Linus

On Facebook the other day, someone who "friended me," but whom I don't really know, was complaining about his self-pubbed book sales. It may not have been self-pubbed, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was, even though the press had a name. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing from his Facebook friends about why this was so. Different people commented about bookstores and what a racket they are. Indeed that is true. About how Amazon was not a solid indicator of much of anything 9another truisim), and so on. Whatever compelled me to link over to Amazon, I did, where an excerpt was posted.

In the first paragraph, the word "stood" was repeated three times. And he called the prologue a "forward" (and just in case you don't know, a FOREWORD is written by someone else, not the author; a forward plays for a hockey team).

I felt kind of bad for the guy. Except, the "tough love" version of me thinks it's time to give up security blankets. It's 2009, and we all should shed some delusion we cling to.

Another self-pubbed author who was raved about on another blog by what I presume to be a personal friend, . . . I couldn't even READ the back cover copy. Yes, it was written in English. However, it made no sense. Not . . . "Well, if I worked at it I could infer x or y." No sense.

But lest anyone think I'm only talking self-pubbed, I clicked on an excerpt of a book soon to be out . . . and really wanted whatever Kool-Aid the editor who bought it was drinking. It wasn't a "this is not my thing." It was a "this is really, really poorly written."

But then I wonder . . . everyone has their delusions. Everyone has their security blankets. Everyone gets comfortable with their beta readers, their critique groups, their own self. When someone comes along and tries to take the blanket away, we get pretty upset, some of us.

With writing, I am convinced the best cure for what ails the word is giving up the blanket. As LurkerMonkey and I have discovered (for both of us, I think it's occurred in the last year or so, but you would have to ask him), EVERYTHING is on the table. Everything. The blanket is gone. EVERYTHING. You have to be willing to give up every clever line, every darling, every delusion, everything to claw away and find your story. The real story. And coincidentally, he has an awesome post up about finding your theme today and a real-live comment from an editor . . . and if you want to talk about giving up blankets.

Thoughts?

Peace,

E

And don't forget our friend . . . .http://www.habitatfortravis.blogspot.com/

Sentence by Sentence

I was recently asked to evaluate a manuscript for an editor-pal. What I read--for 15 pages until I put it down--was an entire back story dump. It was awful. In the adage of "show don't tell," this was stupefyingly "telling." And no, the author doesn't get more than 15 pages of my time. Life's too short. This was too bad.

Very new writers often stumble at the whole back story issue. When I point out "show don't tell" sections, the usual response I have gotten has nearly always been, "But I have to tell the reader x or y because it's important." My response is almost always twofold: It might not be as important as you think. And two, there are ways to show this.

Okay, now suppose you've been writing for a few years. You "get" the whole "show don't tell" adage. You don't ever back story dump. Now it's time for the sentence-by-sentence edit for "show don't tell."

This is where I'm at. Weeding out single sentences of telling.

For example . . . . instead of saying my character felt cold, I will change the sentence to have them look at the sky outside, feel the wind picking up, and go in search of a sweater. Or add a blanket at night. Or kick one off. I don't have to TELL the reader my character "felt" anything. Search for the word "felt" and chances are it's a tell, not a show.

A superstitious character? I don't have to say so. Just have them knock on wood at some point in the conversation. Scared? Check the closet and under the bed. You get the idea. These are broad examples and pretty cliched, but it "shows" my point.

I would say most of this showing versus telling has become second nature, but I will still find spots where I seem to want to do both--TELL the reader my character's trait AND show it.

So now it's ruthless editing. Whereas years ago, I edited out huge chunks of back story, now it's a sentence. A word.

I suppose that's progresss.

So . . . in your quest to show not tell, where are you in the journey? What other signs do you have in your writing that you are progressing as a writer?

Self-Editing

I tend to edit in my head. It's how I write. What you see in, for example, THE ROOFER, published, is pretty close to my first draft, word for word. First draft.

Yesterday, I opened my contracted work-in-progress, read 100 pages, and changed about 30 words--mostly by changing single word choices.

