Displaying items by tag: Writing Advice

In praise of the writer's notebook...

Monday, 18 March 2013 09:58
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I'm addicted to my writer's notebooks. Have been since college. My writer's notebook is where the ideas that matter (to my books and to my life) start percolating.

How I use the notebooks has changed over time. In fact, when I flip through them, I can tell a lot about where I am in the writing process based on my handwriting and how I use the page. Loose script dashed diagonally across the page? Definitely a sudden inspiration, probably jotted down while walking. Tight lists with page numbers? I'm trying to get unstuck by analyzing a novel I admire. Entry that begins, "why do I always forget how hard this is?" Self talk during a first draft. Crazy cartoons and doodles surrounded by quotations? Me, at a reading (probably after a glass of wine)...

Now that I've been doing it for almost 10 years, keeping a writer's notebook is kind of like clicking on the Time Machine function on my Mac. I can see all those different writing Ashleys--and how they led me to my current place. 

I have changed through these notebooks, but the most crucual benefit they offer me hasn't changed. My writer's notebook lets me take my writing anywhere. It turns every park bench, bus seat, or cafe table into a workable writing space. 

Even when I'm working with Scrivener on my Mac, my writer's notebook is open. I move back and forth between the two, using the physical notebook as a safe space to think out an idea (and question it) before or even as I draft a scene.

My notebooks also save my butt via the reading lists I tuck inside them, lists of (with secret notations) every book that I read or listen to. They save my butt because I'm one of those people who blanks when asked their favorite book (I have too many!). Having the lists makes it easier to track down the right recommendations when asked, too.

P.S. Just click on the "writersnotebook" tab for my blog to see bits from many different notebooks. One of my favorite posts is here

Now Go Write: Write Blind

Wednesday, 02 January 2013 08:54
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It's a new year, and you are looking to start things off right. Set some goals, sure, but most of all, go write. Here's a tried-and-true idea you can use.

Take a break from structure and write blind (literally, if you can touch type). Set a timer for 10 minutes and write without stopping, not worrying about punctuation or even making sense. Repeat words if you get stuck; there’s no wrong way to do this.

Your goal is to get to a state where your internal editor can’t block anything (some people call this “automatic writing”). Just write—riding emotions, not worrying if anything is “okay” or not. When the timer goes off, look at what you’ve written. Most of it will be gibberish, but you may well have tricked yourself into writing a gem of an image or revealing a raw emotion that you can graft onto a character. If nothing jumps out as immediately useful, file it away and come back to it later. You might see something different then. If nothing else, you'll be surprised at just how weird your brain can be when unmonitored.

This may work best first thing in the morning when your brain is closest to that crazy underworld of dreams. For optimal results, try the exercise every day for a week.

Reader's Question: Will early work embarrass you later?

Monday, 03 December 2012 10:01
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A while back, a blog reader asked this question in response to a writing inspiration post:

I hear authors talk all the time about how awfull they used to be, and how they're glad that first book they wrote won't ever see the light of day, etc. But they say they thought they were hot stuff while they were writing those not so great stories . . . So, my question to you, how can you tell when you work stops being crap, and starts being more like the work you admire? When you publish a book, are you ever afraid that in a few years your writing will be so much better, and you will be embarrassed you let that earlier work into the world?

The truth is that I don't know when that frontier from embarrassing to worthy is finally crossed. Usually it happens when I'm not paying attention, when I'm just trying to get from really crappy to less crappy.


There are things about "finished" work that a writer will never be wholly satisfied with. Somebody said that you don't finish a book, you simply abandon it. And he was talking about published work!

What I do know is that there are many writers who will never find readers because they can't bear the gap that always remains between what we write and what we dream of having written. They can't stand for readers to read the work that is, so they never publish at all. But I say that is a shame.

Regarding the last question, I don't think there's anything to be embarrassed about in "young" work. Every book sets its own terms, and its success depends on how well it fulfills those terms. In general, a first novel--my own What Can't Wait included--is a bit less ambitious, trying to do something small well rather than trying to take over the world and failing. (Of course, there are exceptions, like Junot Diaz's first novel, to name just one.) I feel my second novel, The Knife and the Butterfly, attempts something larger and riskier. I stepped outside of my comfort zone with the plotting, for example, and there's something of a paranormal twist.

