2012-04-18 By
Susan Mary Malone
We've talked about how the opening of a novel - both the beginning line, and the first chapter - works to hook your reader. So now you have a sensational start, and you're speeding into your story, full steam ahead. So far, so great! 
While
thinking in terms of novel
development playing out in three acts, now let's discuss the
opening act of your drama.
Usually this is the easiest for writers to effect. Creativity is soaring (or you wouldn't be sitting there writing in the first place), your characters are vivid in your mind, and you know where they're going (at least for now!). Hopefully you're banging out paragraph after scene after chapter, and smiling once you're done. But
what, exactly, does this opening act need to convey? How do you
fashion this so that the middle section (which trips up virtually
everybody) flows smoothly and keeps moving your tale along? Because
how a book author
sets up this first act will dictate the story's movement, and
whether one hits those dreaded sagging middles or breezes right
through.
First
off, we have The Entrance. This is "real life" for the character,
as it is now. Although we've opened the book with some event, we
need to know through it or immediately after what regular life is
like for our hero, before the cataclysm hits (whether this cataclysm
is physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual, or hopefully, many of
the above!). As any book editor knows, this is where we weave in some
character background, and the people and conflicts with which he
begins. In Lonesome
Dove, we literally meet our heroes doing what they've been
doing since their glory days ended: Gus drinking whiskey and Call
working and both finding what excitement they can by stealing horses
and cattle in Mexico. Inertia has waylaid our guys, and it appears
that their heydays are well past them.
Then
in our book development, we have some sort of Call to Adventure,
whether this is internal or external (or again, hopefully both!).
This "Call" is what propels our hero out of his comfort zone, and
is and will forever be the "Story Question." You have already
established right off the bat what the Story Question is to begin the
first scene of the book, and now, with the combined understanding of
what Hero's life was like before, as well as his conflicts, we get
the bigger picture. This is your main point of the story. Throughout
the entirety of the book, each scene has to have a piece of this main
Story Question. With our cowboys, this Call to Adventure is a literal
one: Enter Jack Spoon with a crazy notion of the land of milk and
honey, which is Montana, and a scheme to make big bucks via a cattle
drive to establish a ranch there.
But
of course, as in any good story, our hero doesn't want to
take the bait! He Refuses the Call. Your character will give a
laundry list of excuses as to why he can't accept the job. This
brings up the polarity, the duality, of the character, and raises the
question of whether the hero can actually master this test. You want
to leave doubt in the reader's mind at this point. Is he up to the
task? Our guys here are split; Cap'n Call is right ready to load
up. Gus, on the other hand, always the voice of reason, is quite
content to stay. As Call says to him, "All you want to do is sit on
the porch and drink whiskey." This brings up an interesting
conundrum to our theory, as Gus and Call are opposite sides of the
same coin, the duality playing through as they interact. And Gus
senses that Call's vision will not end well.
Just
about the time we're thinking our intrepid hero is way out of his
league, we have the build up to our first major plot point. In other
words, Hero gets some help! At this point, he meets the mentor. Here
some wise voice comes in - the wise old woman archetype, etc.,
although we can also learn from fools, and it can even be the
intuition. This speaks clearly, with no ego in the way. It gets
Hero's own ego out of the way so that God's voice (or however you
perceive a higher power) can speak to him. In other words, we have
given him an offer he cannot refuse. In our model, our cowboys
are a bit long in the tooth for such an adventure, no matter how
adept they were in their Rangering days. But Call has the fever. And
when he nudges Gus with promises of a still-wild country, with no
bankers or lawyers, Gus can't help but load up for the drive north.
Wouldn't you?
Which
leads into our first major plot point: The hero Crosses the Threshold
to a new world. He's committed to the journey - whatever that
journey may be. Our Western heroes here head north toward Paradise,
and into the unknown.
This
is the end of Act I. It fashions the transition from one world to
another. In myth and metaphor, the character would go through an
actual gate, often with a guardian in front of it, and have to pass
some test to do so. The hero is stepping into the brink of the
unknown, and some have to be kicked through it! As Gus, Call, the
hands, and the cattle begin driving northward, they cross the Red
River - their threshold to the new world. But it's not without
great cost - they lose one of the hands, setting the tone for the
rest of the trip. As Gus says (in the film version) once this is
done, "I-god, Woodrow, but this is a bad start."
Once
you successfully navigate through Act 1, you're left with a
dizzying amount of possible conflicts and trials, which will play
into our poor hero's Achilles' Heel, and keep your momentum going
well through Act II. As with our Lonesome Dove travelers,
crossing that river allows the real story to begin, and our plot to
thicken. Hopefully you, at this point as the writer (or with help
from your writing
coach), have set up your story so that readers have a sense of
where we're going and how we're going to get there; whether this
will go well, badly, or all of the above.
