand apart in a lineup of stock characters.
Allow for multiple characteristics to permeate; for example, a knight who acts bravely but is guilt-ridden, has insomnia, and enjoys poetry. One strong characteristic may dominate, but if it aligns too closely with an existing trope without letting anything else shine through, the character will just be another brave knight, ho-hum.
It's okay to reference fantasy races or types of people that readers are familiar with, but don't rely upon them as distinguishing characteristics. A character must feel real, even if he's a centaur. Don't be lazy; think creatively.
A character cannot simply be an elf any more than a character can simply be a man; that doesn't identify anyone (even if he has his own name). Delve into their personality, their background, their mannerisms. The character can still be readily associated with a specific magical race and be well defined. For example, a distinct dwarf character can still love mining.
If you feel like you're stuck, watch people. Observe their behavior, especially anything quirky. Embellish these things for your characters, and you'll see them stand apart in a lineup of stock characters.
Allow for multiple characteristics to permeate; for example, a knight who acts bravely but is guilt-ridden, has insomnia, and enjoys poetry. One strong characteristic may dominate, but if it aligns too closely with an existing trope without letting anything else shine through, the character will just be another brave knight, ho-hum.
It's okay to reference fantasy races or types of people that readers are familiar with, but don't rely upon them as distinguishing characteristics. A character must feel real, even if he's a centaur. Don't be lazy; think creatively.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
Getting Through the Lulls
The fun times of writing are seeing acceptance letters or seeing stories appear in magazines or book form (I can imagine this last one anyway). But what about the lulls? By that, I mean the times between acceptances or publications - those long spans of time when it seems like rejection letters are the only responses you're seeing.
It's easy to get discouraged as rejections mount up. I recall after making my first few sales, I then faced over a year of rejection letters. Where did the magic go, I thought. I know I can sell stories; I sold some last year. Yet this is a new year with no sales. I can't even sell a story to the magazine that published my other pieces.
First (and most important), keep writing. You can't change whether a story is accepted or rejected, whether you worry about it or not. I think this is especially tempting after completing a novel and trying to query agents, especially if you start getting some hits requesting more material. I've read comments from people that make it seem like their world has come to a stand-still until they find out what that agent thinks. But it doesn't really matter. You're a writer, so go write. If the novel is picked up by an agent, great. In the meantime, you've been getting another one ready, so maybe that will lead to a quicker sale to a publisher. Or maybe the first novel won't get picked up at all, but by the time you've exhausted your resources, you have a brand new novel to peddle.
Second, don't rewrite a story unless you feel like it must be done based on your own thoughts. It becomes very tempting to change stories based on an editor's feedback when you get personal rejections. But unless that editor is specifically asking for a rewrite in order to be considered for publication, you should leave the story alone. I recall a story I had written where an editor for Magazine A said something he/she didn't like, so I changed it. Then I submitted it to Magazine B, only to have that editor say he/she didn't like the piece that I had just changed. Only change something if you get feedback that resonates with you and you feel that it absolutely must change in order to give yourself peace about that story. But this should be rare.
Third, don't beat yourself up. Celebrate the victories you had, but don't beat yourself up for any gaps. Remember, you don't have control over publications. All you can do is write and submit, trying to improve your writing with each story. If your current batch of stories isn't selling, it doesn't help to doubt your skills and enter a dark period of self-loathing (though that may itself lead to new story ideas).
Again, if you take nothing else away from this article, just remember to write no matter what - whether you're selling everything or selling nothing.
It's easy to get discouraged as rejections mount up. I recall after making my first few sales, I then faced over a year of rejection letters. Where did the magic go, I thought. I know I can sell stories; I sold some last year. Yet this is a new year with no sales. I can't even sell a story to the magazine that published my other pieces.
First (and most important), keep writing. You can't change whether a story is accepted or rejected, whether you worry about it or not. I think this is especially tempting after completing a novel and trying to query agents, especially if you start getting some hits requesting more material. I've read comments from people that make it seem like their world has come to a stand-still until they find out what that agent thinks. But it doesn't really matter. You're a writer, so go write. If the novel is picked up by an agent, great. In the meantime, you've been getting another one ready, so maybe that will lead to a quicker sale to a publisher. Or maybe the first novel won't get picked up at all, but by the time you've exhausted your resources, you have a brand new novel to peddle.
Second, don't rewrite a story unless you feel like it must be done based on your own thoughts. It becomes very tempting to change stories based on an editor's feedback when you get personal rejections. But unless that editor is specifically asking for a rewrite in order to be considered for publication, you should leave the story alone. I recall a story I had written where an editor for Magazine A said something he/she didn't like, so I changed it. Then I submitted it to Magazine B, only to have that editor say he/she didn't like the piece that I had just changed. Only change something if you get feedback that resonates with you and you feel that it absolutely must change in order to give yourself peace about that story. But this should be rare.
Third, don't beat yourself up. Celebrate the victories you had, but don't beat yourself up for any gaps. Remember, you don't have control over publications. All you can do is write and submit, trying to improve your writing with each story. If your current batch of stories isn't selling, it doesn't help to doubt your skills and enter a dark period of self-loathing (though that may itself lead to new story ideas).
Again, if you take nothing else away from this article, just remember to write no matter what - whether you're selling everything or selling nothing.
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Don't Get Lost in the Battle
With high or adventure fantasy, battles tend to be part of the genre. What better way to draw to a climax than sending thousands of armed soldiers against each other, perhaps led by some savage who can kill 1,000 by himself?
But before jumping into the fray, you might consider a few points to keep yourself from getting lost in the battle.
First, think through the logistics. How many combatants are there? What kinds of battle units are involved? What is the landscape like? How are the armies supplied? What is the objective of each side?
Once you have a general idea of who will be skirmishing, take time to research what similar battles looked like. For example, if you have an army consisting of cavalry, archers and infantry, how many make up each group? From there, research historical battles involving similar groups. It's not difficult to find strategies generals would use for organizing their forces and positioning them for battle. Research how people fought with the weapons and armor that your armies employ.
I don't need to do any research; I'm writing fantasy. Don't let your genre excuse laziness. Plausibility exists in fantasy worlds; we need something to hold on to while we explore the unknown.
Years ago, I was trying to write a battle between men and dwarves, and I struggled with how to write it. So I called a friend who does Civil War reenactments to get his take on battles. He had personal experience with mock battles, and I picked his brain on how fatigued he would get, how hot he would get, the level of confusion involved, etc. He also read a lot of accounts of battles, which allowed me to ask more gruesome details, like how bodies would stack up. Some of his answers led me to new questions I hadn't planned on asking. These tangible details greatly helped me in anchoring the reader to the narrative.
Plan the battle at a macro level first so that you know how you want it to play out. What movements will take place? How will it be resolved? How many casualties will there be?
After understanding the battle at a macro level (and perhaps describing it at a macro level), personalize the battle. Let the reader follow the character (or characters) who matter. A battle without characters means next to nothing. Why should the reader care about the outcome? And through that character, let the reader experience the reality of the battle with all of its excitement, dread, and whatever emotions you want to pull into the scene.
When you focus on individuals, be mindful of the macro level at the same time. Otherwise your writing will be out of sync, making for a confusing tale. The characters don't need this macro information, but you do. If it helps to stage figurines while you write or draw crude graphics, do it. Just keep yourself grounded in what's happening.
