Who Sits on Your Shoulder?

I cannot litter. If I drop so much as a tiny scrap of paper from my purse getting out of my car in the parking lot, even if it's a gusty day and it starts blowing away, I have to chase it and properly dispose of it.

I cannot ignore if I have been undercharged, or if I leave a store and notice they didn't ring me up for something, I will go back in and point it out and pay for it.

I WILL however, steal glassware from restaurants. It's a family thing. Long story.

However, in general, even if no one SEES me, I conduct myself as if someone--I am not sure who--is sitting on my shoulder observing me. Maybe it's a belief in karma, a sort of what goes around then comes around. Maybe it's because being honest is an easier way to go through life--you don't have to keep track of your lies. Maybe it's because I have to face myself in the mirror each morning.

And I sort of feel sorry for people who don't seem to have someone sitting on their shoulder. Who conduct themselves in petty, ugly ways . . . who lie, who belittle people, or worse. But, again, what goes around . . . [and oddly enough I have been seeing a major karmic backhand at work in a situation and it amuses me, sort of],

In writing, I also seem to have a few people sitting on my shoulder. This guy, for one. Sometimes, I just WISH he would shut the hell up. But if ever a person was responsible for me CHUCKING entire chapters, it's him. Pacing, the purpose of a scene . . . he's taught me that (we're in a crit group together). I'm grateful for the editing voices I hear. My own included. I LIKE having my shoulders as some sort of stadium seating with folks looking over my shoulder as I get rid of cliches or toy with words.

And it's funny, in a way, with the whole indie revolution going on. Because I read a lot of samples and think, "My crit group would NEVER let a writer get away with this." I suppose I've just got this set of standards of what I expect in writing, honed after years and years of writing and editing. And I don't mean the difference between some literary powerhouse (pick one) and commercial fiction. I mean some of the basics--pacing, passive voice, cliches, trite dialogue, etc.

I think one of the goals of writing perhaps should be to figure out who it is who sits on your shoulder and write accordingly.

And in life? Same sort of thing.

So who sits on your shoulder?

Anatomy of a Scene Cut

With all the talk of self-pubbed, new platforms, the old regime of NY, I thought this week about a couple of things. One, just two days ago, I clicked on a self-pubbed book by a woman I know peripherally in the blog world. I was stunned by the number of egregious errors (we're talking missing commas, periods, quotation marks, spelling) because she clearly SPENT bucks on her website. But more and more, with access to crit groups, editors, and so on, I think those sorts of books will continue to exist, sure, but maybe . . . less so? I don't know. Readers will start to separate wheat from chaff.

However, if I was going to forget about that sort of writing for now, and just talk about a book FREE of those sorts of errors (for the most part, as no book is perfect), the ONE quality I see in books that have not been edited, gone through workshopping, whatever, versus those that have? BLOAT.

Yes. Bloat. And there is no Manuscript Midol except a good editorial eye.

So I thought about my last two crit meetings.

Three weeks ago, I brought a scene that was (I think) well-written. It was moving. It had "a" purpose (to show man's inhumanity). It was set in the aftermath of Hiroshima. It had some sentences and word choices I really liked. The only problem was the scene existed to show that inhumanity of mankind . . . but I didn't NEED the scene. There's enough inhumanity populating the book to begin with. And two, that singular purpose ALONE was not enough to keep the scene. It did not advance (1) storyline, or (2) any of the characters.

Scene is gone.

LAST night, I brought a scene in which a doctor performs an autopsy on his best friend. Group was divided into three in favor of keeping the scene. And this ruthless cutter in favor of "perhaps" excising it. It does not advance the story much, except to show further deterioration of society in body counts and the inner workings of a hospital lab. But it represents the ONE time in the novel when the doctor/man of science has a breakdown. So far, he has been sleepless, exhausted, blank-eyed at times, he has made love with the intensity of a man on the brink . . . but he has NOT fallen apart. He didn't fall apart as a child with cancer. He didn't fall apart when his father died in Chernobyl. He has held it together, and for that reason AND the idea of his being forced to do this autopsy, which goes beyond what ANY of us could likely handle, the scene stays.

And when I thought about the two scenes--and which one I kept and which went to Manuscript Heaven, I thought about bloat. And I thought about writing as CRAFT. And I realized that some writers perhaps don't understand the purpose of editing. It's not just i's dotted and t's crossed. You could say this blog is about the anatomy of a scene cut, but you could also call it the anatomy of a (hopefully) page turner. There should be NO scene that is purposeless, that exists because you are just so damn fond of your character that you want to show him or her in a certain scene just because you are enamored with the humor of the scene, or the location, or the dialogue, or the . . . When editors and writers talk back-story dumps, chances are that's a lot of it. ("I need this scene so the reader finds out that as a child, my main character lost his left big toe in a hunting accident and never forgave Dick Cheney.")