And
in the end, everything weaves back to this beginning. Call's final
words in the film version, after all that he's lost, to a
reporter's question about their famous drive, is "Helluva
vision." And we know exactly what he meant.
About Susan Mary Malone With a BS in Political Science and minors in English and Journalism, Susan Mary Malone's professional background includes working as an editor, columnist and reporter for newspapers and magazines. In business since 1993, her edited books have been featured in Publishers Weekly, and won numerous awards.Her clients include NY Times Bestselling author Mary B. Morrison, and Essence Bestselling author Naleighna Kai. Other notable edited books include: The Things I Could Tell You (Jeremy Woodson was nominated for an NAACP Literary award); O'Brien's Desk (a Publishers Weekly Spring Pick to Watch); Ida Mae Tutweiler and the Traveling Tea Party (made into a Hallmark film), among many others.
With many published works to her credit, Editor Susan Mary Malone applies her skills at editing books to her own book writing, and those of her clients. Susan's success as an award-winning book author of both fiction and nonfiction, as well as her short stories, is highlighted in the list of her works to be found at: http://www.maloneeditorial.com/Malone.htm
2012-03-24 by Susan Mary Malone
I
talk a lot about characterization. A whole lot. Because characters
drive your story, and without a great protagonist (and hopefully,
small supporting cast), your reader has no one to root for; no one
with whom to catch a ride and travel the course of the novel. And
without that, you have no book%u2014no matter how compelling the story. Every
story has to be someone%u2019s. If Earth blew up and neither
you nor anyone you knew and loved were on it, would you care? Would
you even know? But if a friend were stuck on a small island and the
sea were rising around it, wouldn%u2019t you panic?
The characters in your story have to be so real, so visceral, that when they%u2019re in peril, when one dies, your reader reacts as if to a loved-one%u2019s passing. And to accomplish that takes great skill from the writer. You,
as that book
author, must know everything about anything that has
ever happened to your characters. Not at the outset, of course%u2014many
authors write from discovery, getting to know their characters as
they go. But in the end, know them they must. And then in revision go
back and add textures, layers, nuances, in order to breathe life into
the skeletons on the page. The more important someone is in the
story, the more depth you must evoke.
Say
you%u2019re writing a moral-twist tale about a thirty-something woman
running for Congress. She truly believes in her agenda, rather than
politics for power%u2019s sake (suspend all disbelief here%u2014this IS
fiction), and of course, is forced into a box at some point (pick a
topic as to what), a la Willie Stark. How will she react? Do you, the
author in charge of novel
development, know how she responds to not only backing
into a car in the parking lot when no one sees, but also what she
does when her best friend comes to her with a shocking revelation?
Does she deem it more morally right to turn in the friend (whether
national security is at risk or not), or to hold to the confidence?
To
know these answers, you must know our trusty heroine well. Otherwise,
she%u2019ll come across the page as contrived. Even though our story
takes place with her in her thirties, what was she like as a child? A
teenager? What happened on her first day of school? Did she get along
with her brother? Is she a classic Leo, always bossing everyone
around? Did she cry for days when her pet Springer Spaniel died? Or
did she conduct the funeral for her friend%u2019s cat?
Go
back and write a short story that takes place during her childhood.
Write another when she reached adolescence, and another revolving
around her first sexual experience or college days. Get to know her
through all stages of her life. None of these are to be included in
the book%u2014they%u2019re for your benefit, as the author. And ultimately,
your readers. Because the nuances you learn about your hero through
this process will serve to bring subtle character traits to the
surface as the story progresses.
Do
this to a lesser degree with the supporting players. Another major
problem I often see is too large of a cast of characters, the number
of which precludes any from really being fully fleshed-out. Pare down
your cast. Only a handful can ever really be formed into fully
functioning folks with much depth. The rest need to step back a hair.
You can have a lot of people with bit parts%u2014it%u2019s the handful of
main ones I%u2019m talking about here. Just know that it%u2019s often more
difficult to make a bit player come alive than the hero, with whom
you have much more time to spend.
This
brings us, as always, around to viewpoint. Giving a character a
viewpoint signals to the reader that this person is hugely important.
Again, each one has to have his own arc in the story, her own piece
of the story question. Strictly limiting this will help you keep
close tabs on each one, and how each fits into the plot.
Plot and characters cannot be divorced, and we%u2019ll talk soon about the Story Question, and how characters propel that along. Writers
tend to give their people traits in laundry-list fashion. Again, this
is GREAT%u2014for you, as the author. But your reader is trusting you to
tell her only that which is truly important to these characters in
this story, and then to create and evoke it, rather than telling her
about it. The reader should get a sense of the Protagonist from the
get-go, but then you shade and deepen her as the story goes%u2014in the
exact same fashion that you get to know a real human. As a manuscript
editor, I strongly encourage my writers to keep
notebooks or lists or flashcards (whatever works for you) of each
character%u2019s physical descriptions, mannerisms, major and minor
traits, etc. That way you can always flip through and remember, which
imprints the information on your subconscious mind and brings it to
the surface at the exact time you need it.
