Today I am supposed to talk about the most interesting research I’ve ever done for a story.
One of my favorite things to do in life is to learn. I’d be a student forever if I never had to take tests (or pay tuition). I love to read to absorb knowledge and learn. This tendency has become more acute the older I get. I now read as many non-fiction books as I do fiction. The ratio went from never reading anything just for the sake of information, to maybe one or two a year, to maybe one a month, and now, I’m always reading one fiction book and one non-fiction book. Every other book I read is for information.
Sometimes the facts I read about spring into story ideas. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Sometimes I end up using a writing project as an excuse to research something interesting.
It’s a “chicken or the egg” type situation. It works both ways.
So, one morning I turned on PBS for the child, sat on the couch, and fell asleep. I’d love to give you a time of year or a month or anything, but this is happens so often that I could probably start every day of my life with the same line.
When I startle awake, I remember one scene in particular: two heavy aircraft (air limo sort of nonsense, really) on a tight curve, racing around a building. As on pilot rams and cripples the other aircraft in an attempt to pull ahead of his bitter rival, he finds out there’s a baby in the crashing aircraft. He rushes to land, desperate to get the baby out, but the cops are already there when he gets down.
Easy to get lost in here. Chrissy, bring me the big knife!
When I’ve completed a draft of a manuscript, I have to get away from it for a while. Sometimes it’s a week, sometimes it’s a little more. During that time I’ll begin work on something else or pick up another manuscript that needs some attention.
I like to sit down with a red pencil and a paper copy, but that’s not always possible.
See, when I’m on the computer I have had a hard time in the past (and especially lately) getting distracted by the Internet. I refuse to buy software that I can turn on and off if I really want to be distracted. Doesn’t make any sense to install something I won’t use and can work around. All my writing, and editing, is about rhythm and desire. Forgive the digression.
Am I ready to dive in? How much do I want this? Everything depends on the day job and its requirements of me and what’s going on with my family. I haven’t hit the lottery yet and I’m not daring enough to take the plunge on being a full-time writer. I need to make house payments and eat.
So really, the first step is getting into the proper headspace to pull out the blade and begin excising the cancerous words and phrases, marking the bits for improvement or deletion.
Then comes the cutting.
Stuff has to go, stuff has to be reworked. Things have to change.
Thank goodness it’s not all plot stuff any more. The last year has been spent mired in learning about passive voice and how awful it is. The ability to recognize it escaped me for so long that plowing through the novel to reshape those bits was daunting. I took several weeks off while doing that because I couldn’t believe how bad it was and how much I hated that I’d done it. Worse, I offered a couple of critiques where I pointed out passive voice that was obviously intentional in retrospect. I was so trapped in that mindset the crits were bad.
Learning experiences, I suppose.
But then my process for editing includes sending out the manuscript to others to read, if they have the time. Then waiting for notes back.
So I pick up something else that needs attention or I write blog posts (like this one) or I veg out in front of the TV. (Which I know isn’t good for me but sometimes I need to hear or see other people’s stories.)
And when the notes come back, it’s stepping onto square one and starting again. Wash, rinse, repeat as necessary.
In the end it’s good for me. I’m learning. Doing is learning as long as one isn’t repeating the same mistakes over and over. Spinning Wheels belong in songs, not in a writer’s process, right?
The short answer to this question is: I have no Earthly idea. Another short answer is: I wish I knew.
I’ve written about eight Zero Drafts in the last ten years. Most are still unfinished, a few will never see the light of day, and a few are actually complete stories from start to finish and have some potential.
But even the completed stories need work. Lots and lots of work. And the problem with that is, I am lazy. I don’t like work. Writing is one thing. Yes, writing is work, but it is also very freeing and therapeutic. And when you are writing a Zero Draft, nothing has to make sense. The writing part is fun. (more…)
I had never heard of the concept of a zero draft before I started hanging out with The Confabulators. It is a nice idea. The zero draft gives you permission to write garbage and worry about sorting it into recyclable materials later. However, I’ve never had an issue with my willingness to write garbage. The term isn’t that helpful, and honestly, I find it to be a bit cutesy.
Personally, I don’t ascribe numbers to drafts. There is no first, second, third, fourth, etc. There is only “in-progress” and “completed.” Think of it long the lines of a Claude Levi-Strauss binary opposition (come on, linguists, I know you are out there). How do I know it is in-progress? Because, it isn’t completed. But, how will I know when it is completed? Because, it won’t be in-progress anymore. Numbering drafts just makes me self-conscious if the number is too small or two large. I don’t like giving my writing a stigma just because one story took me twelve drafts and another was finished with a spelling check. The journey determines the road. Sometimes you are just going out for a drive. Sometimes, you pack a lunch. (more…)
We think it was William Faulkner who first said that a writer must “kill your darlings” but it’s been repeated endlessly ever since so that may be apocrypha. But any time there’s a discussion of the mechanics of a writer’s process, there should be some mention of David Mamet. He’s never visited the Cafe (at least as far as we know) but he’s influenced every storyteller out there today in some way, large or small, whether it’s realized or not. Mamet’s famous memo to the writers of The Unit is worth a read, at the very least.
