Category: Mechanics

  • Dear Comics

    It’s not you, it’s me.

    I want to fall in love with you, I really do. All of my friends say that you’re really great. And you are great, really. I’m just not feeling it.

    I just can’t get into the way that you tell stories.

    As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been attracted to text. I like well built paragraphs, with broad metaphors and strong descriptions that can carry a story safely across the great divide between author and reader. A clever simile, a well-crafted pun, will always make me smile. I have kind of a Thing for a confident narrative that introduces me to fascinating characters and takes me to exotic places. The right novel comes along, and I’m lost.

    I have experimented with comics in the past. Some of my favorite authors, particularly Neil Gaiman, are bi-genre, and in their company I’ve dipped my toe in the graphic waters. But I can’t pretend any more.

    When I open a graphic novel, I’m faced with page after page of lavish illustration, but all I can really see is the text. Unfortunately the text isn’t quite enough to carry the story. It’s mostly just dialog, with perhaps a dash of exposition. The lion’s share of description, mood, and theme are carried by the artwork, and I just don’t see it. Instead of carefully examining each page, each panel, I’ll find myself madly flipping pages, looking only at the speech bubbles, and by the end of the book I’ll be groaning in unfulfilled expectations, crying out, “That’s it? That’s all you can give me?” Excited by the prospect of a great story, only to have it come to a premature and unsatisfying end.

    Sometimes, on a second go around, I can force myself to go slow, carefully examine the artwork. I know you’ve worked hard on your appearance, comics, and I’d like to give you mad props for it, but I’m just not that kind of a girl.

    A novel, on the other hand, is long, and thick, and carries the promise of great satisfaction. A novelist knows how to create the mood, set the pace, and tickle my fancy just right.

  • Handwriting Your Novel Part 2: Choose Your Weapon

    This is where we get to talk about the good stuff—pens, pencils, and paper. I am not afraid to admit my own love of fine stationery; in fact, I believe a good office supply store is one of the two best venues for creative problem solving [0]. Your choice of writing implements can make or break your handwriting experience. There is nothing more frustrating than a pen that skips, or paper that accepts too much ink or too little. On the other hand, when you have just the right pen on good quality paper, the words flow effortlessly from mind to page.

    There are a huge variety of writing implements to choose from because it’s very much a matter of personal taste. Two general rules apply—try everything at least once, and you get what you pay for.

    If you are lucky enough to work in a cube farm or other office-type environment with a well-stocked supply closet, there’s your chance to try before you buy. Raid the supplies for one of everything—because you’re going to put back the things you don’t use, right? Right? Try them out, and you’ll get a good feel for the things that work for you—the size and shape of the grip, weight and balance, type of ink or lead. If you see an interesting new pen or pencil on a coworker’s desk, ask if you can try it for a minute. Then give it back [1]. You’re looking for a pen or pencil that feels good in your hand, doesn’t skip or smear, where you don’t hold it in a death grip, and is well-sized and balanced. In general, fat, contoured, and cushioned grips will be more comfortable than a thin cylinder.

    Pencils.

    The big advantage to pencils is that they come with built-in error correction features; that is, you can erase a pencil mark. I use them for writing narrative because I’d rather erase and replace text, maintaining narrative flow, than deal with crossouts. Pencils are easy to use and will write upside down and on almost any kind of surface. On the other hand, they require more care and maintenance than pens. You can’t go wrong with the classic #2 wood pencil, and I once had a fondness for the large pencils intended for small children; but these days I prefer mechanical pencils with contoured rubber grips and a .7 mm B lead.

    About lead—lead ranges from 2B (very soft and a dark, smudgeable line), to B, HB/#2 (the standard), H, and all the way up to 4H hardness which will give you a very precise, thin line. Wood pencils are nearly always HB/#2 unless you buy an art or drafting set. You can get leads for mechanical pencils in B, HB, or H hardnesses. Pencils and leads come in .5 mm or .7 mm sizes; pick the size appropriate for the size of your handwriting.

    Wood pencils require a sharpener, and the little blade gets dull pretty quickly. You might also want other accessories; cushy grips or replacement erasers. You will definitely get what you pay for here— dollar store specials tend to fit poorly and perform worse [2]. My favorite eraser is a handheld one called Black Pearl—instead of being the usual rhomboid shape, it’s oval and tapered all the way around. Using it maintains the taper rather than obliterating it, so you always have a sharp edge available for precision erasing.