A
lot goes into fashioning great characters. You can%u2019t just %u201Cthink
%u2018em up.%u201D That may be how it begins, and indeed, these exercises
help with that, but the depth, the nuances, the intangible points
that make folks in books seem real bubble up from the author%u2019s
deeper self. You have to get quiet and listen to your people talk and
think and move and be.
Willie Stark, so the story goes, was based on the Louisiana political figure Huey Long. I never knew that man. But I do know ol%u2019 Willie. And I%u2019d be willing to bet he took off under Penn Warren%u2019s hand in a way that the real politician never could have. Now, that%u2019s great characterization. 2012-02-24
Isn't
that just the hardest part? I hear from so many writers struggling
with where to start, how much to convey up front, and how active page
one needs to be, etc., etc. And the answers vary - a lot. Depending
upon in what genre you're writing, for one thing. A Thriller must
begin very differently from a Western or Category Romance or even a
Cozy Mystery. But as far as novel
development
is concerned, the inherent factors remain the same.
The
best way to begin a novel is just to begin it. In other words, quit
obsessing and write. If you're serious about the process, no one
will ever see the first draft anyway. And even if you're of the
sort who specifically outlines from alpha to omega, much will change
once you get to that initial "The End." At which point, you'll
always go into revisions by rewriting the beginning. Often, many
times.
All
right, so the original creation process is finished, and you're
into revisions - the actual book
editing.
What do you want to accomplish with your opening? HOW you do this,
again, will vary by genre. But WHAT you want to get done in the
beginning crosses them all.
By
far the biggest glitch I see is that the novel really begins about
fifty pages in. Writers, especially before finding their sea legs (no
matter how long they've been at it - learning to write is not a
matter of time so much as it is of willingness, dedication, and
application), ramble along for a good way before finding the track of
their stories. Even seasoned writers do this, especially those who
write from "discovery" - not knowing exactly how to get where
they're going until it opens before them. The difference is,
professionals then go back to cut and begin again, and aren't
afraid of killing their own words to do so. Your editing arm will
learn to point out where the pacing lags, or how much ancillary
material needs slicing because much of that was necessary for you,
the writer, to know, but not for the reader. Remember: Your reader is
trusting you to convey to him ONLY those things that pertain to these
specific characters in this specific story. The rest is just
background material for you, the book
author
(and is merely noise for the reader).
The
next problem I see has to do with the book's hook. Now, entire
volumes have been published regarding this subject, so I'm not
going to delve into it deeply. In fact, I really believe too much has
been made of it, in that now writers are so sensitive to setting
hooks that their books' beginnings are often contrived. Settle down
here. Yeah, your book needs a good hook, which is no more than a
reason for me to keep reading. And yeah, I need a sense of where the
book is heading and who the main folks are from the get go. But I
don't need a crash course in the characters' histories, or an
intricate foreknowledge of what's to come. That produces the
opposite effect of what you seek - turning off your reader with so
much detail that he spits out your lure and swims back into the
bookstore's sea.
A
hook can be nothing more than a quirky character about whom I want to
know more (unless, of course, this is a Suspense Thriller!). Or a
bizarre event that tweaks my interest. And yeah, it needs to come in
early enough to catch my curiosity so I keep going. Rule of Thumb in
Murder Mysteries is that the killing should occur on page one. If you
can%u2019t hook %u2018em with some sort of unique slaying, you need to pick
another genre in which to write. In all categories of Romance, my
heart should stir in Chapter One. In Mainstream, I should find a
character compelling enough to cause me to want more. And in
Literary, the writing needs to take my breath%u2014at least for moments,
on page one.
My
very favorite opening to any book goes thusly:
%u201CIn our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of the great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ%u2019s disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.%u201D I would have followed that author to the ends of the Earth. And did.
Here
as well is where you establish the Protagonist%u2014the person with whom
your reader is to travel the course of this novel. And, you must give
a sense of his/her conflicts%u2014even if the catalyst for the conflict
(be it man or beast, internal or external, supernatural or drought)
isn%u2019t itself in evidence. The point of the conflict on the main
character is the important thing, not the conflict itself. We have to
move our hero out of his comfort zone%u2014to begin the novel.
You
must also firmly set the tone. If this is to be a Murder Mystery of
some sort, someone gets killed straight out of the gate, thereby
setting an ominous tone (if it%u2019s well done). If the book%u2019s a
Literary one, the writing itself must effect the resonance that you
seek.
On
page one, we must find the Story Question, which we%u2019ll talk about
in the next installment of Structure. Because that Question will
weave through each and every scene of your book.
