What I Learned About Writing From

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

For those of you who may not have heard of NaNoWriMo, it is a writing event that takes place during the month of November. Participants sign up to write a "novel" in one month. The goal is complete 50,000 words in 30 days. Don't worry about doing the math--it comes out 1,666.6666 words a day. Now 50,000 words isn't quite a novel, but it's a great start.

The writer should be starting a new manuscript. Some preliminary work, such as character sketches and plot outlines are allowed. Then on November 1st, the writing begins.

I've participated three times, and learned some great lessons.

1) If at first you don't succeed . . .

My first time attempting NaNoWriMo, I failed. Epic fail. Life reared its head, and I didn't start until 5 days in. Then I froze. My total word count for the month was about 1,500 words.

The following year, I made it to 25,000 words. Better, but not the goal. Still, it was 25,000 more words than I had at the beginning of the month.

On my third try, I made my 50,000 words and a bit more. So satisfying.

Sticking with it paid off.

2) Writing every day is a great habit to have.

Once I got in the groove and writing every day became the norm, it was much easier to maintain. I got to a point of missing it if I skipped a day.

3) It doesn't have to be great writing.

Putting out a predetermined number of words a day means only that you write that number of words, it doesn't mean that the result is brilliant. And that's okay. Especially in a first draft.

Occasionally, though, there are flashes. Because when you're writing every day, in the groove, your brain works on the story even when you're not writing. So you don't have that boot up time. You sit down and start. And sometimes you surprise yourself.

4) They're more like guidelines really.

The rules say that you will start a brand spanking new project. But what if you have a work in progress? Will the NaNo Police come and wipe out your manuscript?

They didn't take mine away.

See, I had a WIP that was halfway there. I didn't want to abandon it to start the next manuscript. So I finished the WIP during the second week then started the next one. The world didn't end. I finished my first manuscript, and got a great start on the second.

It's your project. Make it work for you.

I highly recommend trying NaNoWriMo. If you've tried before, and didn't make it to 50,000, try again. Maybe make your personal goal to get 1,000 more words than you did the first time. I think you'll be glad you did.

What I Learned About Writing From

Top Chef

In the original version of this television series, a group of working chefs compete for $100,000 to start a restaurant. The challenges vary, sometimes making them team up. Other times they compete individually. There have also been a few season of Top Chef Masters, involving celebrity chefs. This week is the finale of the first Top Chef All-Stars. These chefs are those who made it to the final rounds of their season, but didn’t win.

1)      Do your research ahead of time

As with all of these skill-based reality shows, the contestants are not allowed to use the equivalent of notes—no recipes on Top Chef, no patterns on Project Runway, etc. So the chefs have to know their stuff ahead of time.

It’s been surprising that so many don’t bother to learn what others consider “the basics.” Pastry seems to trip them up time and again. If you’re going to the final and it’s held in Singapore, perhaps you might want to familiarize yourself with some local cooking methods. 

I love doing research. Time slips away as I look up locations on the Internet. I have wasted a lot of time mid-project trying to find the perfect Italian surname for a character or a particular detail about how a locksmith might try to pick a lock. 

While I can’t foresee every thing I might need to know to write a particular book, I’ve learned to anticipate as much as possible, and do the work ahead of time. Time slips away as I look up locations on the Internet, as does money when I order several books on the same general topic.  But it’s better to use that time before I sit down to right.

How much research do you like to do for a project? When do you research?

2.      Don’t make gnocchi unless you’ve done it—successfully—a million times before

For whatever reason, the chefs love to make gnocchi to try to impress the judges. [Gnocchi is a kind of potato dumpling, but can be made with other starchy items, like pumpkin.]  So many have gone home because of over- or under-cooked gnocchi that I’ve lost count. You can see the doubt on the judges faces when a plate of the stuff is set in front of them.

The ones who do pull it off, however, will win whatever challenge they are in. Because it is so hard to make a good gnocchi, the judges reward those who actually can do it.