A good editor or crit partner will BE your Midol. They will rid you of bloat. They will force you to think of each scene, heck, each PAGE serving one purpose. Forward motion.

Thoughts?

Bare Hands

These are one of my birthday presents. Gardening gloves. I am a haphazard gardener. Mostly kitchen herbs and tomatoes. Though this year I am planting a larger raised-bed garden. By mid-summer, it all starts looking a bit messy. Since I have posted pictures of my desk before, this should come as no surprise.

But I started thinking about my gloves. You see, sometimes, I don't use them. I really like FEELING the earth. So I wear them for "prickly" things, but not dirt and mud.

Editing sometimes feels that way. Frankly, I think if you're not down IN THERE . . . deep in the manuscript, really in it, then you miss editing opportunities. You need to be elbow deep in muck. LATER is time for the gloves, for the finessing. For the delicate pruning.

But first, be unafraid to look around and survey a real mess.

How about you? Is your manuscript a delicate process or full of mud?

Deconstruction

Sometimes, having a beta reader or a critique group can feel a bit like a police interview with Bobby Goren . "Why did you choose this career?" "What do you gain by having it set here?" "Why . . . why . . . why?"

I got a big thumbs-up from my secret beta this week on my first three chapters, but he did ask me a why I couldn't answer. I basically had to say, "Hmm . . . I'll have to think about that."

The way I used to write, I pretty much let the story unfold. And that was that. Now I realize that for every element, every scene, every character flaw, the story says something in the choices a writer makes. I tend to spend more time thinking before I write. And on edits, I spend a lot more time agonizing about the choices. And asking why, why, why, why?

I think there's a clear difference now. No "accidental" novels here. I wake with the Why on my brain. And write with the Why in the forefront. I edit with the Why at my side.

Thoughts? Do you spend a lot of time thinking about Why?

What's Fair?

I would like to let my cleaning lady go, not because I don't need her help, but the budget is tight. However, she is pregnant. She is living precariously in these economic times, an immigrant. So last week she cleaned my house because I just couldn't . . . let her go. I pay her the same amount I paid her last year when life was a little more flush. She works hard (trust me, in this house!). It just doesn't seem right to ask her to clean my house for less. What I pay her is FAIR. It was fair a year ago. It is fair today.

Which brings me to the publishing business model. (Yeah, quite a transition there.)

Everyone keeps talking about how publishing is broken. About gatekeepers and advances and bookstores and all the rest of it. I know Konrath is trying an e-book experiment. I don't think it's a bad idea.

But recently, I had a major eye opener. This e-house closed before it even started. I have my opinions about a couple of things with them, but I will keep those thoughts to myself. However, when I read through their site, I discovered that APPARENTLY, most e-houses do not pay their editors . . . or, rather, they pay them a portion of royalties of the books they edit.

Um . . . what?

An experienced editor is going to spend 30 hours or so editing your book in the hope of a percentage . . . someday?

I understand that changes are in order, and e-books are cheap to produce and so on. I understand maybe being a partner in an e-house and doing it for the LOVE of art. I understand someone like Starbucks who is passionate about spec fiction. I get that for some of us, it's about a passion for what we do. I wrote flash fiction for Lurker Monkey's site just because.

But I somehow have to think that for all the talk of new business models, if you start a business in which there is a fundamental flaw in how you pay experienced people, then . . . I'm not sure it's the Holy Grail.

I don't know if something that is patently not fair (do the work, don't get paid . . . MAYBE get paid . . .) can succeed.

So it will be interesting, I suppose. After all these years in the biz, I just sit back and wonder where it's headed.

Thoughts?

Take Away

A quote, by the writer who has become, perhaps, my favorite fiction author:

You know you've achieved perfection in design, not when you have nothing more to add, but when you have nothing more to take away.
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery, from Wind, Sand and Stars

I think of it as applying, yes, to design, but to life. I think I started my adult life thinking of things I would acquire--a car, a house, furniture to put in the house, and so on. And now that I am older, I am constantly simplifying. I need less, not more.

And of course, like everything . . . it applies to the writing. Yesterday's post brought comments from John L. Krueger (who has a MUST-read Demon Dog story on his blog . . . you will not be sorry if you visit) about back stories, and how he was taught by a legendary editor to remove them. I used to think writing was so much about what ended up on paper. But now I realize, so much of writing is in what I take away. So that only what is essential remains.