I can do this--I think--because I worked as an editor for years and years. And also because I've been in a writers' group for 12 years. And because my PROCESS is, near as I can tell, the following:

1. Open file. Sip coffee.
2. Decide what happens in the new chapter I am about to write in a big-picture sense in terms of plot. And a big-picture sense in terms of the emotional growth of my character. Thinking of a recent chapter in my middle-grade fantasy, I wanted Koyla to break the rules of his newly found clan of Vegas entertainers/magicians and sneak out with his cousin to the top floor of the secret family quarters at the casino--where the family keeps polar bears and penguins from their act. And I wanted him to be having fun with his cousin, being amazed at this magical world that has opened to him (the animals obey the commands of the females of the clan), and then for him to be in grave danger from the sworn enemies of the clan and nearly drown in the icy pool. In terms of his emotional growth, after he is nearly killed by the shadowy other realm . . . he will realize that he MUST throw his lot in wholeheartedly with his clan--or he could die. But he will ALSO realize that he cannot be too foolhardy because he can endanger the people he is just STARTING (baby steps) to care about.
3. Write without stopping. One chapter. Just get it out--again, I'm virtually a first-draft writer, so what comes out is fairly polished, but "slim"--more on that later.
4. Close file. Sip coffee. Deal with Demon Baby.
5. Elapsed time? About 25 minutes. I don't berate myself, agonize, etc. Just write it.

Okay. So Demon Baby will generally have, in that elapsed time (judging from yesterday, for instance), pinched me and begged me for storytime (which we'll do). Dumped the ENTIRE container of soap bubbles that I have given him on the carpet on my porch (enclosed room) thus RUINING carpet, and then let the dusty/dirty dogs run through it. In which case, clean-up is involved. He will also, likely, have fingerpainted with the blueberry yogurt snack I gave him. Walls need a wipe-down. Carpet . . . forget it. Dogs need a bath. Then, after storytime, there is cuddle time and then the FUN (!) of laundry. (Can you STAND the excitement? What theoretical physicist WOULDN'T want this?--see yesterday's post.)

Then I come back, later, to my wip. It could be that day. It could be that week. Hell, it could be a month since I juggle projects. When I do, I open the file and re-read the last chapter and self-edit. So here's what I do.

1. Open file. Sip coffee. Listen for sure signs Demon Baby is really enjoying the Matchbox cars he is playing with. If the coast is clear, I . . . .
2. Read it for flow. For sense. For making sure it accomplished what I set out--the two goals--one action, one emotional/character growth. If it didn't, can it be fixed or does it need to be cut?
3. Read for emotional resonance. I am a touchy-feely writer. If my face isn't smiling during the happy parts, something is wrong. If I'm not feeling somewhat crushed by the sad ones, something is wrong. Reads #1 and 2 are simulatenous. In short, I'm aiming for an overall sense of whether or not the chapter rocks or sucks.
4. Now I focus word for word. All adverbs are immediately suspect. I try to punch up EVERY single verb.
5. All adjectives are immediately suspect (in case there's a better one). ANY TIME two adjectives are used in a row to describe something, even MORE suspect. One should do it if they describe the same thing--i.e., a hairy black bear is OK (one adjective for color and one for texture), but a hairy and furry bear is not. Obviously, that's a silly example as I don't think anyone would write the latter--but you never know.
6. Check comma placements, sentence flow (break anything into two sentences because the sentence is just too long for the average reader to muddle through or is a muddy sentence).
7. Read dialogue carefully for realism. Eliminate any tags I can. Punch up the dialogue so the lines are more identifiable by character so I don't NEED tags. Make every line of dialogue advance the plot--it's dialogue NOT conversation. Cut any conversation/small talk.
8. Cut anything that shows, not tells.
9. Cut ANY sentence in which a character asks himself something. Once in a while, I slip up here, but if a character asks himself, I wonder if the culprit is Mary, that means the writer didn't do a terribly good job of connecting the dots. Most of us don't question ourselves. We simply arrive at the conclusion. Lawyers lead witnesses. We don't have to lead readers (except invisibly--asking a question--that's not invisible).
10. Finally, I layer in description. As I said, I write slim. Now I make sure every sentence helps create a picture of the world, piecing in the things I "notice" as I look around their world in my head. Not TOO much, since most of us only notice a few things. While questioning a suspect, for instance, no cop is going to notice the chintz on a chair in the room. Details must MATCH the character.
11. Hear a crash in the pantry. Save file. Close it. Run to see that Demon Baby has climbed up the pantry shelves to get the dog bones that I erroneously thought were out of his reach, in order to feed the dogs.

Now, all this sounds sort of methodical (except the Demon Baby stuff). It isn't. At ALL. At this point in my career, it's fluid and pretty seamless. But in thinking about self-editing . . . I tried to break it down.

So . . . Demon Baby aside . . . what's your process and any self-editing tricks you have?