If you decide to change the battle, go back to your notes on the macro level and rethink all scenes in the narrative that are affected by the change.
Stay focused, and read everything with a critical eye. Ask yourself what is happening in all directions. Take breaks and make new drawings or notes if you need to. Even if the battle is rushing along, you don't need to rush your way through writing it.
When the battle's over and you know you've taken into account all of the subtle details, you'll share in the victory.
But before jumping into the fray, you might consider a few points to keep yourself from getting lost in the battle.
First, think through the logistics. How many combatants are there? What kinds of battle units are involved? What is the landscape like? How are the armies supplied? What is the objective of each side?
Once you have a general idea of who will be skirmishing, take time to research what similar battles looked like. For example, if you have an army consisting of cavalry, archers and infantry, how many make up each group? From there, research historical battles involving similar groups. It's not difficult to find strategies generals would use for organizing their forces and positioning them for battle. Research how people fought with the weapons and armor that your armies employ.
I don't need to do any research; I'm writing fantasy. Don't let your genre excuse laziness. Plausibility exists in fantasy worlds; we need something to hold on to while we explore the unknown.
Years ago, I was trying to write a battle between men and dwarves, and I struggled with how to write it. So I called a friend who does Civil War reenactments to get his take on battles. He had personal experience with mock battles, and I picked his brain on how fatigued he would get, how hot he would get, the level of confusion involved, etc. He also read a lot of accounts of battles, which allowed me to ask more gruesome details, like how bodies would stack up. Some of his answers led me to new questions I hadn't planned on asking. These tangible details greatly helped me in anchoring the reader to the narrative.
Plan the battle at a macro level first so that you know how you want it to play out. What movements will take place? How will it be resolved? How many casualties will there be?
After understanding the battle at a macro level (and perhaps describing it at a macro level), personalize the battle. Let the reader follow the character (or characters) who matter. A battle without characters means next to nothing. Why should the reader care about the outcome? And through that character, let the reader experience the reality of the battle with all of its excitement, dread, and whatever emotions you want to pull into the scene.
When you focus on individuals, be mindful of the macro level at the same time. Otherwise your writing will be out of sync, making for a confusing tale. The characters don't need this macro information, but you do. If it helps to stage figurines while you write or draw crude graphics, do it. Just keep yourself grounded in what's happening.
If you decide to change the battle, go back to your notes on the macro level and rethink all scenes in the narrative that are affected by the change.
Stay focused, and read everything with a critical eye. Ask yourself what is happening in all directions. Take breaks and make new drawings or notes if you need to. Even if the battle is rushing along, you don't need to rush your way through writing it.
When the battle's over and you know you've taken into account all of the subtle details, you'll share in the victory.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Trimming
I'm in edit mode (and have been for a while now), and it's in such a state that I start trimming words. It's easy to fall into verbose sentences during a rough draft. Like the Spice, the ideas must flow. But when it's time to edit, bring out the clippers.
Here are a few patterns I fall into:
Failing to think of the right word. Rough draft: Jim bought a ticket for the underground train. Trimming: Replace "underground train" with "subway".
Cramming. Rough draft: Jim soiled his crisp, white shirt and silk tie - a gift from his wife two years ago - due to tripping on the third step from the bottom and spilling decaf coffee on himself. Trimming: Break this into several sentences and lose the non-essential details.
Extra words for no purpose (good for high-school essays but bad for stories). Rough draft: Jim wanted to get to his hometown where he grew up. Trimming: It's assumed he grew up in his hometown - otherwise it wouldn't be his hometown - so get rid of the phrase "where he grew up".
Sheer confusion. Rough draft: Jim thought he could outrun ended up left around midnight. Trimming: Figure out what in the world this sentence is supposed to say and get rid of the rest. I don't see this too often, but it's usually a result of trying to edit while I'm writing the rough draft - always a dangerous proposal. So I start rewriting a sentence before actually finishing it, resulting in multiple versions, awkwardly coexisting.
Here are a few patterns I fall into:
Failing to think of the right word. Rough draft: Jim bought a ticket for the underground train. Trimming: Replace "underground train" with "subway".
Cramming. Rough draft: Jim soiled his crisp, white shirt and silk tie - a gift from his wife two years ago - due to tripping on the third step from the bottom and spilling decaf coffee on himself. Trimming: Break this into several sentences and lose the non-essential details.
Extra words for no purpose (good for high-school essays but bad for stories). Rough draft: Jim wanted to get to his hometown where he grew up. Trimming: It's assumed he grew up in his hometown - otherwise it wouldn't be his hometown - so get rid of the phrase "where he grew up".
Sheer confusion. Rough draft: Jim thought he could outrun ended up left around midnight. Trimming: Figure out what in the world this sentence is supposed to say and get rid of the rest. I don't see this too often, but it's usually a result of trying to edit while I'm writing the rough draft - always a dangerous proposal. So I start rewriting a sentence before actually finishing it, resulting in multiple versions, awkwardly coexisting.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Frightening Villains
In some stories, it becomes necessary to introduce one or multiple villains. There are various types of villains, but the ones I find most intriguing are those that are frightening; there is something unnatural about them. They are chilling. I don’t want to identify with such a villain or perceive some hidden heart of gold. I fear them as I would fear a rabid dog because there is something not quite right in their thinking – something not quite right in their being. They cannot be reasoned with, and we cannot empathize with them. And though they may have changed from good to evil, they can never change back.
One example that comes to mind is Orochimaru from the manga/anime Naruto. Orochimaru is a ninja from the Leaf Village who goes astray. In order to learn as much jutsu as possible, he experiments on people, killing them in a secret hideaway within the village. He later forms his own village and has his own following, but he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. On the surface, Orochimaru seems like the typical power-hungry villain, but there’s something almost perverse in how he interacts with other characters. His jitsu always leans toward the macabre, and he transforms his body into repulsive, serpentine shapes.
The second example that comes to mind is Satan. Not the sit-on-your-shoulder guy in red with a pitchfork. I mean Lucifer himself – the highest archangel who decided he was above God and led a third of the angelic host with him in rebellion. Here is a person who was the greatest created being of all time and turned into the most menacing threat mankind has ever known. In fact, the word Satan comes from the word “accuser” because he accuses men before God, yet he tempts humanity into utter depravity. I think a lot of people are frightened by the demonic based on the popularity of films where the characters struggle against a demonic opponent in various forms.
A final example is zombies. With zombies, all vestiges of humanity have been stripped away, and all that remains are remorseless beings with insatiable appetites for living flesh, especially that of humans. Even their appearance is a twisted form of normalcy, often to reflect their undead status (assuming they are undead as opposed to alive and infected). There are times I wish "The Walking Dead" wasn’t so compelling because it really creeps me out to watch it.
There is a time and a place for villainous characters, and I think there are also times when we should turn to frightening villains. We are not excited about their appearance in the story; not because they take away from the story (in fact, they may be the story), but because our fight or flight reflex tells us to run.
One example that comes to mind is Orochimaru from the manga/anime Naruto. Orochimaru is a ninja from the Leaf Village who goes astray. In order to learn as much jutsu as possible, he experiments on people, killing them in a secret hideaway within the village. He later forms his own village and has his own following, but he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. On the surface, Orochimaru seems like the typical power-hungry villain, but there’s something almost perverse in how he interacts with other characters. His jitsu always leans toward the macabre, and he transforms his body into repulsive, serpentine shapes.