For me, being a writer means embracing the challenge of working with words--and pushing the envelope of what I'm able to do with each word. I know that I'll (still) write a lot of crap along the way. I don't think the crap every goes away. But most of it stays in writer's notebooks and scrivener files that the reader never sees.

This is another reason that a good editor is indispensable. He or she will usually spot any crap that tries to sneak into the final manuscript.

Cupcakes for writers

Tuesday, 27 November 2012 12:39
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I'll admit it: my imagination sometimes gets me in trouble.

On my way to the gym this morning, I got to hear Nancy Pearl talk about Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein on NPR. I reviewed (and LOVED) this book, and I loved that a YA novel was being discussed alongside great adult fiction. Right on the heels of the thought, "Yes! CNV so deserves this!" came wild imaginings of one of my own novels featured in a similarly prominant media source.

As much as writers talk about writing as its own reward, I think most of us dream of some kind of recognition. Success takes different forms, from fantasies of praise from a writing workshop leader to dreams of scoring an agent or a book deal. After publication, there are reviews, awards, book lists, and sales, all of which can offer a (usually brief) high for the beleagured writer. Kind of like a cupcake... it's pleasurable, but it doesn't really satisfy for long.

I don't think there's anything wrong with imagining these outcomes or even doing the professional legwork (networking, promotion, etc.) sometimes required to make them possible. But I think it is crucial to keep this secondary dimension of the writing career clearly separated in our minds from the real work of writing: crafting superior stories. Without a clear division of labor and energy (preferrably with the lion's share going to the "real" work), it's easy for the marketing and promotion to take over, and bitterness may result when a writer realizes that effort in does not always match results when it comes to gaining recognition.

Better, I think, to choose opportunities for promotion wisely and to invest most of your energy in writing the best next novel that you can for readers that you care about. Keep that focus, and any recognition that comes along is just icing.

Reader's Question: How should aspiring writers read?

Monday, 08 October 2012 09:16
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Q: How do you push yourself to improve as a writer? Do you have any tips for us writers who are just starting out?*

A: Read. Everything. Seriously, reading a ton of fiction is a fiction writer’s number one job, besides writing. I'm a firm believer in reading great books--how you define "great" really depends, of course--but I'm also a fan of reading not-so-great books from time to time. In fact, you can learn an amazing amount from books that are far from amazing. Anyway, you should read in three ways: 

(1) just going along, sort of soaking up awesome writing even if it’s completely different from what you want to do. This is how I read Haruki Marukami’s work. I just hope something sinks in.

(2) very deliberately paying attention to a writer’s moves. I tend to struggle more with plot than character development, so I tend to obsessively chart the plot development in books that build tension and effectively weave together many threads. Then I try to see how and when I can make their moves work in my own fiction. This usually happens in revision.

(3) learning what NOT to do. When something makes you groan, pay attention. What went wrong for that writer? How would you have fixed it? Where did the problem start? Sometimes, for example, the problem with the ending of a book is somewhere in the middle.

Of course, aspiring writers need to WRITE, too, but that's obvious. Never underestimate the power of your reading to transform your writing.

Now Go Write: style in the sentence

Monday, 10 September 2012 10:15
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To help YOU go write today, I'll share my number 1, go-to method of getting my style muscles in condition.

There is something to be said for having a shock-proof shit detector that can be turned "off" for the purposes of drafting. That is, an editor you can shut up long enough to get the words on the page.

I've already hoorayed over the triumph of finishing a draft (just the first of many, mind you) of novel #3 and managing to crank out 200,000 words in a year with a focus on plot.·

But in all that FAST writing, I had a recurring fear that I was steadily killing my inner stylist. Was I losing the art of the well-turned sentence? Had I become deaf to the music of language in favor of the blunter instruments of plot twists, drama, and suspense? Would I ever write another paragraph that, even if it took me an hour, had all the harmony and cohesion that are missing in our world?

As a reward for finishing the draft and because, let's face it, my style muscles have gotten a little weak, I'm taking a break from story and plot and returning to my first love: the sentence. Here's a lovely demonstration of why it matters to take time with the sentence:

This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It's like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals--sounds that say listen to this, it is important.  