I never realized life would be about what I give away. What I pack away. What I no longer feel I have to have. About every word I delete. About the the back stories I remove. Wind, Sand and Stars is a beautiful memoir . . . and I wonder even in its title. When I think of the world, so much of it is mucked up beyond belief by humans and their excessive consumption--landfills and pollution, global warming. But the creator of the universe, whoever that might be, or the magic of a Big Bang, brought us Wind, Sand, and Sky. Anything we add to it just screws it up.

Thoughts?

Peace today, all,
E

Heart and Head

Write your first draft with your heart. Re-write with your head.
~From the movie Finding Forrester

I write with my heart. I don't know any other way than to sort of spill out what's jumping around in my head, begging for release, onto the paper. It's like finally letting go of a "good cry" (and sorry, fellas, if you don't know what that's like, but for a lot of women, a "good cry" is extremely cathartic--we may even rent sad movies in order to have one). Sometimes, it's as if I have this fury in me, and I have to just regurgitate it and get it out and then, and only then, can I sigh and relax. It's hard to explain, but that's my best attempt at describing my process. That's what writing my first draft from the heart is.

But then the head takes over. I spent well over a decade editing other people's manuscripts before I sold my first novel. I learned how to get rid of passive voice, how to shape and hone someone's words. My own words. I learned, from much banging of my head against my desk (thank you, Jon Van Zile) to ruthlessly delete words that didn't propel my scenes. To cut whole chapters that just sat there, doing nothing but showing off pretty words. I learned to edit with my head.

I know a writer who once bitterly resented that she could not get published. She was writing what was "hot" (at the time, it was chick lit), and she could craft a sentence. Three top editors in a row passed on her manuscript--and all three said variations on the same theme--"no heart," "paint by numbers writing," and "I didn't care about any of the characters." This writer could target market, but the heart piece was missing. I could see it--I kept saying "dig deeper"--but you can't really SHOW someone how to. It's a process in which you find your passion for the work and stop chasing publication by creating what's "hot" for instead what "speaks to you."

On the flip side, I have seen enough horrid manuscripts that come through the slush pile to know that heart's not enough. You can see the person poured their soul into their work. It feels naked and autobiographical as you read it. There's rawness there. But it's so poorly executed that the head's missing completely.

They go hand in hand. It's what I aim for in everything I write.

Thoughts?

Sit Down

I was blog hopping and came across a writer who posted the first chapter of her work online. It's with an e-pub, and let's say the excerpt was 1,000 words. I would cut 500 of them. If there's one thing that will drive many editors nuts, it's excessive wordiness. Why take 50 words when 25 will do? Eliminate unnecssary adverbs, adjectives, and prepositions, and be vigilant about it in your work.

Examples?

You don't have to sit down. Just sit. The "down" is implied.

You don't have to inhale a breath or exhale one either. If you are inhaling and exhaling, BREATHING is implied. So is air, unless you're an alien and can breathe some other gas.

Once you mention an eye color or hair color, unless there are fifty characters in your scene that we need to distinguish between, we shouldn't read the color again. We know. She has blue eyes. We get it.

Don't "take" things. Don't "take a step forward." Simply "step forward." Don't "take" a breath. Just breathe.

Don't "steal" things either. Don't "steal a glance." Just glance already.

Chances are if you have a "was" or "is" you can rewrite the sentence to a more active verb. Example . . .

"The thought was terrifying." How about "the terrifying thought . . . " and continue from there. Better YET, if you have described the scene well or the terrifying thought, then guess what? You don't need to TELL us it's terrifying. In fact, if the terrifying thought causes your heroine to shake or tremble, it's enough to have them shake or tremble without telling us it's the terrifying thought that did so.

Don't have people say something arrogantly. Write the dialogue so we KNOW it's an arrogant statement.

Don't arch an eyebrow upward. If it's arched--the eyebrow went up.

Good editing isn't usually noticed. BAD editing is. A good editor will rip all the excess junk out of your writing. You may miss it if you have ingrained habits that led you to write this way. But your readers won't.

So sit. Don't sit down. And edit accordingly.

Thoughts? Any other editing pet peeves you care to share?

Ripping Out Stitches

I love to knit. This is somewhat of a revelation to me, since I am the LEAST crafty person I know. My mother is this utterly amazing knitter, and she has helped me to learn. Now, I find myself wandering the aisles of Ben Franklin, and one entire wall of my walk-in closet is yarn. One WALL! I get Yarn Lust. I hate to shop, yet a trip to Ben Franklin can take me two hours. My clothes? Order them online. My makeup? I order it online. I mean, I SERIOUSLY hate shopping. Except for yarn.