The second example that comes to mind is Satan. Not the sit-on-your-shoulder guy in red with a pitchfork. I mean Lucifer himself – the highest archangel who decided he was above God and led a third of the angelic host with him in rebellion. Here is a person who was the greatest created being of all time and turned into the most menacing threat mankind has ever known. In fact, the word Satan comes from the word “accuser” because he accuses men before God, yet he tempts humanity into utter depravity. I think a lot of people are frightened by the demonic based on the popularity of films where the characters struggle against a demonic opponent in various forms.
A final example is zombies. With zombies, all vestiges of humanity have been stripped away, and all that remains are remorseless beings with insatiable appetites for living flesh, especially that of humans. Even their appearance is a twisted form of normalcy, often to reflect their undead status (assuming they are undead as opposed to alive and infected). There are times I wish "The Walking Dead" wasn’t so compelling because it really creeps me out to watch it.
There is a time and a place for villainous characters, and I think there are also times when we should turn to frightening villains. We are not excited about their appearance in the story; not because they take away from the story (in fact, they may be the story), but because our fight or flight reflex tells us to run.
Monday, March 26, 2012
This Isn't Working
I'm not the kind of writer who gets things right the first time. My stories go through several edits at least. To get published, one of the keys is figuring out if something's not working.
With rough drafts, it's a time to crank out ideas as quick as they come. Grammar? Marginalized. Plot holes? You bet. Confusing dialog? Yes, that character did just ask a question of himself that he answered in the form of another question - and I don't care.
Past that stage, when the story transitions into something much more organized, there comes a point when it seems like the piece is done. Except it isn't working. You may not be aware it's not working until it's not selling, which forces you to look closer at the story and discover that it's not working. (I don't believe that just because a story hasn't sold, it therefore has problems, but I am suggesting that a second or third glance is in order if it's run through a lot of markets without any bites.)
Wait, is "not working" subjective? I'm not so sure on that one. Preferences are subjective, so to a degree, something like pacing can be subjective. But if the story has a pacing problem, it's noticeable beyond a preference for a certain type of pacing. For example, I may have a preference for a story that starts out a little slow and builds into something fast, but if I read a story that starts fast and then meanders to a crawl before picking back up, I would cite that as a pacing problem. I'm not against it because it started fast but because it drastically lost momentum in the middle.
So there are two challenges - the first is finding the problem (or problems). For that, read with a critical eye or look for personal feedback if you're not spotting anything yourself. The second challenge, which can be just as duanting, is resolving the problem. In one of my published stories, I struggled with narrative issues due to how the protagonist interacted with other characters. I sensed a problem and went with what I thought was the best solution, though I never felt settled about it. The editor saw the issue as well, and it took several more drafts before the best solution found the light of day. I had almost given up hope at one point, but persistence paid off. Once complete, I knew I had an actual working solution, not just my best guess at a solution.
Solving the issue may take a complete rewrite from start to finish. With one of my stories, I recongized halfway through the rough draft that it needed to be a first-person narrative. Normally, I would not advise starting over before completing a rough draft, but I couldn't just go forward without fixing what was behind me; I needed resolution immediately. So I printed out what I had, opened a new document and started over.
Don't leave junk behind. Whether you see issues during a first draft, a "final" draft, or three years after submitting it to markets, fix the story. Even if it hurts. Even if you have to put other stories on hold. You'll gain valuable experience in the process and become that much keener at editing your work in the future. Plus, you'll end up with something that has a much greater chance at publication.
With rough drafts, it's a time to crank out ideas as quick as they come. Grammar? Marginalized. Plot holes? You bet. Confusing dialog? Yes, that character did just ask a question of himself that he answered in the form of another question - and I don't care.
Past that stage, when the story transitions into something much more organized, there comes a point when it seems like the piece is done. Except it isn't working. You may not be aware it's not working until it's not selling, which forces you to look closer at the story and discover that it's not working. (I don't believe that just because a story hasn't sold, it therefore has problems, but I am suggesting that a second or third glance is in order if it's run through a lot of markets without any bites.)
Wait, is "not working" subjective? I'm not so sure on that one. Preferences are subjective, so to a degree, something like pacing can be subjective. But if the story has a pacing problem, it's noticeable beyond a preference for a certain type of pacing. For example, I may have a preference for a story that starts out a little slow and builds into something fast, but if I read a story that starts fast and then meanders to a crawl before picking back up, I would cite that as a pacing problem. I'm not against it because it started fast but because it drastically lost momentum in the middle.
So there are two challenges - the first is finding the problem (or problems). For that, read with a critical eye or look for personal feedback if you're not spotting anything yourself. The second challenge, which can be just as duanting, is resolving the problem. In one of my published stories, I struggled with narrative issues due to how the protagonist interacted with other characters. I sensed a problem and went with what I thought was the best solution, though I never felt settled about it. The editor saw the issue as well, and it took several more drafts before the best solution found the light of day. I had almost given up hope at one point, but persistence paid off. Once complete, I knew I had an actual working solution, not just my best guess at a solution.
Solving the issue may take a complete rewrite from start to finish. With one of my stories, I recongized halfway through the rough draft that it needed to be a first-person narrative. Normally, I would not advise starting over before completing a rough draft, but I couldn't just go forward without fixing what was behind me; I needed resolution immediately. So I printed out what I had, opened a new document and started over.
Don't leave junk behind. Whether you see issues during a first draft, a "final" draft, or three years after submitting it to markets, fix the story. Even if it hurts. Even if you have to put other stories on hold. You'll gain valuable experience in the process and become that much keener at editing your work in the future. Plus, you'll end up with something that has a much greater chance at publication.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Notes
At the 2010 World Fantasy Convention, I spoke with Howard Andrew Jones, and he showed me a small notebook he carried around with him that he used to record his thoughts. I assumed these were writing ideas or the megalomaniacal musings he’s prone to (those who know him can back me up on that), but I didn’t actually read through it.
A short time later, I decided it was time to invest in a notebook of my own. And I already had one on hand that my wife had given me as a gift. It’s a hand-sewn, leather-bound cover with a leather strap to tie it closed. On the inside, it has pockets on the left and the right so that I can slide the covers of a notebook within. But I don’t just use any notebook; I use a notebook of thick, unlined parchment paper with a rustic look to it – not the bleached-white pulp found at a supermarket. I love the way it feels, and it gives my notes more of a fantastical feel, making them twice as good in my mind (okay, not really – but they do look cool).
I record ideas for new stories as well as notes on existing stories. I keep my notebook with me most of the time, so I’m rarely dropping ideas. Not that all ideas lead to stories or that all notes get folded into existing stories. But if a noteworthy thought comes to mind, I’ve got it. I’ve found this to be quite invaluable.
I think what helps is that my notebook is special; it’s not just some piece of paper shoved in my pocket, and I’m not just using some Smartphone app. It’s ink on a page. It demands to be used.
I recommend purchasing something unique to your personality – something you’d find worthy of your ideas. Then try it for a month. See what you jot down. I think you’ll be surprised at how much you’ll record in the notebook and how you can expand a wisp of a thought into something tangible within the moment.