Take whatever unusual writing style or format or voice or point of view you can think of and substitute it for “gnocchi.” If you want to write in multiple points of view or use first person past perfect or write the story backwards, please make sure you can and have done it successfully before you send it off. And don’t just take the word of your best friend or mother.

Doing something different and difficult can be a way to make your story stand out.  But, please, make sure it’s in a good way. Are your critique group members taking big steaming forkfuls or are they pushing it around on the plate?

3.      Keep it fresh

“Oh look, Jaime’s making scallops. Again.”

In order to avoid potential gnocchi-style disaster, many of the chefs keep returning to a go-to ingredient or style. The judges notice this. Even if they’re the best damned scallops ever, the question becomes, “Can she cook anything else?”

If you write romance, that doesn’t mean you have to switch to horror. But if your heroine is always a raven-haired peasant girl and your hero is always a tawny-maned noble, perhaps it’s time to shake things up. Can you change the settings? The status of the characters? Maybe the time-frame.

A friend of mine writes mysteries, and she realized she was relying on strangling as the means of murder in both of her series. So now she’s shaking it up.

One of my critique group mentioned that all of my heroines have dark-blonde hair. Oops. 

How could you freshen up your stories without having to resort to trying gnocchi?

4.      The better the chef, the less back-stabbing takes place

Many of the chefs are known for trying to trip up other contestants. If allowed to pick a protein first, they’ll pick a favorite of someone else so that chef can’t use it. They’ll taste another’s dish and not say that it’s under-seasoned. Or they’ll try to get into someone else’s head and make her doubt what she’s cooking.

Top Chef Masters, however, was a revelation. They shared ingredients and tools, gave real feedback on dishes and rooted for each other. The final four drew names and had to shop for that other chef. Whatever ingredients were purchased had to be used in a dish that would get one of them eliminated. What did they do? Every one of the four bought items they knew the other chef liked to use. “It’s not a real win if I’m not competing against his best,” one of the chefs said.

This is one of the reasons I enjoy hanging out with other writers. For the most part, we encourage and support each other. That doesn’t happen very often elsewhere.

But I have seen those few writers who relish tearing down others. The critiques that, at first glance, seem to be trying to be helpful, but that simply undermine the writer’s confidence. The offhand remark about a character trait or plotline that cuts to the heart of someone who has put their work out there for the first time.

What’s your experience with other writers been? Are Masters or line cooks? How about you? Do your do your best to encourage while critiquing?

I don’t know that I always succeed, but I do try to emulate the Masters.

What I Learned About Writing From

Joss Whedon

If you don’t recognize the name, you will probably recognize his work.  Joss is the creative force behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Doll House, Dr. Horrible’s Singalong Blog and Firefly.  After that list, I may not have to say anything else.

But I will.

1)      Write strong characters

And I don’t just mean physically strong, although Joss does tend to like his characters to have some sort of physical strength.  Even the characters who don’t have a particular physical prowess have other strengths—intelligence, humor, tenacity, sympathy, healing, teaching.

Every protagonist in the Whedonverse is surrounded by a group of friends, or colleagues, or crew.  Each one of these supporting characters serves a solid purpose within the group.  Take any one away, and the group suffers.

I’m not there yet with my cast of characters.  But I’m trying.  Reruns of his shows help.

2)      Be original

Yes, there was a Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie before the series.  Joss Whedon was the writer, but not the director or producer.  The movie didn’t quite live up to what he had in mind, so he penned the series. 

Let’s look at a few of Joss’ creations:

--A teenage girl with superhuman strength, born to kill vampires and demons.

--A vampire who was cursed with a soul by gypsies.

--A girl whose mind is wiped clean and replaced with memories and personalities of another person

--A spaceship captain with criminal tendencies who ends up saving people

--A wannabe mad scientist who really just wants to get the girl (set to music)

One of these creations would be a coup for me, but Joss just keeps churning them out.  One great character after another.