(Gary Provost, 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing. Mentor, 1985)

There are countless books of writng prompts and exercises out there, but I always come back to my favorite approach: starting with sentences I admire in books I'm reading. Try it! Here's how:

Find a paragraph of prose you admire. Write it out longhand just to get the feel of those amazing words coming out of your own pen (on loan). Notice the joints within and between sentences, how they fit together and flow.

Now write your own paragraph (on whatever subject you choose), modeling each sentence exactly on the paragraph you admire. Try to stick to your model; the idea is to pay attention to how writing moves at the sentence level—and to get infected by gorgeous prose. Here’s an example:

Gil Adamson’s opening sentence in her novel The Outlander: “It was night, and dogs came through the trees, unleashed and howling.”

Ashley’s sentence: It was noon, and salmon arced up out of the stream, rainbowed and gleaming.

What’s awesome about this prompt, which I shared with figment.com here? You can use it over and over, so it’s a perfect building block for a writing ritual. Best of all, you can surprise yourself into a twist in your narrative.

 

Finishing a draft: the moment before the drop

Friday, 10 August 2012 10:37
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For me a first draft is like that impossibly slow climb to the top of a roller coaster... a roller coaster from hell that keeps getting higher and higher so that you spend WEEKS thinking, I'm almost there... I'm just scenes away... I'm almost there... a few more clicks and clacks...

But... it doesn't go on forever. I have finally finished a rough draft of novel #3, which has been on my heart and mind for years and has been on my desk for the past ten months. For me, that last word of the first draft is only the beginning, the moment before the drop on the roller coaster. It's exhilerating and terrifying.

 is a beast, weighing in at over 170,000 words. (All those words will not, I assure you, survive into the final version.) Now the manuscript is in the hands of my most-trusted beta reader, and I pray she will wield all her numerous swords--Blade of Efficiency, Exwordilur, Scenecutter, Adverbbiter, Enemy of Infodump, Bane of Flashbacks, and Claritybringer are some of the weapons in her arsenal--to help me hack off the unnecessary limbs of my monster and uncover the leaner, meaner badass of a book within.

And that's how I see a draft: it's not the book, it's what I'm going to build the book out of. The material is rough as hell, but it'll do for a start. It'll more than·do, I hope.

In fact, as someone who once obsessed over the placement of every modifier, I see roughness as a sign of progress. I surprised myself with this project by learning to put plot first. I might have overwritten (okay, I definitely did), but I wrote faster than I ever have before, cranking out over 200,000 words in a year.

Working fast and rough means I'm learning the difference between drafting and writing. The former is when I put words on the page toward the story I want to tell. The later is when my words take on a life of their own. I'm putting my inner bitch of an editor in her place (for the record, that is in a dark closet with duct tape over her mouth). Soon she'll have her day.

Nia Vardalos of My Big Fat Greek Wedding fame has said, "if you love your first draft, it probably sucks." This is precisely the kind of unhelpful remark that can be crippling and panic-inducing for a writer. Loving a first draft doesn't mean that you think you're done or that it's perfect. God, no. It means you see what it wants to become, and if you don't love that, what the hell is the point of taking the plunge for it?

I'm not afraid to say it: I love my first draft enough to fight to make it a novel.

Scrivener Fall-out (NOT a falling out)

Monday, 06 August 2012 10:26
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Anybody who's remotely paying attention should know that I love Scrivener. I'm near evangelical about its virtues for everything from novel-writing to blog-touring to academic blah organizing. (Yes, my academic blahs need to be organized.)

But there's something that happens to me when I write in Scrivener. It's so easy to start a new file that I end up with a file for every little bit of half-way coherent prose (I'm talking new files for single sentences, folks). Things get so fragmented that I feel like I need a vacuum cleaner to gather it all together again.

What I actually did was to resort to old-fashioned paper, as I explained here. Below are just a few of the zillions of little bits that I needed to place or discard, which was somehow too complicated on the screen. I kept shifting around stuff I really just needed to trash.

Just a little of the mess I made.

The paper solution is working out okay to get me through the end of a draft for novel #3, but I'm thinking... there must be a better way. Not a better way than Scrivener (impossible!), but a better way to use·Scrivener for novel work.·

The problem is that I write stuff before I have a clear sense of organization, not just of the novel itself but even of my writing of the novel. Perhaps the key is to start with better folders for slotting files I'm not ready to use in the MS yet.