When I started knitting, I HATED to rip anything out. I was just so happy I had stitches on my knitting needles, that if I made a mistake, I'd kind of doctor it so you wouldn't notice. My scarves were lopsided. Not so anymore. The better I get (better being a relative term), the neater my stitches are. I've graduated to cute hats for my baby, and he will have a hat for every day of winter, I am sure.

Which brings me to writing.

You see, there was a time when I was just happy to have the words and the pages. The first time I wrote a novel, the very IDEA that I could write 300 pages was astonishing to me. Because I had only written poetry and short stories before I wrote Spanish Disco, when I started hitting 80 pages on my novel, I was amazed. And then I kept going. When I hit 200 pages . . . I couldn't believe it. Then I kept going. My writing was lean and spare, and I was writing 50,000 words. It was an adventure.

Since that book, my critique group added a member who can easily toss out 50 pages--just delete them as if they had never existed. The thought made me want to throw up. DELETE whole chapters? MULTIPLE chapters? But if they didn't move the plot along, or they were deeply flawed . . . they went bye-bye. The knitter in me who didn't like to rip out stitches wanted to choke.

But I've since learned. I am working on my next comedy proposal. There is a whole homage to The Wizard of Oz in it. And it's funny. But I realized the set-up was taking too long. As fast as you can say "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore" I deleted three chapters.

I am working on a YA proposal. Same thing. I am suddenly less attached to my words and more attached to the art of it--to the finished product. If it's not working, I need to mercilessly rip the stitches out. I may save it on my hard drive in case there's something in there--some turn of a phrase I can use later. But most of the time, I don't look back, just as my finished scarf banishes the memory of the lopsided one.

Thoughts?

Editing for Word Choice

If you're not a writer, it might seem as if writers simply spill a sentence out onto their keyboard, hit the period key. Sentence done.

Okay, I've stopped laughing. No, wait . . . still chuckling. All right. Now I'm done.

Word choice is such an essential choice of editing. While writers might--and it depends on the writer--simply bang out a sentence, you can bet they will go back and substitute words. Here's a look at how I edit for word choice.

Daddy waltzes in smelling of his sins.

Nope. "Smelling" isn't really what these sins do. And waltz isn't the right feel for this. Edited version?

Daddy breezes in stinking of his sins.

Better.

Moving on . . .

Around the meal I can't eat for the lump in my throat, we bow our heads and speak our grace. Amen.

Nope. CLICHE! Writer prison for me. And "grace" as you'll see, it too obvious a word.

Around the meal I can't eat for the pebble in my throat, we bow our heads and speak our peace. Amen.

And if you haven't guessed, this is from one of my published poems, called Grace. And poetry taught me much of what I've learned about editing word choice. And yes, I still go through all this picky trouble with prose. The good news is I self-edit in my brain, so I don't have to do as much of it as I used to.

As for "lump in my throat," I have had writers argue with me--argue!--as an editor or writing coach, that there's "no other way" to describe certain things. Tough. Find another one anyway.

Thoughts? Your editing process?

Writing Changes Everything

Once again this weekend, I got a SPAM-type ad for a new book. The cover was hideous, in my humble opinion, with people who looked rather like avators designed by someone with a sick view of anatomy, and the premise left me cold . . . but still, in the world of books, I will often click on ads just to see who's out there, who's writing what, to look for trends, to I hope have a sense of wonder about something another writer dreamed up, as I did when I read this book.

Truly, I look to be awed by the creativity of others.

Once again, it was a self-pubbed book. And just maybe to prove myself wrong, I clicked on "read an excerpt." Once again, I wanted to scream.

I get that we all read different types of books. What I enjoy isn't what the next person enjoys. Considering THIS is my bedside reading (and it's an AWESOME book, folks), I know I don't read what most people read. But the thing is . . . we can ALL agree that a book needs proper editing. That it not be riddled with mistakes the average copyeditor would pick up inside of five minutes. That is not be so full of cliche that the average high school junior in a creative writing class would give it a D.

There's something to be said--good and bad, I suppose--for thinking outside the box when it comes to publishing. Yes, many great writers languish unpublished and unagented. But many, many more aren't ready and take shortcuts that a professional would just cringe at.

But even more, I suppose, is what it says about me as a reader. Because I am a writer, it changes everything. There are some mainstream-published, commercial fiction writers I used to read that I simply can't anymore. I start many, many more books than I finish. Knowing how to craft a sentence or a plot changes how I read. Maybe others don't see what I see. But I do and it changes my reading habits.

Has writing changed your reading habits? And what are your thoughts on the self-pubbed route?