3)      Well-placed humor can both relieve and heighten tension

Joss Whedon’s shows are full of action and suspense.  And humor.  Quirky, often unexpected humor.  Smart humor.  Things like "If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock"

Then there are the quips mid-action.  After watching a few of the shows, the viewer realizes that a character who cracks a joke during a fight may just be the next victim. 

Do you use humor in your writing?  Is it used to relieve tension?  Build it? 

4)      Sometimes it’s okay if your protagonist isn’t very likeable

Buffy is a teenager.  A teenager with a huge responsibility.  Occasionally she gets a bit cranky.  Especially when her vampire boyfriend gets all evil and stuff.   Or if she’s trying to protect someone who won’t listen to her.

Angel can switch to the evil Angelus at time.  Even with friends all around him, he keeps secrets.  Secrets that can be dangerous to those friends.

Captain Mal is often sharp-tongued, saying mean hurtful things to his crew.

Yet, we love these characters, because they are flawed.  They work all the time to be better, do better.  But they aren’t perfect, and never will be.  Just like us.  

Are your characters too perfect?  What unexpected flaw could you give them?

What I Learned About Writing From

The Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries by Charlaine Harris and True Blood, based on the books

1)      Give your protagonist a problem

Sookie is telepathic.  She hears everyone’s thoughts.  Almost all the time.  Which makes dating difficult since she knows exactly what her date is thinking about her, as well as all of his expectations.  Her gift has caused her to be labeled a freak in her small home town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. 

Groovy problem, right?  And it’s not her only one.  She needs her waitress job at the bar in order to help make ends meet at home, where she lives with her grandmother.  Her parents died in a car accident when she was little.  And her older brother’s a bit of a screw-up.

I’ve said it before, but my critique group always tells me that I’m too nice to my characters.  Well, Charlaine Harris has no problem beating up—sometimes quite literally—on her characters.  Especially Sookie.

2)      The bad guys should be dangerous

In the world of this series, vampires have recently come “out of the coffin.”  The reason?  A synthetic blood substitute, Tru Blood, developed by the Japanese means they no longer need to feed on humans. 

The problem is that Tru Blood isn’t exactly like human blood, so a lot of vampires aren’t about to make the switch.  And even if they are off the real thing, they are still incredibly strong and fast.  Some can fly.

Even when the bad guy isn’t a vampire, he (or she) is still a huge threatening presence.  Bon Temps has any number of really bad characters just waiting to do harm to our protagonist.  In addition to the vamps, there are werewolves, weretigers, werepanthers (you get the idea), evil fairies, ancient goddesses, religious fanatics, witches and just plain nasty human beings.

Wimpy bad guys don’t cut it, but I don’t want to make my antagonists look cartoonishly bad.  I don’t want a mustache-twirling Snidely Whiplash.  So how to find that happy medium between not-bad-at-all and over-the-top-evil? 

I once read that the perfect antagonist is the mirror opposite of your protagonist.  Think Harry Potter and Voldemort, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker, Krystle and Alexis Carrington.

3)      Too many characters CAN be a problem.

I tend to like a fairly large cast of characters.  Maybe it’s because I’m from a large family.  Or it could be from reading a lot of Dickens as a kid.  Whatever the reason, I don’t get confused by a lot of characters in a book.

However…along about book six or seven in the series, Harris had populated Bon Temps and the surrounding area with more than a dozen named vampires, half a dozen or more important werewolves, at least three fairies, a handful of witches, a shapeshifter, a few weretigers, a whole town full of werepanthers, and about twenty humans. 

Even that wouldn’t have been too bad, except that she tried to fit everyone in for at least a mention.  The main storyline became diluted because of this. 

Early in the next book, Harris started eliminating some of the characters, not all of them violently.  It made for a tighter story.

I’m still working on making sure that all the characters in my books have good reasons for being there.   

4)      First person narrative has pros and cons

By sticking with Sookie, we get to know her.  She’s our window into Bon Temps.  We tend to feel about the other characters as she does.  She becomes us, or we become her. 