    Pens.

    Pens are all about the ink. Ballpoint pens have an oil-based ink, which is why you need some serious solvents (like hairspray or WD-40) to remove stains. Again, you get what you pay for—a $5 refillable pen will give much better performance than a dozen-for-$1.49 cheapie. However, they’re easy to find, relatively inexpensive, and work well on all types and quality of papers. The ink dries quickly, making it good for left-handers. You can even fake a feather pen by binding the chopped-off guts of a Bic to a turkey quill for that extra-special old-timey look.

    The ink in a gel pen is an emulsion of oil, water, and pigment. Gel pens are notoriously finicky— if you don’t hold them fairly upright they tend to skip, and they smudge more easily and dry out much faster than oil-based inks. On the other hand, the colors are amazing, you can get pale, opaque colors that are visible on dark papers, and they don’t bleed or feather as badly on pulp paper as liquid inks. I suggest you try before you buy. Check out the quality of the cap—if the cap comes off in your bag or drawer, you’ll soon have a useless plastic stick.

    Liquid ink is what you find in rollerball and fountain pens. The colors are great, and you get a very smooth line with almost no dragging for effortless writing. They don’t get along with water, though, and will wash right off unless specially formulated. Another problem with liquid inks is they are choosy about the paper they will play with. Inexpensive pulp or thin papers will soak up too much ink, leading to feathering (the line is blurry and thicker than the pen nib) and bleeding (the line is visible on the other side of the page). Try doing the crossword in the newspaper and you’ll end up with a blot. I’ve used hand-laid papers that had such a rough tooth they can’t accept liquid ink at all. But the combination of liquid ink with a thick, smooth-finished paper cannot be beat.

    An example of your basic high-quality rollerball pen is the Pilot Precision V5. Great colors, great performance, affordable, and a line fine enough that I can use it for copyediting because I can fit corrections between the lines printed on the page.

    I’ve made no secret of my love for fountain pens. I wrote many pages with a pair of Waterman Phileas pens; when they wore out after many years of abuse, I was heartbroken to find Waterman had discontinued the model. These days I work with a pair of Lamy Safari pens, one with a fine nib for everyday writing, and one with an extra-fine nib and filled with turquoise ink for copyediting [3]. These are made of durable molded plastic, you can order spare nibs and a converter, and they’re surprisingly affordable. Pilot makes a disposable fountain pen that’s good enough for getting your feet wet; it’s major disadvantage is you can’t refill it.

    Fountain pen lovers are the writing equivalent of gear-heads; you can geek out for hours on the difference between flexible steel or hard iridium, fine line or calligraphy nibs, the pros and cons of cartridges versus converters, and finding just the perfect kind of ink. A word to the wise: DO NOT PUT INDIA INK IN YOUR FOUNTAIN PEN. India ink is made with shellac and will damage or destroy your pen, and should only be used with dip or specialized drafting pens.

    Fountain pens are the ultimate try-before-you-buy purchase. A good one can range from $30 to $300 dollars (more than that and you’re buying it for its jewelry qualities), and so can a bad one. If you can visit a pen shop, you should be able to try them out, and try out various brands and colors of inks as well.

    Cartridges are sealed plastic tubes filled with ink; you open up the pen and press the cartridge onto the business end. If you have a converter, you fill it with bottled ink. It doesn’t hold as much ink as a cartridge, but is perfect if, like me, you like to change colors a lot.

    Fountain pen ink can be a little odd—different colors from the same brand can behave quite differently on the page, depending on their formulation. I have a dark blue ink that’s a champion, the medium blue of the same brand feathers badly, the pink can skip, and the scarlet went bad. The black was semi-permanent and tended to dry and clog the nib, so I got rid of it and am trying a different brand.

    Paper.

    Paper is another you-get-what-you-pay-for. It’s worthwhile to be picky about paper quality. Composition books you can buy by the dozen and still have plenty of money for lunch are tempting, but in my experience they bleed liquid ink so badly you can only use one side of the page (this is not an issue if you use pencils or ballpoints). The big factors in paper are finish and thickness. Thin, pulpy papers bleed worse than thicker, smooth finished papers—unfortunately this includes lots of recycled papers. Never buy paper without feeling it first; usually there’s a pack on the shelf where somebody has already torn a hole in the plastic wrap.