Yep, a book%u2019s beginning is tough to get right. But once you do, your reader has bought a ticket to ride your train%u2014the first obstacle to overcome! by Susan Mary Malone
We
talked before about a novel%u2019s opening line, and how important
getting it just right is.
So, now let%u2019s say you%u2019ve written that bang up first line, and now let%u2019s focus on the rest of the book%u2019s beginning%u2014the first fifty pages. 2012-02-08
The New Year has
arrived, and with it, gazillions of resolutions. Writerly ones
included, of course! I get tons of emails this time of year from
folks recommitting to their book
writing
goals, which is a great thing. The love of the written word, and how
we all connect with it, always warms my heart.
But like dieting
resolutions, scaling back a hair will help you successfully meet
them. So, let's put our writing resolutions on a diet, so that we
can put our power behind making our dreams come true, and focus on
the crux of the issue.
Number One: Slow Down.
Everyone wants to be published yesterday. That in itself isn't a
bad thing -- it's one of those goals that keep you slogging through
the slough
of despond,
as John Bunyan would say. But I can promise you this is one of those
instances where the tortoise beats the hare. The number-one thing I
see that trips writers up is rushing. I always cringe when someone
comes back to me with revisions quickly -- because I know before
seeing them that everything will have to be redone! Hurrying will
leave cracks in the walls of your story's structure someone will
drive a Mack truck
through. And it's a true creativity killer.
Number Two: Take a
Publishing-News Fast. Let's face it -- the news from publishing is
mostly depressing. Major imprints closing down. Editors losing jobs
all over the place. The latest news of print sales falling 9 percent
last year makes your heart plummet, even though this slack and more
has been taken up with e-book sales. Some of us have no choice but to
follow the business end of things, but you don't -- you can take a
nice long fast from this and let your creativity soar. Whenever I'm
writing, I let publishing go take a long hike -- in the opposite
direction from the path I walk.
Number Three: Let your
Creativity Soar! Write, write, write, and write. Don't self-edit as
you go, just tag along behind your characters and see where they take
you. Follow every thread, no matter how whimsical it seems. In fact,
the more fantastical in the creative phase, the better! Run with it.
Laugh, play, dance with the drama. You will go into book
editing
and revision way on down the line (so you never have to worry that
you'll be embarrassed later about some bone-head move now). For
now, be free!
Number Four: Damn the
Naysayers. And those are legion! Let their lists of all the ways you
can't make it in publishing roll off your shoulders. Easier said
than done? Nah. Just let them ramble on and as they're doing so,
say (silently), whether to your own demons or those of your
mother-in-law: "You're probably right. But at this minute, I'm
immersed in novel
development;
I have a scene, chapter, story to write. I'll get with you later."
Number Five: Remember
that Writing Well is a Journey. This is not a sprint, it's a
marathon. Our point isn't to be published next week. Our point is
to write beautiful stories with characters who leap off the page, and
with whom we all want to tag along for their journeys. All we're
looking for is progress, growth, the ability to see that what you've
written today was better than yesterday, or last week, or last year .
. . And I can absolutely guarantee that if you write, if you read and
study your craft, and write again, you will get better.
And one day, maybe
even in 2012, you will look up and realize: I am a writer!
by Susan Mary Malone
2012-01-04 by Susan Mary Malone
I
often say that books are more than the sum of their words. A real
book is an entire entity - plot, organization, characterization,
style, including all of the subheads for each one. Circling all of
these things is the entire forest - the shape of the book. All of
those elements comprise it, and, paradoxically, more. 
You
can excel in all areas of writing, and still not wind up with a good
or publishable piece. And when you don't, provided you did indeed
accomplish all your goals in the other areas, the problem lies with
the overall form of your book; its structure, and most importantly in
the end, its shape.
Many writers work from outlines, which is a great way to go. Then you always have the structure in front of you and can reshape as you write while still being cognizant of the form. But many writers, especially more Mainstream and Literary ones, don't. They write from "discovery," letting their characters drive the story and take them down avenues they never would have imagined at the start. It's a freer form of writing, and one that allows for a greater range of creativity. But it also leaves you with a big blob of a first draft. Unfortunately, it's this craft of sculpting away, of reshaping and refashioning, of book development that's being lost in today's world of publishing (the reasons for which could fill volumes and we'll discuss later!).
Once
your first draft is finished and you've taken some time away from
it, then begins the process of revision. And of course, revision
isn't polish but rather a complete reworking of what you have. Here
is where you must see both the forest AND the trees - a difficult
proposition at best - and one of the greatest challenges in editing
books.
Here's where those beautiful words come into jeopardy of being axed
by the hand of a jealous god (you), and where you must learn not only
to find clarity of sight, but also have the courage to kill your
story's lesser aspects. Or, as Hemingway once said, "I write one
page of masterpiece to ninety one pages of shit. I try to put the
shit in the wastebasket."