The flip side is that we can’t experience anything without Sookie.  The latest book, Dead in the Family, suffers because of this.  Vampire Eric is visited by his maker and a new “brother.”  A lot of really interesting stuff happens between the trio—off stage.  We learn about it just as Sookie does, while the story it told to her.  It loses a lot of the impact that actually being there would have given us.

I’ve used both first and third person narrative.  I’m not always clear why I’ve picked one over the other.  But I think it’s time to take a really good look at the story I want to tell before I make that decision.

5)      You need to let go when you sell the movie/television rights

About midway through each season of True Blood, the television series based on the Sookie Stackhouse books, my friend Jenny asks me what’s going to happen.  Even though I’ve read all the books, I have no idea at this point.  The first season stayed somewhat true to the main plot of Dead Until Dark, but there were lots of people and situations in the television version that weren’t in the book.  And the last episode veered in a very surprising way from the book.

Charlaine Harris is always positive about the series in the interviews I’ve read.  She acknowledges that television is a different medium from books and, therefore, requires a different take on storytelling.  Good for her.

I’ve also read interviews with authors who blast any adaptation of their work.  It tends to leave a bad taste in the mouth of this reader.  Yes, the story is your baby.  Yes, you came up with the idea in the first place.  Yes, the studio/director/producer/network must have liked what you wrote if they wanted to adapt it.  However, you sold the rights.  Period.

The lesson here?  Should I be lucky enough to pen something that someone wants to adapt, I had better consider how much it would bother me to have my baby undergo extensive cosmetic surgery.  Would the money being offered be enough for me to keep my mouth shut about any changes?  Could I smile and nod about the movie/television show/play while thinking about my bank account?

Could you?

And Another Thing I Learned About Writing

from The Da Vinci Code.

6)      People love conspiracy theories

From the assassination of a JFK to Roswell to 9/11 to Free Mason’s to whatever, there are always those who will question the “official version” of major events.  Sometimes these people are right and they expose a lie—think Watergate.  Sometimes they’re just crackpots. Sometimes we’ll never know  one way or the other.

Dan Brown uses questions that were already being asked by others—which led to a copyright lawsuit or two.  He uses them, though, in a novel.  This gives him the ability to say, “It’s just fiction.” 

Is the Catholic Church covering up the truth about Jesus Christ?  And what is that truth?   Was he simply a profit who caught the imagination of the masses?   Was he married and a father?  Is there an unbroken line of descendants who are aware of their heritage, but who keep it secret to keep from bringing down Christianity as we know it?  Is there a Priory of Sion, dedicated to protecting the secret of Christ’s bloodline? 

None of those things need to be true.  Just posing the questions raises controversy.  And controversy begets debate, or the modern day equivalent of debate—shouting at the top of one’s lungs.  Once that starts, interest is piqued and an increase in sales can follow.

I’m not proposing that everyone should make use of conspiracy theories in their books.  Nor that all books need to spark controversy.  But there should be something about them of interest to readers—even a niche market.  There should be something about the book that people love.

When I start writing, I don’t worry about who my market is.  That would paralyze me.   But as it’s nearing the final edits (maybe Draft 4 or 5), I will begin to think about who might want to read this particular book. 

What about your book will people love?  Is it funny?  Heart-warming?  Scary?  Romantic?  Thrilling?  Some combination? 

What I Learned About Writing From

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

I know that it’s almost required for writers to disparage Dan Brown.  Just some of the complaints about his writing are awkward sentence structure, telling instead of showing, playing fast and loose with history, physics, etc.  Yeah, maybe.  But we all know that many well-respected authors break the rules.  So what is it that bugs so many of us so much about Dan Brown?

Could it be his overwhelming success?  Probably not for everyone but, if we’re honest, for a lot of us.  Here we are slogging along, playing by all the rules and this guy sells a gazillion flawed books.