A short time later, I decided it was time to invest in a notebook of my own. And I already had one on hand that my wife had given me as a gift. It’s a hand-sewn, leather-bound cover with a leather strap to tie it closed. On the inside, it has pockets on the left and the right so that I can slide the covers of a notebook within. But I don’t just use any notebook; I use a notebook of thick, unlined parchment paper with a rustic look to it – not the bleached-white pulp found at a supermarket. I love the way it feels, and it gives my notes more of a fantastical feel, making them twice as good in my mind (okay, not really – but they do look cool).
I record ideas for new stories as well as notes on existing stories. I keep my notebook with me most of the time, so I’m rarely dropping ideas. Not that all ideas lead to stories or that all notes get folded into existing stories. But if a noteworthy thought comes to mind, I’ve got it. I’ve found this to be quite invaluable.
I think what helps is that my notebook is special; it’s not just some piece of paper shoved in my pocket, and I’m not just using some Smartphone app. It’s ink on a page. It demands to be used.
I recommend purchasing something unique to your personality – something you’d find worthy of your ideas. Then try it for a month. See what you jot down. I think you’ll be surprised at how much you’ll record in the notebook and how you can expand a wisp of a thought into something tangible within the moment.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Better Left Unsaid
I’ve played musical instruments for over twenty years, and I learned that while the notes are important, the rests (the moments of silence for your instrument) are equally important. Such omissions are also pertinent in writing.
I don’t mean that there should be large whitespaces between words or scenes. Instead, what I’m referencing are the pieces of narrative and dialog that we purposefully withhold from the reader. Let me provide an example of two pieces of writing and ask which is stronger.
Example 1:
“Hey, Don,” Evan said. “Did you go to the basketball game last night? We used to all go every Wednesday, so I was surprised I didn’t see you there. It was a great game; the home team came from behind to win by three points at the buzzer.”
“Of course not,” Don said. “Jenny used to go to the games, too. Then she broke up with me. After four years together. I still can’t believe she dumped me for Frank.”
“Actually, I saw her there with Frank. They looked pretty happy – holding hands and laughing.”
Example 2:
“Hey, Don,” Evan said. “I didn’t see you at the game last night.”
“Those games just make me think of Jenny,” Don said. “She wasn’t there, was she?”
Evan nodded slowly. “With Frank.”
Personally, I’d rather avoid the info dump in the first example. And I might even like something more elusive than the second example – revealing the relationship with Jenny through subtle hints. And I might give Frank a last name of Khan so that Don can scream it in frustration (yes, I’m kidding).
Besides allowing the reader to think, omission also prevents unnatural dialog. For example, if a story begins with two characters meeting at a football game, they wouldn’t say, “Well, here we are at the game that we planned on attending three weeks ago.” Work those details in, if necessary, through other means. Don’t slap the reader in the face with it: “Here, you need this information!”
Some things are better left unsaid, especially details that can be revealed subtly. Trust your readers. Trust your readers. Trust your readers.
I don’t mean that there should be large whitespaces between words or scenes. Instead, what I’m referencing are the pieces of narrative and dialog that we purposefully withhold from the reader. Let me provide an example of two pieces of writing and ask which is stronger.
Example 1:
“Hey, Don,” Evan said. “Did you go to the basketball game last night? We used to all go every Wednesday, so I was surprised I didn’t see you there. It was a great game; the home team came from behind to win by three points at the buzzer.”
“Of course not,” Don said. “Jenny used to go to the games, too. Then she broke up with me. After four years together. I still can’t believe she dumped me for Frank.”
“Actually, I saw her there with Frank. They looked pretty happy – holding hands and laughing.”
Example 2:
“Hey, Don,” Evan said. “I didn’t see you at the game last night.”
“Those games just make me think of Jenny,” Don said. “She wasn’t there, was she?”
Evan nodded slowly. “With Frank.”
Personally, I’d rather avoid the info dump in the first example. And I might even like something more elusive than the second example – revealing the relationship with Jenny through subtle hints. And I might give Frank a last name of Khan so that Don can scream it in frustration (yes, I’m kidding).
Besides allowing the reader to think, omission also prevents unnatural dialog. For example, if a story begins with two characters meeting at a football game, they wouldn’t say, “Well, here we are at the game that we planned on attending three weeks ago.” Work those details in, if necessary, through other means. Don’t slap the reader in the face with it: “Here, you need this information!”
Some things are better left unsaid, especially details that can be revealed subtly. Trust your readers. Trust your readers. Trust your readers.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Why Elves?
Among the myriad of established fantasy races, I continue to find elves captivating. They come in numerous forms and varieties, but I usually enjoy their presence as a reader and a writer.
A number of years ago, I’d written a short story around elves playing a game. There wasn’t much to the story, and it never sold before I locked it away, but on one of my rejections, an editor wrote: “Why elves?” Looking back, I realize the editor didn’t see anything in the plot requiring elves (likely because there wasn’t much of a plot). But at the time, I found it comical. What other race would I have used? For me, it was an exploration of this fascinating race, and I hoped to capture a slice of their lives.
Years later, I figured out that my failure in the story was a lack of plot. I had characters playing a game of no consequence in a generic setting. My next attempt was to take a human character and thrust him into the elves’ environment. What this allowed was an entry-level point of view – someone with limited knowledge of elves who would take everything in and point out anything he found curious or unusual. The character’s observations were my observations as I dreamed of their world and what they were like.
The challenge in writing about elves is to avoid clichés without violating key aspects that make elves what they are. In the end, it becomes a balancing act. But what I find most alluring about elves is their illusiveness - the ineffable qualities that humanity cannot understand. Whether it’s their craftsmanship, magic, language, longevity or intelligence – there are aspects of elves beyond my grasp. Regardless of what I might create, I always want to retain an enigma around them.
Ironically, the mystery I admire creates a superiority I detest. Because elves have inexplicable skills, humans become inferior. And the elves know it. In some stories, humans are prey to the elves’ amoral (or perhaps immoral) whims. Even Tolkien’s elves had a darker side, according to their deeds recorded in The Silmarillion.
Despite their arrogance, I won’t shun the elves. I’m drawn toward them, like so many stories of humans discovering the fey folk in the deep woods, never to return. We need more elves in today’s fantasy.
A number of years ago, I’d written a short story around elves playing a game. There wasn’t much to the story, and it never sold before I locked it away, but on one of my rejections, an editor wrote: “Why elves?” Looking back, I realize the editor didn’t see anything in the plot requiring elves (likely because there wasn’t much of a plot). But at the time, I found it comical. What other race would I have used? For me, it was an exploration of this fascinating race, and I hoped to capture a slice of their lives.
Years later, I figured out that my failure in the story was a lack of plot. I had characters playing a game of no consequence in a generic setting. My next attempt was to take a human character and thrust him into the elves’ environment. What this allowed was an entry-level point of view – someone with limited knowledge of elves who would take everything in and point out anything he found curious or unusual. The character’s observations were my observations as I dreamed of their world and what they were like.
The challenge in writing about elves is to avoid clichés without violating key aspects that make elves what they are. In the end, it becomes a balancing act. But what I find most alluring about elves is their illusiveness - the ineffable qualities that humanity cannot understand. Whether it’s their craftsmanship, magic, language, longevity or intelligence – there are aspects of elves beyond my grasp. Regardless of what I might create, I always want to retain an enigma around them.
Ironically, the mystery I admire creates a superiority I detest. Because elves have inexplicable skills, humans become inferior. And the elves know it. In some stories, humans are prey to the elves’ amoral (or perhaps immoral) whims. Even Tolkien’s elves had a darker side, according to their deeds recorded in The Silmarillion.