I think my problem is that I put too much starter material into Scrivener when I should limit myself to just what is going into the MS. Part of this I blame on Scrivener's awesomeness, which includes handy places to append PDF and image files. That seemed very cool when I had hardly written anything and was hiding behind my research, but now that the MS itself has hundreds of files, those extra sixty down in research are just making me feel all the more encumbered. 

For more ideas on how to handle planning and writing in Scrivener, check out this great post, which floats the idea of doing planning in Evernote and reserving Scrivener for "actual" writing. 

I may try that for novel #4.

Writing Hungry

Monday, 23 July 2012 10:03
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I'm in the middle of living something new: writing hungry.

I've always seen the idea of the starving artist as an unnecessary cliché, but I'm as close as I will likely ever be to living it. (I certainly hope this isn't our new normal!) We are paying half of our income to cover childcare this summer so that I can have time to finish my draft of novel #3.

Okay, so I'm not exactly hungry. We live in America, after all. But I am painfully aware of the economic price of my creative efforts right now, of the sacrifices my family is making for this work to be possible. All this, without any certainty about when novel #3 will sell--or how much we might expect for it. 

I'm not far enough into the experience to know how things will turn out. On a Writing Excuses podcast, one of the hosts said, "I find feeding my family to be a powerful motivator," when asked about how it feels to be a "career" writer as opposed to having a day job.

On the other hand, though, here's what one of my favorite misbehaving characters, the nephew from Diderot's Le Neveu de Rameau, says about poverty and art: 

Oh, Mister Philosopher, poverty is a terrible thing. I see her crouching there, with her mouth gaping open to receive a few drops of icy cold water dripping from the barrel of the Danaids. I don’t know if she sharpens the mind of the philosopher, but she has a devilish way of cooling off the head of a poet. People don’t sing well under this barrel.

Will writing hungry be a powerful motivator or a chilling force? I'll keep you posted.

Now Go Write: Postcard from an Emotion

Tuesday, 10 July 2012 10:11
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What can you do in those infamous fifteen minutes of writing each day (the daily chunk of time I had for writing most of What Can't Wait and The Knife and the Butterfly)? And what if you're not in the middle of a project? I plan to start dishing up some of my favorite writing prompts to entice you to bring writing into your daily life.

At a recent writing group meeting, one of my writing buddies challenged us with the following fabulous prompt cribbed from a session at the Indiana University Writers' Conference. Under the prompt, you'll find  an unedited version of my in-session work (WARNING: dubious merit).

PROMPT: Write a postcard from an emotion (as in, the emotion is your current location, where you're writing from).

CONSTRAINTS*: (1) Refer to something that you've brought with you. (2) Include one action with a muscular, surprising verb. (3) Ask a question. (4) Use a phrase like "I always believed," "they say," "all along," "we should have," or "I think you would," (5) evoke a palpable landscape.  BONUS POINTS: use a surprising adjective/noun combination (my favorite from writing group: "deadfly words").

* A quick note about constraints: for me, writing prompts like these with fairly detailed requirements are the best. Weirdly, the more constraints, the more creative I feel. The flattest exercise prose seems to come from prompts that are too open.

STOP! NOW GO WRITE!

My humble attempt at a postcard from an emotion:

Postcard from Expectation

You were right, it's all queues and waiting rooms here. I haven't made it through a single attraction entrance or into any of the offices that ring the many reception rooms. Traffic doesn't move at all; the drivers lose themselves in anticipatory loops. They wait for red, they wait for green, they wait for yellow. It's not like you'd think, though, no snarky comments or shoving in line, no fingers tapping out their impatience on waiting room armrests, no young mothers huffing angrily into their bangs.

I'm writing to you from a pale green room, crowded but not overfull. From what I can tell, nobody here worries if their name will be called or when. A man with a bottlebrush mustache pats his belly lovingly. A little girl mimes the unwrapping of a candy bar, a granny with spotted hands winds yarn around her finger. Can they all be so sure that what they await is behind one of these doors?

I haven't caught it yet, whatever they have, but it's in the air like humidity, throat-tightening and tugging at the corners of the mouth. The place is lousy with Mona Lisa smiles, but I try not to mind. 

I think you would know how to handle yourself here. Why don't you give those narrow, dusty streets of Despair a rest and join me for a while? Bring your open hands; that's all you need.

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