But a wise former agent, Nathan Bransford, said it best in one of his blog posts.  Writers who don’t take the opportunity to learn from financially successful books—even those they dislike—are doing themselves a disservice.  What follows is what I’ve learned about writing from The Da Vinci Code.

1)       Find a cool occupation for your protagonist

Robert Landon is a symbologist.  That was a new one on me.  But intriguing.  And an occupation I wish I’d known about before I registered for college.  To make a living out of studying and interpreting symbols?  How cool would that be?

Sometimes it seems that writers only find a handful of occupations worth writing about.  Medical and legal professionals are everywhere (try watching television for one evening without running into one, the other or both).  Teachers show up a lot, as do cops and private investigators (who could fall into the Legal category).  Then there are the stories about people in the entertainment industry—agents, artists, actors, writers etc.  Lots of stories about writers. 

While Langdon turns out to be employed as a college professor (teacher) and acts as a hyper-educated detective, it is the way he interprets symbols, both common and arcane, that propels the story forward.

I will be more likely to think twice before going with one of the overused professions for my protagonists in the future.  Does she have to be a medical doctor or could she be sociologist or a telemarketer? 

2)      Make the protagonist’s goal interesting

What could be more interesting than a search for the Holy Grail?  Langdon has to figure out not only where the Grail is hidden, but what exactly it is.  Is it a cup?  Was it used by Christ at the last supper or did it collect his blood at the crucifixion, or both?  Is it a person?  Could it be a descendant of Christ?  If it is, what would that mean for Christianity? 

One of my issues with my writing has been creating a well-defined tangible goal for my protagonist.  I won’t have anyone searching for the Holy Grail, but she needs to be after something that is every bit as important, if only to her.

3)      Keep the action moving forward

One of the reasons this book was on the best seller lists for so long is that it’s a page turner.  The reader wants to know what happens next.  Even when Landon and Sophie stop to analyze the clues or get information from another character, there is action in the background.  We know that Bezu Fache and Silas are hot on their heels.  Will our heroes figure it out in time?  Or will the bad guys catch up?  And when they do catch up, how will Langdon get away? 

Brown makes the figuring out interesting too.  This is where a lot of the “telling” comes in as Langdon explains what the symbols mean and why he’s interpreting them in the way he is.  But it’s interesting telling.  Do we really need a flashback to the 13^th Century so he can show us?  Nah. 

Isn’t this what every writer aspires to?  We all want readers to be unable to put our books down, to have to read “just one more chapter” to find out what happens next. 

Even though I don’t write thrillers, I am trying to find ways to keep the reader wanting to see what’s next.  How do I up the stakes, heighten the tension, increase the conflict?

4)       Use interesting settings

The action starts in Paris.  Not just Paris, but the Louvre.   Langdon travels through France, London and Scotland.  We see the Louvre, Westminster Abbey and Roslyn Chapel in detail through Langdon’s eyes—a symbologist’s eyes. 

Would moving my characters around heighten the tension?  Would adding a famous landmark bring something different to the story?  I’m sure this idea wouldn’t work for every story, but it’s worth considering.  Remember, a rainy little town named Forks caught a lot of readers’ attentions without any landmarks at all.

5)       Make the antagonist a worthy opponent to the protagonist

“The Teacher” is every bit as smart as Langdon.  He’s devious, and he’s willing to kill to get what he wants.  That final trait is one that Langdon doesn’t appear to share.  It may make him a more likable good guy, but it puts him at a decided disadvantage.

The henchmen working for/with The Teacher are well drawn, too.  Especially Silas.   He’s an albino monk, strong physically.  He has absolute faith in God and The Teacher.  He also practices corporeal mortification or self-inflicted punishment.  So many things going on with Silas that he almost takes over the story.

I tend to be too nice to my protagonists.  And part of that is not making the antagonist enough of a threat.  By keeping antagonists like The Teacher in mind, I should be able to come up a worthy bad guy.