Despite their arrogance, I won’t shun the elves. I’m drawn toward them, like so many stories of humans discovering the fey folk in the deep woods, never to return. We need more elves in today’s fantasy.
Monday, January 09, 2012
Research
It’s important to take the time to do research for fiction. Research for fiction? Yes.
With any story, there are details around the plot, characters and setting which may touch reality. For example, I might write a story set in Paris. Regardless of how much fiction exists within the story, if I were to mention something inconsistent with Paris due to a lack of research, I would come out looking rather foolish.
I think this ties into why people use the adage: write what you know. While that can certainly save time – relying upon person experience – there are inevitably areas you don’t know anything about.
Even within fantasy writing, there are aspects of reality we need to research. Subjects I’ve researched for fantasy stories include horses, armies, armor, swords (and weapons in general), languages and medieval history.
I will say that bombarding the reader with researched facts risks boring the reader. But carefully entwining those facts in an interesting way will help the reader feel like an insider with the narrator and feel grounded within factual boundaries. If a writer fakes facts, it cheats the reader. As a reader, I would rather the writer avoid details than give false ones.
Take the time to look things up before you write (or at least before you complete the final draft). Your readers will appreciate the work.
With any story, there are details around the plot, characters and setting which may touch reality. For example, I might write a story set in Paris. Regardless of how much fiction exists within the story, if I were to mention something inconsistent with Paris due to a lack of research, I would come out looking rather foolish.
I think this ties into why people use the adage: write what you know. While that can certainly save time – relying upon person experience – there are inevitably areas you don’t know anything about.
Even within fantasy writing, there are aspects of reality we need to research. Subjects I’ve researched for fantasy stories include horses, armies, armor, swords (and weapons in general), languages and medieval history.
I will say that bombarding the reader with researched facts risks boring the reader. But carefully entwining those facts in an interesting way will help the reader feel like an insider with the narrator and feel grounded within factual boundaries. If a writer fakes facts, it cheats the reader. As a reader, I would rather the writer avoid details than give false ones.
Take the time to look things up before you write (or at least before you complete the final draft). Your readers will appreciate the work.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Bad Ideas Make Good Practice
A story idea may be horrific, but it still allows a writer the chance to practice the art. At some point, a good idea and good writing will need to meet to give a story a decent chance at publication, but while the writing is still in the formative years, any idea, even a bad idea, will work.
In high school, I worked on a novel-length science-fiction story titled “The Key”. Sounds fantastic already, doesn’t it? The key to what? It’s so intriguing.
In the story, the protagonist (I don’t remember his name) works at a cryogenic lab (highly original, I know), freezing people who are dying of incurable diseases. Ironically, the protagonist himself ends up with an incurable disease (no way anyone would see that coming). So he volunteers to join the group of frozen people in hopes that someone will find a cure one day.
The protagonist awakens in the distant future; the United States is in a prolonged war with Canada and robotic spheres hunt people. Not only that, but he soon meets an alien who has escaped to Earth with the technology to open a portal to other worlds (hence where the title comes into play).
Cliché builds upon cliché in this epic failure of a novel that I didn’t even bother to edit (I didn’t understand how to progress through drafts back then). The story is now locked away in the memory of an outdated computer lacking a functional power supply (or some other piece of hardware), but it served the purpose of giving me experience. I worked on dialog, setting, characters and point of view. The fact that the ideas within the novel were horrific didn’t matter because I spent time writing.
I would encourage writers to work with whatever ideas come to mind while learning how to write. It may be fan fiction. It may be clichéd. It may be the worst idea in the world. But if it leads to words on a page and helps with learning the process of writing, it’s worth using for experience. Just don’t try to sell it.
In high school, I worked on a novel-length science-fiction story titled “The Key”. Sounds fantastic already, doesn’t it? The key to what? It’s so intriguing.
In the story, the protagonist (I don’t remember his name) works at a cryogenic lab (highly original, I know), freezing people who are dying of incurable diseases. Ironically, the protagonist himself ends up with an incurable disease (no way anyone would see that coming). So he volunteers to join the group of frozen people in hopes that someone will find a cure one day.
The protagonist awakens in the distant future; the United States is in a prolonged war with Canada and robotic spheres hunt people. Not only that, but he soon meets an alien who has escaped to Earth with the technology to open a portal to other worlds (hence where the title comes into play).
Cliché builds upon cliché in this epic failure of a novel that I didn’t even bother to edit (I didn’t understand how to progress through drafts back then). The story is now locked away in the memory of an outdated computer lacking a functional power supply (or some other piece of hardware), but it served the purpose of giving me experience. I worked on dialog, setting, characters and point of view. The fact that the ideas within the novel were horrific didn’t matter because I spent time writing.
I would encourage writers to work with whatever ideas come to mind while learning how to write. It may be fan fiction. It may be clichéd. It may be the worst idea in the world. But if it leads to words on a page and helps with learning the process of writing, it’s worth using for experience. Just don’t try to sell it.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Balancing Plot with Characters
I’ve found that it’s much better to let characters be themselves rather than forcing them to adhere to a specific plot.
I try to allow characters to act within the parameters of their character. One difficulty I found in my work-in-progress novel is that my protagonist does not plan or carefully consider his actions before moving forward. As I write, I am thinking through things carefully (to a degree), so at times, I set him upon a certain path and think carefully of something he could do. Except he won’t. Not unless I alter his character to be more considerate.
This brings up a dilemma – either to constantly change characters in order to satisfy a plot or to alter the plot to satisfy the characters. I think it can be much more difficult to change characters partway through a story. If a character seems stale, I will change him or her, but in doing so, I will rewrite any scenes where the character did not adhere to his or her new personality. This works okay with minor characters, but to do so with a major character could mean considerably more rewrites (or at least a close examination of the existing story).
Suppose I have the following plot idea in chapter twelve: Bill opens a door and goes inside a room. There he meets a swordsman, and he quickly kills the swordsman. Before I get to this point, I’ve really established Bill’s character in mind (and on the previous pages), and he’s a myopic coward. If I plow forward with the plot I’ve outlined, Bill breaks character (unless Bill’s method of killing doesn’t require good eyesight or bravery). If Bill stays in character, he probably dies, and that would be a horrific end to my novel, so it’s time for a plot change.
Wait, you say, isn’t a plot change a lot of work as well? Yes, it could be. So it’s up to you to identify the greater priority – keeping the character or plot the same (or possibly changing both). I prefer to keep the characters as they are as much as possible. Plot is interesting, but I have a fondness for great characters.
If you want to have character-driven stories, establish the characters you want, and let them be who they are. Form the plot around them as necessary. Be cautious about when you want characters to do something against their natures; there should be some logic behind why such a thing would occur. Don’t have a character go against his or her nature simply to fill a checkbox on the plot outline; readers will pick up on this and grimace because you took the easy way out.
I try to allow characters to act within the parameters of their character. One difficulty I found in my work-in-progress novel is that my protagonist does not plan or carefully consider his actions before moving forward. As I write, I am thinking through things carefully (to a degree), so at times, I set him upon a certain path and think carefully of something he could do. Except he won’t. Not unless I alter his character to be more considerate.