Begin
by taking a hard look at the overall shape of your book. What is
belabored? What is missing? I.e., what needs cutting away and what,
additional attention? Map out the arc of your storyline, and the
trials and tribulations your main character goes through. Do you have
a sagging middle? Does our hero learn and grow through these trials,
ultimately mastering the one thing, the final piece, so that he can
save the day?
Next, be certain that what remains is absolutely necessary. Does a scene sort of further the plot? Does a section spend too much time on a character who doesn't really have much impact on the story? Do all avenues lead back into the main stream, or have you spent too much time describing a dry creek that while beautiful to look at, really doesn't mean squat to the river as a whole? (In fact, may bog it into muck, from which you, as the writer, can't extricate yourself.)
Focus
is part of shape, rather than the other way around. It's a tool to
make certain the form of your story has symmetry and function. Anyone
who's ever seriously raised dogs or horses or cattle or any other
animal understands very well how form relates to function. You can
have a dog with a gorgeous front and powerful hindquarters, but if it
doesn't fit together correctly, the dog can't move worth a flip.
In animals, we call this "balance." And it's no different here.
You can write a grabber opening, a cohesive middle, and a bang-up
conclusion and if the front doesn't flow into the end correctly,
well, you just have a big non-moving mess.
Structure is a huge part of this as well. It's the infrastructure upon and around which you weave your story. Structure revolves around Plot Points - where they must come in, among other things. Yet, shape is still more. Structure is part of shape, but not the whole animal. Structure gives you the skeleton around which you add the muscles and tendons and ligaments and bone. But you can take two dogs (or humans) with almost identical skeletal form, sending them in opposite directions, and they'll come back looking very different indeed based on lifestyle (other genetic factors not withstanding).
To
effectively shape a book, you have to combine all of these factors
and indeed, ALL of the ones about which we've been talking, into
one well-fashioned form. Again, it's not the easiest thing in the
world to pull off. And until one finds his sea legs, the task can be
overwhelming. It takes time, practice, and lots of good instruction
and book
editing.
What
Michelangelo said of finding David in the marble holds true for
writing as well. David was there all along, the sculptor said, he
just had to carve away enough stone to find him. Sometimes I do think
his job was a hair easier in that what he chipped away were pieces of
rock, and often what we as writers must carve out are sentences and
sections and passages that contain our very best words. Haven't you
had this happen? You know, where you've written something that
takes at least your own breath away, only to discover that it no
longer fits the finished book? Oh, how we hold to those passages,
defending them for no discernible reason except that of course, we
love them. And that's the rub in playing God - you gotta know when
to let go, and have the fortitude to do so. In the end, that's what
separates the amateurs from the pros.
Author's
Bio:
Susan Mary Malone (http://www.maloneeditorial.com), book editor, has gotten many authors published, has edited books featured in Publishers Weekly & won numerous awards. See her services at http://www.maloneeditorial.com/editorial-services.htm & writing tips at http://www.maloneeditorial.com/blog/ 2011-11-18 
Ever
since Angela's
Ashes
hit the scene (some sixteen years ago), the Memoir genre has been
hot. And I get a lot of them, especially in this day of POD and
e-books, where self-publishing is so easy, and so inexpensive. But
one's life story, no matter how tangled with twists and turns, how
fraught with trials and tribulations, does not necessarily make for a
compelling memoir. The genre itself is about something different.
Now, a disclaimer here: If you are already a famous celebrity, then your autobiography (and I term it that, as most hot celebrities these days aren't old enough to write memoirs. And, of course, the book is not written by them anyway, but by an actual book author!) will sell a lot of copies. So, this doesn't pertain to you.
But
if you are someone who has seen a bit of life and wants to tell your
life story, then you need to understand clearly what a memoir is all
about.
So first, let us talk some about what it's not. A memoir is not a diary. It is not a journal of this happened and then that and then finally, this. It is not a calendar of the events of your life, and a listing of friends/relatives in it. Even if you believe that the sageness of your years brings wisdom to impart, you still don't have a viable book. 
A
memoir, to be commercial, is not a family history, or a scrapbook of
family lineage. The commercial market doesn't care if Uncle Joseph
married Aunt Irene and had fourteen kids, five of whom died in
childbirth with one succumbing to scarlet fever in his teens. Now,
YOUR family might care. And if that's your final market -- i.e.,
you're self-publishing a genealogy for your family alone -- then
that's fine. But if you want to sell this to the public, unless
Joseph's family had real impact on the point of the memoir (i.e.,
this is a family of cops, and one of the siblings became a serial
killer), then all of that backstory pretty much needs to be left out.
And
there's the crux: a memoir, as with any full-length book, has to
have a point. Although I stop short of Fran
Lebowitz's
take: "Your life story will not make a good book. Trust me," some
truth does exist there. We all have stories to tell. If you want the
general public to read yours, it must run the same gamut as in book
development.