    Wide rule paper is good if your handwriting is big or you want to “double-space,” leaving room for in-line edits. College rule gives you more words per page. Quad rule paper is geek-chic and good for charts, but unless the lines are very narrow, hard to read from. You can also find unlined or dotted paper, or paper printed with specialty margins.

    Then there’s the issue of the binding. Journals and composition books have permanent bindings that force linearity; you can’t just rip out or rearrange pages. Tablets are designed to have the pages removed as they’re used up, so you’ll have to find a binder or other way to keep your pages together. I realized recently that the 300 sheet pack of looseleaf filler paper we used to do our homework on has gone extinct, and I mourn it. Looseleaf paper is great when you’re editing and want to rearrange/rewrite/replace pages. Spiral notebooks are great, in my opinion; you can tear out pages if you need to, or they can stay all together in a nice package. Lefties often complain about the wire getting in the way of their wrists, but who says you have to start your notebook at the “front?” Flip it over and use the left-hand (verso or back) page instead. I usually have three notebooks going at any one time— a fancy hardbound journal for my personal diary, a composition book for notes and brainstorming, and a spiral notebook for novel narrative.

    [0] The other is a really good hardware store.
    [1] Because you are an honorable and decent person who would never steal office supplies.
    [2] Cheap rubbery grips can even make your fingers smell like condoms. Yech.
    [3] I ordered the pen with a red barrel so I can grab the dreaded red pen, but I use turquoise ink so that my coworkers can tell my copyediting notes from other reviewers’.

  • Handwriting Your Novel— Part One

    Neil Gaiman does it. J. K. Rowling, too. Truman Capote, Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare— most of the greats of English literature have done it.

    Yet when I tell people that I write my novels in longhand they react as though I am some kind of exotic creature. Writerii masochisteria, perhaps.

    (more…)

  • First-person, Past Tense: Playing to My Strengths

    I am a slave to first-person point of view.

    As I’ve said before, whenever I write a story, I want to connect with the reader. I like the storyteller approach, and I want the audience to feel like I’m talking directly to them, or at least give the illusion that my main character is.

    For me, first-person point of view is the ideal vehicle to accomplish this. First-person is a “warmer” viewpoint than third-person in that it provides direct access to a character’s thoughts and feelings. It makes it easier to sympathize with a protagonist if a reader is experiencing his or her trials and tribulations in real time. (As much as reader time is real time.)

    I can, and have, written in third-person, but when I do, I am very aware of an increased distance between myself and the story. I’m not as in tune with my characters, and the feelings and reactions I write in third-person never seem quite as authentic as they do when I’m tooling around in a first-person protagonist’s head.

    (more…)

  • A View from a Park Bench

    bw4Imagine a story as a living, breathing planet. A lot of people live on it, and each one has his or her own perception of life. Everyone sees everything differently. In theory, every story has just as many perspectives. How do you know which one is important?

    There are a lot of things to consider, but when writing a first draft considerations are meaningless. Sitting at a keyboard to write a story is a lot like sitting on a bench in Central Park. Lots of people walk by without giving you the slightest bit of attention. Depending on your methodology, you either wait for someone to sit down and start a conversation, or you scream profanities at them like a nut-job. I know people who sit down to write, and if it isn’t coming that day, they get back up and go do laundry. I am on the opposite end of the spectrum. My park scenario is chasing people down, screaming “You can’t get away from me!”

    Whoever I manage to tackle becomes my perspective. Like most predators, I tend to pick off the weak. My characters generally have a multitude of issues. They are fragile, emotionally and sometimes physically. I hold them down and make them cry. A lot of times, that means that the point-of-view of my first draft is decided for me. It belongs to whoever wanders too close to my particular park bench.

    After the first draft is finished, I have to start worrying about actual technique and theory. My story may or may not be best served by the perspective I have discovered. In “Flute of the Dead,” which will be appearing in Bete Noire Magazine’s anniversary issue this coming Halloween, I follow Len, a tribal musician, in his exodus from his home as he flees cannibalistic invaders. In the original story,  Len died about three pages in. The story revolved around his 8 year-old sister. After the first draft, I completed a major reconstruction of the story, which included the deletion of my original protagonist.