This brings up a dilemma – either to constantly change characters in order to satisfy a plot or to alter the plot to satisfy the characters. I think it can be much more difficult to change characters partway through a story. If a character seems stale, I will change him or her, but in doing so, I will rewrite any scenes where the character did not adhere to his or her new personality. This works okay with minor characters, but to do so with a major character could mean considerably more rewrites (or at least a close examination of the existing story).
Suppose I have the following plot idea in chapter twelve: Bill opens a door and goes inside a room. There he meets a swordsman, and he quickly kills the swordsman. Before I get to this point, I’ve really established Bill’s character in mind (and on the previous pages), and he’s a myopic coward. If I plow forward with the plot I’ve outlined, Bill breaks character (unless Bill’s method of killing doesn’t require good eyesight or bravery). If Bill stays in character, he probably dies, and that would be a horrific end to my novel, so it’s time for a plot change.
Wait, you say, isn’t a plot change a lot of work as well? Yes, it could be. So it’s up to you to identify the greater priority – keeping the character or plot the same (or possibly changing both). I prefer to keep the characters as they are as much as possible. Plot is interesting, but I have a fondness for great characters.
If you want to have character-driven stories, establish the characters you want, and let them be who they are. Form the plot around them as necessary. Be cautious about when you want characters to do something against their natures; there should be some logic behind why such a thing would occur. Don’t have a character go against his or her nature simply to fill a checkbox on the plot outline; readers will pick up on this and grimace because you took the easy way out.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Writing Goals
Writing goals are good to put into place. They give a writer something to aim for and something to weigh progress against. Goals will vary from one writer to another, and they will likely change over time.
Goals should follow the old standard of being specific and measurable, preferably with a timeline. “I’d like to write more,” is not a goal (too vague, no timeline). “I’d like to write 2,000 words a week,” is a goal. “I’d like to complete a new short story every quarter,” is a goal.
One flaw I’ve made in the past was to set a goal that met the criteria I mentioned but was dependent upon circumstances outside of my control. For example, I once had a goal of “selling a story to a semi-pro magazine this year.” Unfortunately, all I can do is write stories and submit them. I don’t have control of whether or not a story is accepted for publication. Certainly, there are things I can do to increase my chances, but I have no way to guarantee publication.
If it’s outside of my control, it is not a goal. That isn’t to say that I can’t have aspirations for things outside of my control, such as certain types of publications, etc. But if I lose focus and think that I am somehow responsible for bringing such things into fruition, it’s easy to become overwhelmed or feel ashamed.
What I can do is to give myself the opportunity to reach my aspirations by breaking the achievable components down into goals. Suppose I have an aspiration of a published novel. I should not set that as my goal. Instead, I set goals of completing a rough draft by a certain date (which may in turn break down into weekly goals for how many words I write), completing subsequent drafts by certain dates, finding a specific number of agents to query and submitting to those agents by certain timelines. Or perhaps I will set a goal of querying publishers directly (for those who accept unsolicited submissions). At the end of the process, I may not have a book published, but I can at least know that I accomplished my goals, and I’ve given myself the opportunity for reaching my aspiration. Without a rough draft, I have no subsequent drafts. Without a finished novel, there’s nothing to publish. Without querying agents or publishing houses, I can’t get a contract.
If you haven’t tried setting goals lately (or ever), try it for a few months to see how it affects your writing. You might be surprised by how goals motivate you.
Goals should follow the old standard of being specific and measurable, preferably with a timeline. “I’d like to write more,” is not a goal (too vague, no timeline). “I’d like to write 2,000 words a week,” is a goal. “I’d like to complete a new short story every quarter,” is a goal.
One flaw I’ve made in the past was to set a goal that met the criteria I mentioned but was dependent upon circumstances outside of my control. For example, I once had a goal of “selling a story to a semi-pro magazine this year.” Unfortunately, all I can do is write stories and submit them. I don’t have control of whether or not a story is accepted for publication. Certainly, there are things I can do to increase my chances, but I have no way to guarantee publication.
If it’s outside of my control, it is not a goal. That isn’t to say that I can’t have aspirations for things outside of my control, such as certain types of publications, etc. But if I lose focus and think that I am somehow responsible for bringing such things into fruition, it’s easy to become overwhelmed or feel ashamed.
What I can do is to give myself the opportunity to reach my aspirations by breaking the achievable components down into goals. Suppose I have an aspiration of a published novel. I should not set that as my goal. Instead, I set goals of completing a rough draft by a certain date (which may in turn break down into weekly goals for how many words I write), completing subsequent drafts by certain dates, finding a specific number of agents to query and submitting to those agents by certain timelines. Or perhaps I will set a goal of querying publishers directly (for those who accept unsolicited submissions). At the end of the process, I may not have a book published, but I can at least know that I accomplished my goals, and I’ve given myself the opportunity for reaching my aspiration. Without a rough draft, I have no subsequent drafts. Without a finished novel, there’s nothing to publish. Without querying agents or publishing houses, I can’t get a contract.
If you haven’t tried setting goals lately (or ever), try it for a few months to see how it affects your writing. You might be surprised by how goals motivate you.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Consistency
Since taking a new job a couple of months ago, I’ve found a new consistency in my writing schedule. Almost every weekday morning, I get up early, get ready and sit at my writing desk before heading in to work. Usually I have about 45 minutes to an hour of writing time. I believe this routine is helping me overall, much more than when I used to write every couple of days for a couple of hours.
When I head to my desk daily, it’s like I’ve trained my creative mind to get into action. Often, I’m thinking about the current scene or interesting character traits while showering. Minutes later, I’m writing those ideas.
I also feel like I’m taking writing a bit more seriously when I do it consistently. Every weekday, this is what I do, just like I go to work. I have heard from multiple sources that persistence is what matters in many realms of the arts, and there seems to be no better way of persisting than doing so on a daily basis.
Certainly, I’m glad to have unexpected pockets of time in which to write, but when I relied solely upon those pockets, writing wasn’t happening that much. My advice to others is to find a reliable window of opportunity, even if it means getting up earlier or staying up later than you might otherwise. It will likely help with both the quantity and quality of your work.
When I head to my desk daily, it’s like I’ve trained my creative mind to get into action. Often, I’m thinking about the current scene or interesting character traits while showering. Minutes later, I’m writing those ideas.
I also feel like I’m taking writing a bit more seriously when I do it consistently. Every weekday, this is what I do, just like I go to work. I have heard from multiple sources that persistence is what matters in many realms of the arts, and there seems to be no better way of persisting than doing so on a daily basis.
Certainly, I’m glad to have unexpected pockets of time in which to write, but when I relied solely upon those pockets, writing wasn’t happening that much. My advice to others is to find a reliable window of opportunity, even if it means getting up earlier or staying up later than you might otherwise. It will likely help with both the quantity and quality of your work.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Rough Drafts Are Ugly
I’ve posted before on basic thoughts of writing rough drafts, and this is meant to enhance and elaborate on the theme. For whatever reason, I’m still working through the notion that rough drafts are ugly.
To stop and ponder the best way of phrasing something is to kill the idea. I’m not suggesting that there is no thought process at all, but there’s a difference between using your imagination and then writing the story as you see it versus using your imagination and then filtering those ideas into what might look the best. Subsequent drafts take care of the clean-up process.
I promised elaborations, so I’ll open up a bit. No, I won’t share text from a working draft. They are hideous, and I refuse to let anyone see them willingly. But I will share a few specifics on what I have purposefully skipped over.
