Archive for the ‘helpful hints for writers’ Category

Today I am wearing my carpenter pants. Damn. You carpenters wear some comfy pants. These are the type of pants you should wear on Monday. Comfy pants. If I had my way I’d wear pajamas to work on Monday.

Anyway, it was a conquer-the-known-universe weekend and I succeeded. I managed to finish off the short piece I was working on and get it sent to the editor. Officially, it’s no longer a flash fiction story. I got some positive feedback, and word that something more substantial would head my way Tuesday.

I managed to write three scenes toward the new version of my short story Strange Loop. So far this version is much better than the original. In fact, this version has allowed me to make two really important discoveries about my own writing*. That’s always a huge bonus. I’m hoping to finish it up either tonight or tomorrow night, give it a few rewrite, grammar, and prose corrections and then send it off to my Clarion writing group.

I’ve almost finished reading a novel I’m critting for a fellow Clarionite. I should get that finished tonight, and then I can start the actual critique. That will be done before I start my mini weekend vacation. I’m off work Friday and then off next Monday. That means four days to focus on the novel. Yep, I’m still working on my novel and will be for most of the next year.

Faireuza hit 71 late Friday night. I’m limiting my World of Warcraft time to Friday nights now. It’s just too easy to get wrapped up in that game and lose sight of all other forms of existence. However, if I can hit a level every two weeks, I should be raiding on a B-team at some point this summer. That works for me. I had a fun PVP experience with an Orc warrior though. There’s nothing like being a hunter and just mercilessly beating down a warrior. That’s love.

* Here are the two things I discovered:

1) Character and problem are two things you can build strongly on in a shorter work. See, I’ve been trying and trying to figure out how to write short and this was one of the things that kept evading me; the whole concept that the problem needed to be something complex.

Well, it doesn’t. In fact, it’s sometimes better just to keep it as something rather simple. In this particular story though, this problem is represented in a few different characters. There is a mythical representation of it, a real world physical representation of it, and then the actual problem inside the main character.

In my story, the character first faces the mythical version. It is a physical confrontation and she does walk away defeated—clueless still about what the problem is. She, for the most part, is ready to give up, but knows she still wants her goal. Next, she faces someone who she would have never made the choice to face on her own. This meeting is forced on her. However, this particular incarnation of the problem is a teacher or mentor representation of the problem (I would imagine that other archetypes can take on the personification of the problem). She must directly face the problem here and understand it. This is a sort of realization scene. She has a new weapon, now how do you apply it to the first version of the problem?

Once she understands the problem, then she can actually transform and make the solution to the problem, or the problem itself a part of her. In Strange Loop, she is transformed physically by the problem, but she also learns about a particular need she had that someone outside her saw, but she could not see herself. It’s a small thing, but in the scope of a small story, it’s a life changing thing. It makes her into a new person.

This new person can now go back to the mythical incarnation of the problem and use what she knows to fix it. She does, and this grants her access to her goal.

That’s something I’ve been trying to focus on. How do I make the problem that is keeping the main character from her story goal naturally derive from the main character? In other words, the fictional character is to some extent the problem, so how do we overcome self to overcome the problem?

2) Use more dialogue. I don’t know why, but I’ve always had an aversion to dialogue. Well, not necessarily and aversion, but I’ve been timid with my use of dialogue for fear of overuse. I think this comes from my early—really early, studies of screenwriting. One of the earliest things I read was to limit the talking heads, but I don’t think that qualifies so much for fiction.

This version of the story has a lot more dialogue than the last, and it’s much better because of it. I Think I can go back now and look at some of my other works and probably clarify a lot with dialogue. Not that it’s the new hammer, but it’s nice when you look through the toolbox and say, “Hey, this is a nifty widget. I should really be using this to do more.”

Which is another reason I should be critiquing more. I’m in the process of reading a work that is very heavy with dialogue. Long conversations. My first reaction was to go, “Ack, lots of dialogue, see where you can cut!” And to my surprise, it was all pretty necessary. Not only that, but it really worked well. In fact, I liked it. So what’s up with that? Again, early impressions I received as a young writer stuck with me and I never questioned it. So here’s a lesson to other young writers. Question everything you hear from your writer instructors. So far, there don’t seem to be as many Truths in writing as I originally assumed.

Internalizing the Short Form.

I think this is the one thing I regret not having done in the last eight years of writing. I’ve read a lot of short work, but for some reason the form hasn’t successfully grafted onto my brain. I want to believe that’s because I’ve always had big ideas or that I’ve always wanted an emotional element that you just can’t cover in under five thousand words—but these are really just excuses. Plenty of authors have achieved what I’ve wanted to do in much less than five thousand words. However, I think I’m finally getting it.