    There is no loyalty in fiction. Writing is a solitary profession. Editing is a cruel business. You write from your heart, pouring your soul onto paper. You edit with your brain. Every element has to carry its own weight. Those that don’t must be cut, no matter how beautiful or clever they seem.

    Things like POV and perspective are tools for the creation of art. It is my duty as a writer to use those tools as efficiently as possible. Sometimes, as with “Flute of the Dead,” that means drastic restructuring of story elements, eliminating characters and scenes, creating new ones in their place, and various other modifications.

    The goal is strengthen the story as much as possible. Trial and error will help me to do that. Ultimately, it fortifies both my story and my career. The important thing is to find a voice and hold it down long enough to get the story out, but still be willing to tackle the next guy if need be.

  • Perplexing the Perspective

    When I’m reading books, I recognize the importance that point of view can have on the story. Having something written in first person creates an automatic connection with the reader, while a story in third person allows the reader to leap from one head to another. Multiple character viewpoints can be used to create a broader look at the world, allowing the reader to put together their own theories based on what they know about the beliefs of the characters.

    While I recognize the importance that point of view can have in the telling of a story, it rarely factors into my decision about what perspective to write from. Sometimes I just feel like a story needs to be written from a certain point of view, but generally it’s not even that sophisticated a reasoning. (more…)

  • Letting It Flow Naturally

    As with most things, I don’t think a lot about the mechanics of my writing — I just sort of put words down and figure out how it works later. This has lead me to abandon projects because holy shit, it needs wa~y too much mechanic work.

    By default for many many moons I wrote in what I sort of think of as the standard point-of-view: third person past tense. (I know there’s more than one type of third person, but go ask one of the English majors if you want more of that nonsense.) It came naturally, and I ran with it.

    Eventually, that changed.
    (more…)

  • Voices

    Government and scientific writing is usually done in this really bizarre institutional voice. You know the one I mean; you’ve read it and struggled with it, even if you’ve never deliberately tried to write it. It’s a weird, hyper-formalized, passive-verbed, long-winded writing style that you discovered had invaded your own writing when you were just starting out. You were probably praised for it, too— told it was “good English.”

    Actually, it’s terrible English. Institutional Voice, aka Bureaucratese, avoids sentence subjects. All verbs are rendered in the passive. “It was discovered that…” “The decision was made that…” “The result was…” “The Department’s investigation demonstrated…” “The data show…”

    Removing the subject was supposed to discourage egotistical self-aggrandizement; the text would be the authority, not any particular author. What really happened is that removing the human subject removed any sense of humanity, that yes, there is a caring, feeling person behind the keyboard. Or, as sometimes happens, that there is a person behind the keyboard who doesn’t care, or in fact glories in your misery. Institutional voice functions to put distance between author and reader. The reader cannot judge the author’s intentions or morals, and the author can say the most horrible things without once considering his audience. [0]

    Part of our journey as writers is discovering our own authentic voices. Like glitter, Institutional Voice is pervasive, and as soon as you think you’ve removed the last of it from your writing, you’ll find it cropping up in the most bizarre and unexpected places. We spent our lives learning, “This is the Voice of Authority, this is the Voice of Somebody Who Knows What They’re Talking About,” and we’ll slip into it in order to disguise our own uncertainties about our prose.

    It sounds easy to stay away from Institutional Voice. “Just write the same way you speak!” they’ll tell you [1]. There’s two problems with that approach. First, have you ever read the transcript of a live interview? People speak in sentence fragments and run-ons and run-on sentence fragments all the time. And second, once you’ve been writing this crap for so long, you’ll start speaking that way, too.

    [0] “The contents of Boxcar 113 will be disposed of according to the standard procedures.” To be spoken in a funny German accent, because, hey, we’re all about stereotyping and the glory of Godwin in this blog.
    [1] “They” lie.

  • A Shelf of Possibility

     

    from neatorama.com
    from neatorama.com

    (Rolls d20)

    Eighteen. Damn.

    That means I have to write this post in the first person.