Just
that you survived being molested as a child is not enough. Just that
you fled oppression from a third-world country to settle in freedom
is not enough. Just that your ship turned over in the choppy Atlantic
and everyone died but you, really isn't enough. Of course, if you
then ate
the other folks . . . now we're getting somewhere. Or if you
survived being molested and lobbied successfully to enhance victims' rights' laws. Or, if you fled that third-world country and became a
brilliant scientist, discovering the cure to the disease du jour . .
.
Sounds
suspiciously as though I'm back to the disclaimer, right?
Well, yes and no. A huge recent success in this genre is of course Eat, Pray, Love. What did it do? Told a tale of universal truths, beautifully. And what is still one of the most successful books of all time is Angela's Ashes. And you know, McCourt didn't really have a terribly unique tale. But here is what he did do: 1). He honed in on his story. In other words, he found a theme, stuck to it, and developed it beautifully. 2). The writing itself is spectacular. In other words, he honed his craft for decades before penning the book. 3). His characters were as compelling as those in finely crafted fiction. In other words, he learned the skills to write real people onto the page.
The
big three -- those elements that make up a good book, whether we're
talking Mystery, Fantasy, Women's Fiction, Memoir . . . well, you
get the picture. Again, you have to HAVE a story to tell. One that
has meaning. One that ties into a larger theme. I was the book
editor
for a wonderful family memoir called In
the
Boat
with
LBJ.
John Bullion had a story to tell. But rest assured -- this WAS a
family memoir. He just tied it into a much larger story of Lyndon
Johnson's rise to and fall from power. And the writing is
spectacular. And the characters jump off the pages. And the book has
done quite well.
So,
if you aspire to write your memoirs, and believe they will enrich
mankind, by all means -- do so. But find the theme. Focus sharply upon
that. Hone your writing skills so the prose sings. And learn to
create vivid characters. Use a good book review developer. Develop
the book into something real.
Sounds suspiciously like all the good writing of which I know, which is, of course, Rocket Science! About the Author:
2011-10-21
by Susan
Mary Malone
Rules abound in the writing world (I'd say the "literary" one, but publishing these days has precious little to do with anything actually literary). Rules, however, govern the craft, to the chagrin of novice writers. "I just want to write," and, "The rules take away my creativity," or, "But so and so book author does this all the time!" And on and on. Writers give as many reasons for not learning writing's rules, as there are rules to begin with. 
But they
exist for a reason. And that reason is truly not to satisfy grammar
and composition teachers, but to help the writer get the most from
her word buck, and to give the reader the very best reading
experience possible - a clear and clean and well-written book allows
him to zip through the action segments, heart pounding, puzzle over
the mysteries, mind clicking, and ponder those parts that the author
intended. In short, writing is all about communication, whether we're
talking fiction or non. You, as the author, are trying to convey
something to your reader. This runs the gamut from how to make a
better guacamole dip to solving the perfect murder to
contemplating/understanding the secrets of the Universe (or just one
slice of it). And the way in which you write your book, the rules you
use, the ones you break, all add up to whether the whole package
works. I.e., getting your intent across in the manner that best
facilititates this book.
And that
is the point, no? The rules are there for your benefit, as the
author, to use at your discretion to fashion the best possible read
for your audience. Period. And conversely, the ones you break can
make your book.
First
off, however, you must know the rules. So, you study and learn,
understand and use them. Once you're familiar with them inside and
out, then and only then can you begin to break rules effectively. And
then, only for specific reasons. In other words, you must be able to
justify to me (or another novel
editor or agent)
exactly why you broke this or that one, and what you sought to
accomplish through it. Most manuscripts I see where the rules are
broken, the writer doesn't know he's doing so. Plus, that excuse
of: "Well, that famous author did this in his last book," begs
the question: did it work? Did the author achieve a special effect by
doing so, and can you tell me what that was? Or was it just sloppy
writing?
As an
example, viewpoint shifts are rampant in new writers works.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, these writers don't understand
viewpoint in the first place, and must learn to work in Point of View
correctly, which takes a lot of study (and often a lot of screaming
to boot!). And then I'll recommend a book that breaks the rules
effectively (and extremely) to give a broader understanding. Carlos
Fuentes' Gringo
Viejo shifts
viewpoints not only during scenes, not even just in paragraphs, but
often within a single sentence. Told in stream-of-consciousness, the
read is quite difficult. But it fits the subject matter
perfectly - which too, is very ethereal and obtuse. On the outside,
the story is action/adventure, which one would think should lend
itself to straightforward telling. In actuality, however, the themes
are much deeper, much more complex, and speak to the human
psyche - which is, in itself, a rather difficult read. Rest assured,
however, Fuentes, a master at novel
development,
knew he was breaking the rules, why he was doing so, and I'd wager
was quite happy with his results.