I gloss over a name if I don’t have one readily available in mind and realize that pondering the name will slow me down too much in the moment. In place of the true name, I use a stand-in that I can find/replace later (Control-H for the win). Usually I put in something basic, like Bill, which I know I won’t leave alone in a fantasy story. In fact, bland names are a good motivation to do some extra thinking when I’m away from my writing desk.
One example from my current work in progress is that I had a character who found the first road. Two paragraphs later, this character found the first house. I saw it on a subsequent writing session as I was getting my bearings and was severely tempted to edit. But I refused. I know I’ll fix it later, so there was no need to address it in the moment.
Another point of slowness for me is choosing the right word. Sometimes, it’s that I can’t think of the actual word for something. I was recently trying to think of the device that’s used for holding candles, and for whatever reason, “candlestick” was not coming to mind. In its place, I wrote “hand-held candle” and highlighted it. This isn’t something that happens to me all the time, but when it does, it can drive me up the wall or drive me into Google (which can turn into a long research hunt).
Remember that rough drafts can be ugly. Plan for them to be horrid. Then you’ll be free to create without the confines of polish, grammar, vocabulary or whatever else may get in your way.
To stop and ponder the best way of phrasing something is to kill the idea. I’m not suggesting that there is no thought process at all, but there’s a difference between using your imagination and then writing the story as you see it versus using your imagination and then filtering those ideas into what might look the best. Subsequent drafts take care of the clean-up process.
I promised elaborations, so I’ll open up a bit. No, I won’t share text from a working draft. They are hideous, and I refuse to let anyone see them willingly. But I will share a few specifics on what I have purposefully skipped over.
I gloss over a name if I don’t have one readily available in mind and realize that pondering the name will slow me down too much in the moment. In place of the true name, I use a stand-in that I can find/replace later (Control-H for the win). Usually I put in something basic, like Bill, which I know I won’t leave alone in a fantasy story. In fact, bland names are a good motivation to do some extra thinking when I’m away from my writing desk.
One example from my current work in progress is that I had a character who found the first road. Two paragraphs later, this character found the first house. I saw it on a subsequent writing session as I was getting my bearings and was severely tempted to edit. But I refused. I know I’ll fix it later, so there was no need to address it in the moment.
Another point of slowness for me is choosing the right word. Sometimes, it’s that I can’t think of the actual word for something. I was recently trying to think of the device that’s used for holding candles, and for whatever reason, “candlestick” was not coming to mind. In its place, I wrote “hand-held candle” and highlighted it. This isn’t something that happens to me all the time, but when it does, it can drive me up the wall or drive me into Google (which can turn into a long research hunt).
Remember that rough drafts can be ugly. Plan for them to be horrid. Then you’ll be free to create without the confines of polish, grammar, vocabulary or whatever else may get in your way.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Magazine Submission Statistics
There’s something about statistics that I find intriguing. They can reveal good information in some circumstances, and sometimes they’re simply entertaining. I’ve discovered over the years that there are quite a few statistics available for submissions to magazines, and I’ll share how I analyze some of the data that I find.
One statistic I often consider is the number of submissions reported to a magazine over a given time period. Sometimes, you can find this information out directly from the magazine editor; if not, you’re limited to what was reported through your favorite market search tool, such as duotrope (which is always a subset of total submissions). This number tells me how many authors are targeting the magazine for publication and is usually a good gauge for popularity among writers; this usually ties to pay scale and circulation along with a general buzz factor among the writing community. What it does not tell me is my actual statistical chance for acceptance, a subtle point that writers may overlook. For example, suppose Magazine X has received 100 submissions in the past year and published 20. I could think to myself, “Given that they published 20 stories of 100 last year and that they’ll likely do the same this year, my odds of getting published are 1 in 5 or 20%.” That would be true if getting published was based on a lottery system where stories are picked at random. Never think in those terms, or you will be quickly overwhelmed. Instead, consider that some markets have a lot more submissions than others, so if you submit to a more popular market, your story will need to stand out that much more.
Another statistic I find helpful is the average response time. This obviously helps in understanding how long the wait will be (on average) before a response is sent. When I find markets that seem extremely unresponsive, I avoid them so as to avoid throwing my story into the same black hole with everyone else.
Once I’ve submitted, I start tracking pending responses, that is authors who reported submitting to the market and are now waiting for a response (like me). I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but this kind of statistic is extraordinarily helpful in determining if I’m waiting for a response well past when others received theirs. On several occasions, this has revealed to me that my submission fell through the cracks, giving me the chance to query the editor about the submission without looking impatient (since I know about many others who already had responses to submissions sent after mine).
There are many other statistics available as well, but the three I’ve mentioned are what I primarily focus on. At least, they help me 85% of the time.
One statistic I often consider is the number of submissions reported to a magazine over a given time period. Sometimes, you can find this information out directly from the magazine editor; if not, you’re limited to what was reported through your favorite market search tool, such as duotrope (which is always a subset of total submissions). This number tells me how many authors are targeting the magazine for publication and is usually a good gauge for popularity among writers; this usually ties to pay scale and circulation along with a general buzz factor among the writing community. What it does not tell me is my actual statistical chance for acceptance, a subtle point that writers may overlook. For example, suppose Magazine X has received 100 submissions in the past year and published 20. I could think to myself, “Given that they published 20 stories of 100 last year and that they’ll likely do the same this year, my odds of getting published are 1 in 5 or 20%.” That would be true if getting published was based on a lottery system where stories are picked at random. Never think in those terms, or you will be quickly overwhelmed. Instead, consider that some markets have a lot more submissions than others, so if you submit to a more popular market, your story will need to stand out that much more.
Another statistic I find helpful is the average response time. This obviously helps in understanding how long the wait will be (on average) before a response is sent. When I find markets that seem extremely unresponsive, I avoid them so as to avoid throwing my story into the same black hole with everyone else.
Once I’ve submitted, I start tracking pending responses, that is authors who reported submitting to the market and are now waiting for a response (like me). I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but this kind of statistic is extraordinarily helpful in determining if I’m waiting for a response well past when others received theirs. On several occasions, this has revealed to me that my submission fell through the cracks, giving me the chance to query the editor about the submission without looking impatient (since I know about many others who already had responses to submissions sent after mine).
There are many other statistics available as well, but the three I’ve mentioned are what I primarily focus on. At least, they help me 85% of the time.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Writing Convention Tips
If you’re planning on attending any convention that in some aspect is geared toward writers, I have a few tips to share. These are based on my observations and practices in attending three World Fantasy Conventions.
Before you leave for a convention, make sure you have some business cards with you. I suggest that they at least contain your name (as you would like it to appear in print), Writer as a title (even if you’ve never had anything published) and your email address. Oh, and if you’re currently using something like Chewbacca@hotmail, get a new email address that has your name in it, such as FirstNameLastName@someplace. You may even consider purchasing a domain of your name (it’s relatively cheap to do so).
One other packing note – pack clothes that at least put you in business casual attire. Coats and ties might be a bit too formal, though not necessarily frowned upon, but T-shirts are too informal. Remember that you’re representing yourself as a professional writer (or aspiring to be a professional writer). Business is part of writing, so dress like you’re ready for business.