    What’s really important when I’m choosing which story to write is how best to tell it. Whose Point of View is most important? Is that character reliable enough or not to tell the story? Because if not, that changes everything. I usually tell tales in the past tense because I dislike present tense. Not intensely but enough that it doesn’t appeal to me.

    See, for me, it’s about telling. That means one person is relating what has happened. That’s how we generally tell stories over lunch, having drinks, in any number of situations. I think that if a character is telling his reader or viewer what’s happening as it’s happening, then she’s not focused enough on the events of the story. Maybe that’s crap, I don’t know, but it’s how I feel about it.

    I just don’t like limiting myself to one narrator or point of view in a story. I want the reader to either a) want more by switching POV or narrator or b) want more because they really like the narrator or POV. So I have to be as interested as possible in what I’m writing.

    Random rolling of multi-sided dice isn’t how I decide these things but you probably already knew that. Rather what I do is look at the overarching story and figure out which of the seven stories told and retold it is:

     

    • Boy Meets Girl (Boy Loses Girl, Boy Finds Girl Again)
    • Man v. Nature
    • Man v. Machine
    • Man v. Society
    • Rags to Riches
    • Love Conquers All
    • Portrait of the Artist

     

    (Okay, I have to ‘fess up and say that I cannot find any sort of agreement on what the Seven Basic Plots are. Everyone seems to be referring back to a particular book that I don’t agree with. For the purposes of this post, let’s say this list is it. Afterwards you can argue as much as you like about how wrong I am. This is what I remember of the talk I heard Kurt Vonnegut give in the middle ’80s. All right?)

     

    So. Where does the story fit and who among the characters I’ve devised is best suited to tell the story? I have to look at where the character fits into the story itself then decide if I like that fit. If I don’t like it how could I expect the reader to? Next, since I don’t want to use first person (usually) I will decide who are the important characters to follow. No more than three, really, and if I can keep it to one or two I like that better. It’s fun as a reader to know what else is going on in a story that the ‘main’ character might not. Build up some suspense. Also gives ‘em a break. After all, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.

    Then it’s all about beginning to write. It may be that I’ve chosen wrongly and the character I want to follow isn’t interesting enough. That’s happened quite a bit. Happened with last year’s NaNoWriMo novel. It just does, I guess. So then I reassess if the story is worth pursuing if I change point of view or which character is the main one.

    I will look at my bookshelves for a story that’s similar to the one I want to tell. I may even pull it down off the shelf and skim through it, looking for a solution to present itself.

    And the process starts all over again.

     

  • Embrace it!

    Lately I’ve been feeling the blahs. Fat. Inactive. Creatively null and void. Like I’m in a holding pattern.

    All of which means one thing: It is time to break out of my comfort zone [0].

    I’ve got several things I can do. I can go back to Contra dancing. I have a carpentry project planned, for which I have no appropriate tools or workspace. I’ll be taking my annual pilgrimage to Oklahoma City in a few weeks. As the weather gets warmer, I want to spend more time hiking through the woods or exploring some of the regional rail-trails on my bike.

    But for now, this minute, what I can do is start re-reading last year’s Nano novel.

    I had a plan last November [1]. I was going to take December off, let the novel chill a little, and look at it with fresh eyes January 1. Armed with a fresh cube of sticky notes, I would ruthlessly carve away the kruft until I had revealed What Exactly My Novel Was All About [2].

    Meanwhile I had some time to kill and did so by marathoning all fourteen of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files novels, plus the short stories. They say that Facebook is depressing because you’re comparing your gag reel to everybody else’s award winning performances. After reading Butcher, my own little urban fantasy looked like something the cat was trying to bury. Instead of a month of revisions, I quit after 20 minutes [3].

    I always advise new Wrimos to “embrace the suck,” because the zero draft of anything always sucks. Well, it’s time to eat my own dog food, because digging the diamond out of this dung heap is going to really, really… well, the metaphor rather speaks for itself.

    Embrace the suck, Aspen! You love the suck! And if I keep saying that, will it be true?

    [0] But I don’t want to leave my comfort zone! It’s so nice and comfortable!
    [1] You know what they say about plans and contact with the enemy….
    [2] And then rewrite the whole thing from scratch.
    [3] See prev. footnote re: Plans.