So, the
point here is that as a storyteller, your job is to use what works.
That's the bottom line, and the only thing that truly matters. In
order to use what works, however, you must thoroughly understand why
one is correct and what it brings to your story, why another is an
infraction and what it takes away from your book, and then come to
fully grasp the nuances underlying each. Only then do broken rules
work.
How do
you know if to break or not break a rule is effective? You know.
That's the paradox of this sort of creation. Once you've put in
the blood, sweat, and tears to really learn your craft, that other
side of the brain kicks in and you "feel" your path, having an
internal sense of the right one. Esoteric, yes. But then, this is a
creative endeavor, no?
Writing
well is a long, long process. There is so incredibly much to learn.
As I say all the time: Writing really IS rocket science.
2011-08-21
Got writer's
bloc? As folks in rural Texas say, we're a'gin it.
Okay, so that's somewhat flip. But the truth is that here, we don't allow it. Don't believe in it. Don't succumb. It's one of the few things that will get you whipped into shape from this office. Yes, many, many folks have huge problems with writer's bloc. I hear about it every day. And it does exist, as do a plethora of psychological problems and neuroses. And rest assured, that's all this is - a neurosis. We all know the origins of it by now: fear of failure (or success); fear of not being "good enough" (or of believing your work is so much better than what's being published); of thinking the first draft has to be absolutely perfect (any 12-steppers out there want to respond to this one?  )
Or a host of other deep-seated lies of the ego.As any artist who's been practicing a craft will attest, the biggest hurdle to producing beautiful work is to get the ego out of the way. That, in turn, let's true creativity and artistry bubble up from the deep unconscious, where we plug into that numinous quality of beauty, from which all art originates. As Keats said, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." So, problem solved.
Okay,
there I go being flip again. But far too much emphasis is given
to avoiding writer's bloc, and what a terrible malady it is to
suffer through. Because this is one of those instances - for
certain - where
the more focus you give it, the bigger a beast it grows to be.
Especially for a monster that does not, in reality, even exist
(except front and center in that dastardly ego).
As any scribe who's been at this long knows, writing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. It's all about the work. And there's only one way to accomplish that: butt in chair, fingers on keyboard. I have one prescription for my writers when suffering from this made-up malady, and it's failsafe. Works every time. Might not the first day, or the second. But if you don't give up on the process, it will work. Step One: Carve out a time every day to write. Yikes! That sounds like work. Where is all the glamour of being Hemingway? (Note: he wrote every day, even if it was just a paragraph). Tough real-life schedule? Four AM has always been a favorite time of mine . . . Step Two: Sit your butt in that chair every day at your appointed time. No matter what. Unless your hair is one fire or your child is in the hospital, I don't want to hear why you can't. Just do it. Step Three: Write. Cat got your fingers? That's fine. Sit there. Write the yellow pages. Write why your husband/boyfriend/sister is a first-rate crumb and doesn't understand you. I don't care what you write, just write. This is the key to the kingdom. I have yet to find the writer plagued with horrid bloc who after doing this for three days, didn't find himself back to work on the novel, short story, memoir, etc. (And conversely, I can always tell when someone wimps out and cheats. I have my ways.
) Something about making those fingers work is kinda like the motion of
the ocean for a child in a car - it puts your conscious mind (ego)
into a lull and voila!
Out comes art (or a dream, if you're in the car, which in essence
is part and parcel of the same thing). Julia Cameron in Finding Water recommends writing morning pages every day. A stream-of-consciousness set of pages first thing in the morning that just lets all your demons out - many of which you didn't even know were there. While I don't do that, I like the idea of it
If writer's bloc has set in, however, do
this.
A few
additional notes here as well.
Most importantly, forget caring about this first draft. Stop it. I order you. Doesn't matter if it's the worst schlock you're ever seen, and wouldn't even let your cat eat it. Nothing in a first draft is permanent. Not even that lovely line you're so amazed came
out of you (half the time even those end up on the editing-room floor
as well). First drafts don't matter. Let yourself go. Let your fingers go. Quit thinking! This is the creative stage, and we're trying to get you, the you of the ego, out of the way. Just write. If your goal is to write for forty-five minutes every morning, and you end up with one well-written line, wow! Give yourself a big pat on the back from me. That's the entire point in a nutshell. Go have a nice cup of coffee and watch the sunrise. And tomorrow, you can build upon that line . . . 
2011-08-21
My writers
often bemoan the fact that real life gets in the way of their
creative endeavors. And this is true for us all. We are
besieged at times by the good, the bad, and the ugly of this
incarnation; by joys and sorrows, births and deaths; by the mundane
of paying the light bill and getting the kids to school. By all of
those things that can put the kibosh on our creativity and seem to
drain our writing souls to the very core.