The Cafe regulars this week discuss our particular processes in approaching a zero draft (or first draft or sixth as the case may be) and turning it into something readable. We are forced to confront our worst writing, thankfully before anyone else sees it, and thus our own weaknesses. It can be painful but it’s certainly necessary. Like hernia surgery.
We’ve got your table over here. Our servers are on the ball and ready to attend to whatever you need. Just flag ’em down. You don’t need a red pencil.
I’ve never really done a lot of critiquing, outside the stuff you do in school. Its the flabby muscle in my writer education, if you will.
I’m not a very critical thinker. I can work through a thought if someone gives me the starting point, but generally speaking I’ll take it all at face value. I’m probably not going to catch the implications of every decision made in a book; I’ll miss parallels even when they’re painfully obvious. (And when they are obvious, I’ll generally disappointed by the lack of surprise.)
So, we’ll say — I critique poorly. I ask questions, and let the writer figure out what I’m trying to say.
Did I like it? I’ll always like it. But there may be some things you want to take a look at. Here, I’ll tell you…
One of the best parts of being a writer is getting to read another writer’s work before it goes out to the public. It’s one of the most stressful times for any writer, too. Getting any kind of report back on one’s abilities to tell a story can be nerve-wracking. No one wants to hear “you suck” or “sorry, I just didn’t like it.”
So I try not to do that.
When I’m reading someone’s work I’m always going to make a note of what I liked. Always. “That’s a nice phrase” or “that made me chuckle” or “ROFLMAO” are nice to see in any notes.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me reset just a second.
Okay.
First, I like critiquing – actually prefer – by using PDFs rather than Word docs. There’s nothing wrong with Word, we use if for notes in the Actionopolis books I write, and just about everyone has it. It’s an industry standard. But what it does is line up all the comments on the right side of the page with arrows pointing into the text. When there are four people commenting on a piece, it can get more than a little hectic.
Acrobat Reader. I can’t recommend this enough for anyone who sees a lot of PDFs. When I’m adding a note to a text I can move the call out box right into the paragraph and it points to exactly the point that caused me to want to make that comment. (I’m not sure if this is available in the basic free version you have to download in order to read PDFs from the web. I invested in Creative Suite and that’s the version I use. Your mileage may vary.) I’ve gotten feedback from one writer who says that it’s a lot nicer to scroll through and see those little boxes in the text than a rainbow bar of comments and changes on the right side.
That’s the visual stuff.
As for how I read for critique, generally the questions I ask of the author start with “Have you thought about…?” because I’ve found that really, really helps me. I live comment the first pass through, then delete things as I think are necessary. I’ll tell the author what I’m thinking as I read. “Did he really say that?” “I bet this is going to suck.” “Oh, yeah, now I hate you for what you just did.” I think this is so helpful because we don’t get that kind of feedback from ‘regular’ readers. It speaks to pacing and foreshadowing and all the little things we do to draw the reader in.
Finally, I offer an overall opinion and suggestions for improvements. Everything I offer is up to the author to take or leave. I make no judgement because I don’t know enough to be snooty about someone not taking my advice. I think it’s important that when I’m saying “you might rethink this passage” that I at least offer something that sparks an idea for the author to pursue. It probably isn’t what I would do (else I’d be writing the story) but that’s the process.
By the way this is what I want from people who are critiquing my work.
Look, I’m not a line editor nor a strict grammarian. You’re not going to get that from me. What you get are thoughts and alternate solutions. I think that’s way more helpful than pointing out misspellings and the common errors in usage. That stuff is for later drafts and the author will catch it as she’s editing herself.
A witty remark makes for good television, but criticism like this is far from constructive.
Criticism, whether giving it or taking it, is tricky business.
I used to be an English instructor in college, so I’ve given my fair share of criticism. Freshman composition students are notorious for not caring about feedback, but it’s an important part of teaching.
The best advice I ever received was from a veteran professor who told me to focus on one problem at a time. “If you mark everything that is wrong in a paper,” she advised, “the student won’t learn anything.”
I’ve taken this same approach when critiquing in writers groups.
I have never had the opportunity to critique a completed story outside of a classroom setting. Maybe if I did, I’d have a better opinion about my ability to critique, I don’t know. What I do know, is that my experiences with critiquing other people’s writing have been absolutely miserable.
I read, almost exclusively, genre fiction. Somehow, when you’re sitting in a classroom of twenty-nine other students you suddenly realize that not a single damn one of them write anything that I’d ever pick up for myself. Great. I could already tell that was going to be a great experience. Still, I was being graded based on my ability to give them honest feedback. So there goes nothing.
I’m assuming that problem I’m facing right there is precisely why editors will only accept certain genres. It’s difficult to give something a chance if the subject doesn’t inspire you. And in my undergraduate degree, I only ever read a couple of short stories that captivated me. (more…)