Whatever your opinion of The Da Vinci Code or Dan Brown, you can’t deny that a lot of people loved the book—and the movie that followed.  It’s hard to argue that all of the 80 million buyers are just stupid.  I know plenty of intelligent folks who enjoyed the book—heck, I couldn’t put the thing down even with the flaws I saw in it. 

The next time you encounter a best-seller that you feel “sucks,” keep reading.  And try to identify what made so many people enjoy it.  You just might be doing yourself a favor.

What I Learned About Writing From

Pikes Peak Writers Conference

If you’re not familiar with the Pikes Peak Writers Conference (PPWC), let me give you the broad strokes. Pikes Peak Writers Conference has been held at the end of April in Colorado Springs, Colorado, since 1993. It was named one of the top ten writers conferences in the United States by Writers Digest Magazine. The conference is run by Pikes Peak Writers, a group of dedicated volunteers.


When I first attend, at the tenth anniversary conference, it consisted of two days of workshops and pitch appointments with either an agent or an editor. Friday afternoon, one could walk into a “read and critique” session and listen to a writer read a few pages and receive immediate feedback from an agent, editor or published author.

The conference has expanded to include workshops on Friday as well. And attendees may sign up for Thursday intensive workshops.

Following is a list of things I learned by attending several PPWCs over the years.


1) There are lots of other people out there like you.

I wrote a lot when I was in junior high and high school. Then “real life” interrupted that. I had gotten back into writing a couple years before my first PPWC. I joined a local writing group just a few months before the conference. So, I knew there were at least a dozen people in Colorado Springs who wrote.

Then I walked into the Marriott Hotel on the April Friday afternoon. There were writers everywhere—checking in, wandering the halls (some looking as dazed as I felt), sitting at the bar, and bravely reading their writing in front of an agent and a room full of people. Suddenly I became part of a much larger subculture. If I was crazy to be doing this, at least there were others as crazy as, if not more so, than I.


2) Writers can be incredibly generous with each other

Many of the faculty are authors—well-known and not so much—who shared their experiences and insights. They took the time to put together hour-long presentations and handouts to help other writers avoid some of the pitfalls the presenter had encountered.

The faculty were not the only generous authors. There were the strangers who invited me to sit with them at meals. The people who let me join in their conversations in the lobby between sessions and after the days events ended.

I left each night—I didn’t stay at the hotel that first year—feeling energized and knowing that I just might be able to do this thing.


3) No matter how much you know, there’s more to learn.

I love doing research. When I decided it was time to start writing again—seriously, I subscribed to Writers Digest and invested in a bunch of writing books. I read about plot, characterization, conflict, motivation, themes, dialogue. You name it, I had a book about it.

Even then, I felt there was probably a lot to learn from the workshops at my first PPWC. Sure enough, I absorbed a lot that weekend. There was a workshop on writing good query letters. Another on writing screenplays based on a two-hour movie broken into ten minute blocks.

By my third and fourth conferences, I was feeling pretty dang knowledgeable about the writing life. After all, I had a couple different first drafts under my belt. Even more books and magazines read. What else could there be to learn?

Well, how about developing a “bible” to manage a series. This is a notebook that contains information the author needs to keep track of. A map of the location, descriptions of characters, major events. Or how about the way real S.W.A.T. teams or canine units operate?

Every PPWC has taught me something new. They’ve also reminded me of things I might have once known, but forgot.


4) Be prepared.

I first learned that when I joined the Brownies in first grade. Who knew that it would help me at a writers conference mumble, mumble years later?

It took a year or two before I signed up for a Read and Critique session. A room full of strangers would be listening. A room full of strangers plus an agent. A big name agent. A big name agent from a prestigious agency.

Started a month or so before the conference, I polished and re-polished what I would be reading. I read aloud and timed myself. Then friends from my critique group helped by listening and offering advice. I was told accentuate certain phrases. Raise my voice here, lower it there. And remember to breathe.

When I started to read at PPWC, my hands shook the pages and my face went hot. But I was ready. My copy of the pages were in large print and marked up. “Hit this.” “Softer here.”