I’m going to go through some of the things I’m seeing now that I didn’t a few months ago. Some of these are things I knew, but didn’t quite know to the bone. Surface knowing and bone knowing is two different animals.

Write often and finish.

This one has been tough for me. I tend to ruminate on a story a lot. However, I’ve discovered I’m quite capable of working on two things at once. Especially if one of those things is a big project, like a novel, and the other is a small project, like a short story or poem. Now two seems to be my limit, but it also seems that I need to be working on two things to keep me motivated to get both done. I received early advice to just do one thing at a time. That was probably good, well intentioned advice, but it didn’t work for me. The litmus test gets down to how many words are you putting on the page and how many projects are you completing. Since I’ve been working on two things at once recently, I’m finishing a lot more.

Write fast.

This is something I’ve just recently started. I used to believe that if you weren’t bleeding over every word you weren’t really a writer. This is rubbish for me. I think I’m just now discovering how to play with voice because I’m writing fast. Additionally, I’ve discovered that you can oversaturate a work with visual imagery. It’s far better to have one strong visual per page than to have every paragraph become its own bit of perfect poetry. I’m not advocating sloppy writing, but you’d be amazed what you can do quickly. Learn to trust yourself.

Revise fast.

When you finish your first draft, give it a quick read aloud, make any obvious corrections you need to make, and then send it off to your critique group. And here is what I do that might make you cringe: If the work requires more than 25% revision to make it workable, it goes back on the clay pile. That’s right, if I can’t make the story work by only changing about 25% of it, the thing basically goes in the trash. Now my trash can is a place I swim around a lot to get ideas. So it isn’t really wasted. Additionally, you’ve probably learned something from that story. Move on. Start and finish the next one. Writers need to breed stories like roaches or they won’t survive.

Sketch it out.

I write treatments. That basically means that before I write the actual story I write a really, really fast version of the story out on a page or two. I break it into scenes and this is what I use to write from. I might revise the treatment for structure. I ask simple questions. Is there a clear goal? Do I make things hard on my protagonist? Is there a nice surprise in there somewhere? Do I need every scene here? That last one is important. The short I’m working on now came from an idea I had that led to the first scene, but now I don’t need it. It’s a beautiful scene, but it drags the rest of the story down—it’s got to go.

A short story can be a straight line. Focus on the one thing, the one character, the one important subject.

This is especially important when it comes to the story problem. I’ve had a bad habit of making story problems that are vague and emotional. Make it something physical. The physical and emotional might tie together, but there should be some physical thing that represents the story problem. I’ve tried writing stories that just take place in a character’s head. They can be pretty. You can have wonderful characterization, but the plot just doesn’t seem to work for these types of stories. I’m sure there is a market for this type of story, but you’re better off playing the numbers game and using the devices that work. Make the goal and story problems physical and point your protagonist to them. Let Fred handle the rest.

Write flash fiction. 4 pages. [1]Beginning, [2]middle and [1]end.

If you find yourself always writing long—like more than 10k—stop writing long. Write really short. I mean, 1k short. Flash fiction is a great way to see how you can get an idea in under a particular word count. Plus, if you do write long, you might find that attempting to write 1k actually gives you 3k. 3K is a short story. Congratulations, you just discovered how to write short.

Practice, practice, practice.

Don’t stop writing. Don’t give yourself a break. No really. Jay Lake advocates a story a week. I’m not quite to the point where I can do a story a week consistently, but it’s my goal. However, I am constantly writing. I’ll rewrite fairy tales if I can’t think of anything to write. I’ll mash Shakespeare and westerns if I can’t think of anything. I’ll write fan fiction if I have to, but I will continue to write.

Cut the seven stage plot down.

Start in the middle and hint at the beginning or ending. Focus on two or three parts of the seven stage plot. If you aren’t aware of the seven stage plot, just google plot skeleton. There are about four or five different versions. Pick your favorite. Learn what to keep and what you can trash. Try fitting the whole story into a few scenes—or write the whole thing out and then cut the beginning and the ending. Then see if you can gut out part of the middle. Experiment.

Don’t try to make it something it’s not.

This is one of my biggest problems. You can’t fit a novel’s worth of emotion into four thousand words. The short story is the teaser trailer not the epic film. You can make it beautiful, but it won’t be something it isn’t. It’s a kick in the crotch, not the whole fight.

Hopefully, this is helpful. Happy writing.