If you’re attending a convention with few or no contacts, volunteer. This may not be possible at large venues, but WFC accepts volunteers to man the various stations, such as check-in, con suite, programming, etc. Volunteering is a great way to meet other people, both those who are volunteering with you and those whom you’re helping. Plus, you won’t be as nervous as other first-timers if you’re busy doing tasks and have a sense of belonging. I helped with the con suite at my first WFC, and that went a long way in helping me to get my bearings.
If the convention has author readings, attend some. First, this will give you experience in observing how different authors read aloud. Second, you will usually have the chance to meet that author after the reading because the crowds tend to be much smaller for readings than for other events.
Another must is to attend parties. At WFC, there are always parties open to all attendees. They will usually be crowded, but it will give you a chance to interact with people. After you attend several, you will begin to learn which ones are preferable to you based on your interests as well as what you write. Don’t try to maintain a nightly schedule like you would at home; you’re at the convention, so stay up late and sleep in if you need to; parties are where deals are made, writers are promoted and contact information is exchanged.
My final piece of advice is to recharge when you need to. For me, I can quickly become overwhelmed by the crowds and putting myself out there as much as I can, far beyond my comfort level. When it gets to be too much, I retreat to my room to enjoy some quiet time or even take a nap (very helpful if you’ve been up late attending parties). For short conventions, this may not be necessary, but for ones that span multiple days, find time for yourself when you can.
Before you leave for a convention, make sure you have some business cards with you. I suggest that they at least contain your name (as you would like it to appear in print), Writer as a title (even if you’ve never had anything published) and your email address. Oh, and if you’re currently using something like Chewbacca@hotmail, get a new email address that has your name in it, such as FirstNameLastName@someplace. You may even consider purchasing a domain of your name (it’s relatively cheap to do so).
One other packing note – pack clothes that at least put you in business casual attire. Coats and ties might be a bit too formal, though not necessarily frowned upon, but T-shirts are too informal. Remember that you’re representing yourself as a professional writer (or aspiring to be a professional writer). Business is part of writing, so dress like you’re ready for business.
If you’re attending a convention with few or no contacts, volunteer. This may not be possible at large venues, but WFC accepts volunteers to man the various stations, such as check-in, con suite, programming, etc. Volunteering is a great way to meet other people, both those who are volunteering with you and those whom you’re helping. Plus, you won’t be as nervous as other first-timers if you’re busy doing tasks and have a sense of belonging. I helped with the con suite at my first WFC, and that went a long way in helping me to get my bearings.
If the convention has author readings, attend some. First, this will give you experience in observing how different authors read aloud. Second, you will usually have the chance to meet that author after the reading because the crowds tend to be much smaller for readings than for other events.
Another must is to attend parties. At WFC, there are always parties open to all attendees. They will usually be crowded, but it will give you a chance to interact with people. After you attend several, you will begin to learn which ones are preferable to you based on your interests as well as what you write. Don’t try to maintain a nightly schedule like you would at home; you’re at the convention, so stay up late and sleep in if you need to; parties are where deals are made, writers are promoted and contact information is exchanged.
My final piece of advice is to recharge when you need to. For me, I can quickly become overwhelmed by the crowds and putting myself out there as much as I can, far beyond my comfort level. When it gets to be too much, I retreat to my room to enjoy some quiet time or even take a nap (very helpful if you’ve been up late attending parties). For short conventions, this may not be necessary, but for ones that span multiple days, find time for yourself when you can.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Outlining Short Stories
Usually my method for writing short stories is to allow an idea to rattle around in my mind for a while and to then start typing and see what happens. With my latest short story that I’m working on, I let the idea rattle around, and the idea led me to create an outline, something I’ve only used in writing longer works in the past.
A short story outline for me is a bulleted list of scenes. I’ll mention the basics of what’s happening, enough to trigger my memories about the scenes. In one case, I filled in a little dialogue because there was something I could hear two characters saying, and I didn’t want to forget it.
The outline is just a guide; the story goes where it wants to go as it gains strength, moving from an idea to a narrative plot with dynamic characters. I like this aspect of outlining, that the preconceived notions do not set the final course but merely guide the idea of going from Point A to Point B.
Outlining isn’t necessarily something I plan on doing with every story, but I like where it’s taken me with the current project. Whether or not it proves to be a great help will only be determined in the weeks and months ahead. So far, I’m glad I tried it.
A short story outline for me is a bulleted list of scenes. I’ll mention the basics of what’s happening, enough to trigger my memories about the scenes. In one case, I filled in a little dialogue because there was something I could hear two characters saying, and I didn’t want to forget it.
The outline is just a guide; the story goes where it wants to go as it gains strength, moving from an idea to a narrative plot with dynamic characters. I like this aspect of outlining, that the preconceived notions do not set the final course but merely guide the idea of going from Point A to Point B.
Outlining isn’t necessarily something I plan on doing with every story, but I like where it’s taken me with the current project. Whether or not it proves to be a great help will only be determined in the weeks and months ahead. So far, I’m glad I tried it.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
What Does That Character Know?
I enjoy stories that add some complexities, depending upon me, as the reader, to use some intelligence. One component of that is the use of limited knowledge with characters. Each character’s knowledge may overlap in part with that of other characters, but knowledge is unique to each character. This is common sense, but it isn’t something that I always make use of in my writing.
While in college, I took a couple of psychology classes, and one of the interesting topics discussed was child development. I recall a study with children where children were shown a scene (perhaps from a movie or picture book) and asked to comment afterwards. The scene was something like this: Sam plays with a toy, places it in a box and leaves the room. While Sam is out of the room, Sally takes the toy out of the box, plays with it and puts it in the closet. When Sam returns, he wants to get the toy. Where will Sam look for the toy? Young children (I don’t recall the average age) will answer that he will look in the closet, not realizing that Sam doesn’t know what they know.
Now, shift this back to writing. Sam and Sally are characters in a story. We can make use of the facts Sam knows to do some interesting things but only if we trust the reader to realize Sam’s limitations. In the past, I’ve sometimes avoided this so that I wouldn’t confuse the reader, but in retrospect, I think I didn’t trust the reader enough. The danger, of course, is adding too many characters with too many facts. If I need to keep notes while I’m reading a story just to keep myself straight, I’m not going to enjoy it. That might work for text adventure games, but not for short stories.
The device of limited character knowledge can add the right degree of complexity to a story, and I encourage its use for others as well as for myself.
While in college, I took a couple of psychology classes, and one of the interesting topics discussed was child development. I recall a study with children where children were shown a scene (perhaps from a movie or picture book) and asked to comment afterwards. The scene was something like this: Sam plays with a toy, places it in a box and leaves the room. While Sam is out of the room, Sally takes the toy out of the box, plays with it and puts it in the closet. When Sam returns, he wants to get the toy. Where will Sam look for the toy? Young children (I don’t recall the average age) will answer that he will look in the closet, not realizing that Sam doesn’t know what they know.
Now, shift this back to writing. Sam and Sally are characters in a story. We can make use of the facts Sam knows to do some interesting things but only if we trust the reader to realize Sam’s limitations. In the past, I’ve sometimes avoided this so that I wouldn’t confuse the reader, but in retrospect, I think I didn’t trust the reader enough. The danger, of course, is adding too many characters with too many facts. If I need to keep notes while I’m reading a story just to keep myself straight, I’m not going to enjoy it. That might work for text adventure games, but not for short stories.
The device of limited character knowledge can add the right degree of complexity to a story, and I encourage its use for others as well as for myself.
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