During these times, while the artist's fields like fallow, our creativity may seem barren. But in reality, it is not actually even dormant. For far under the surface of the muck and mire, that creative light still glows, however faintly. Dimly perhaps, but the flicker of that flame never falters. For it is indeed within the deep unconscious where the seeds of creativity flourish, forever finding fertile soil, awaiting a touch of life-giving water here, the shard of sunlight there, in order to spring up once again anew. Especially in the penning of fiction, it is imperative that we have these times of creative quiescence, times of artistic rest (whether chosen or forced upon us), which make us yearn for the fertility of creation.
It
is from these times that the germ of an idea for a story takes root.
That characters
are created,
plotlines burst into being. I so often counsel my writers to
let their subconscious minds do the work for them - to give
themselves the space and time for that to happen. For it is from the
depths that our works become rich with understanding, compassion, and
love.
As Clarissa Pinkola Estes tells in the myth "La Calavera," we have candles for each section of our lives - careers, family, love, creativity, health, etc. - at all times. And that on any given day (or month, or year) one candle burns brightly while another flickers dim, finally to fade and be done. It is just the cycle of life. 
The resisting of one candle's flame dying out merely stops our progress, although oh, how we try to con the gods into keeping them all burning at once! We, like the young doctor in the story, try desperately to turn reality on its head and keep everything going as we want it to, and damn the consequences. But the result of pushing all that water uphill is exhaustion, and the true death of creative nature.
So our job, as writers, is to allow life's flow to take us down the stream; to fjord the rapids, to steer around boulders, to not force when the winds grow still. In short, to trust the processes of life and creativity. Or, as a dear friend keeps telling me, to learn to float. At some point, some time, either tomorrow or next year, the story will be there, waiting for your gaze; for the touch of your fingers to keyboard or pen; for your characters to jump again on-stage; for your artistry to sail downstream. My wish for you all is to ride the waters and understand that in time, all rivers truly do flow back to their creative source . . . 2011-08-20
When
new writers dive into fiction, mostly they just put words to page.
Which is great! It's the way you have to start. In
order to find her voice, a writer must write and write and write.
There is no other way. But what results is often a big blob of
sprawling pages, where the storyline drifts
here and there and yon; where many scenes and even entire plot
threads dangle out in space, having no relation to the actual plot.
What you have is basically an amoeba.
And ah, that's perfect! I hear your surprise. But from there you can take all that you've learned of your characters and storyline, and begin to fashion this plethora of words and multitude of pages into a real novel.
So
often writers tell
me, "I don't want to hear about structure; it'll hamper my
creativity!" And while at the outset I don't dispute this,
once you've reached the end of your first draft, if you don't
take a hard look at structure that amoeba will stay just that - a
single-celled organism, which folks find kinda slimy. Your job, as a
true novelist, is to take that big fat blob and carve away at it to
find the true meat and bones of the book - the plot, the
story, the main theme and major premise, as well as how the
characters serve that and vice versa. As Michelangelo said,
David was always in the marble; he just had to sculpt away to find
him. It's the same with your book - the jewel is there;
your job is to scrape away all of the superfluous layers of verbiage
to find it.
Structure
is, most simply put, the arc of the storyline. (Of course, we
often confuse simple with easy. Don't make that mistake
here!) But this is how great novels are created, and all of
them follow a pattern of rising and falling, ebbing and flowing. The
trick is to know when to rise, when to crest, and when to begin the
last push to the finish line. Without an in-depth understanding
of this, folks write novels that take fifty to a hundred pages to get
into (which I see all the time), those with sagging middles (I've
given workshops on this - agents and editors complain to me most
about it as well), those which coast to the finish, or end with a
bang only the writer goes on for another fifty pages.
I've given half-day workshops on the structure of novels, and writers are always surprised, overwhelmed, dismayed, and by the end of the session, ecstatic - a light bulb has flipped on! When you understand structure, it takes so much of that grasping-in-the-dark feeling away. It brings a confidence to the writer, as he knows where and when and how the story needs to build to crescendo, and where the rest stops are along the way; where the character needs trials and tribulations, and when he needs love; who are the allies and villains, and what needs to be learned in order for the grail to be reached. Yes, a lot happening in this story with these people who were simply once talking in your head! A great resource for this is Christopher Vogler's The Writer's Journey. One word of caution here - it really helps if you've written a lot before immersing yourself in Vogler's book. It confuses very new writers; again, you need to write and write and write and . . . I think I already said this
before
delving deeply into this topic. But once you're ready, study it. Contact me for any questions about this - it's one of the things I specialize in. Read Vogler's book. Take a workshop or class on it. However you dive in, dive in! Your books will thank you for it. Your creative mind will jump for joy. And ultimately, your readers, while not having much clue as to what novel structure actually is but can point to books that "lose them," will tout you as a great author. Your point exactly! | Archive
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