At the end of the reading I braced for the horrible feedback. But it didn’t come. She liked me. She really, really like me. I mean, she liked my writing.  And that felt great.  Even though she did not ask me to send her pages.  I wouldn't have been ready for that anyway.


5) When they say finished work, listen.

Agent/Editor pitch sessions are limited. Writers are cautioned to only sign up for a pitch session when they have a finished work. “Finished” does not mean a first draft. It certainly doesn’t mean a kinda cool idea for a book. It doesn’t even mean a good second draft.

A finished work is a manuscript that has been written and rewritten, probably several times. Eyes other than the writer’s have read it and offered feedback. Eyes that belong to people who are writers themselves. Or at least people who truly know about writing.

I decided that I’d pitch a book that was still mostly in the idea stage at my second PPWC. I figured it would be good practice for when it was finished because, of course, I didn’t think anyone would say they wanted to see it.

But he did ask for the first 100 pages. I didn’t have 30 pages. Did I rush home and knock out the rest of the book, polish it up and send the requested pages? No. Instead I froze up. I didn’t write much of anything for months.

Not everyone will have that reaction. But even if you run home and finish the manuscript, it will not be your best work. And if you don’t submit your best work, you won’t get very far. That means you’ll have wasted the agent’s time and, possibly, prevented a writer who was ready from getting one of the precious time slots.


Take a look at the PPWC brochure for 2011.  You can find it here at http://www.pikespeakwriters.com/html/brochure.html  It could just be the boost your writing needs.

And Another Thing

I learned about writing from Project Runway is


5)  Listen to your Tim Gunns.

People who regularly read my blog have heard this before from me, but it bears repeating.


Tim Gunn is the Chief Creative Officer for Liz Claiborne.  He also acts as a mentor for the designers on Project Runway.  He hands explains the challenges, accompanies the group to Mood Fabrics to buy supplies and advises them during the creative process.

Anyone who watches the show is familiar with Gunn's trademark stance of arms crossed, hand next to mouth followed by "I'm concerned."  Smart designers know to take a good look at what they are doing.  Especially if he is more specific.  "Do you think that's a little matronly?" was a frequent question last year.  The contestants asked that the most went home fairly early.

Sometimes it's a minor adjustment.  Others it takes starting over.  Not everyone listens to Mr. Gunn's suggestions.  The last strategy has worked on rare occasions.  Usually, the critiques of the judges echo what the mentor already said.

Do you listen to the Tim Gunn's in your life?  When your critique group makes suggestions, do you really listen?  Are you lucky enough to have a mentor who has "made it" in some capacity in the business?  A friend who is a published author?  An agent?  An editor?

I'm slowly learning how to take the advice my Tim Gunns give and "make it work"* for me.

*The parting advice Tim Gunn usually gives as he leaves the workroom.

What I Learned About Writing From

Project Runway


I know.  I know.  It's not even about writing.  It's a reality show about fashion design.  I warned you in the first post that I'd be taking inspiration from lots of different places. 

The big thing is that it's about creating something.  Creating something that will help you achieve your dream.  I think that fits.

1)  Work to your strengths

Every week the contestants are given different challenges--make a prom dress to a sixteen-year-old's specifications, design an outfit using only items you can find at a hardware store, dress a drag queen or design the best resort outfit you can.  No matter how far out the challenge, the outcome is supposed to be a garment that could be sent down a fashion runway.

The designers who do well are those who know their strengths and weaknesses, and work to their strengths.  Especially on the wackier challenges. 

We all want to do it all well.  But let's face it, we all have something that stands out about our writing.  Why not play that up?  Yes, I work on strengthening my plotting, but I don't forget about character building and dialogue.


2)  But that doesn't mean you can't stretch

"I don't do menswear."  Or gowns, or resort wear, or whatever.  That doesn't cut it on the runway.  When you're given a challenge, you either perform or go home.

As writers, we're lucky.  We can write whatever we want.  No one is standing over us demanding, "Write a steampunk romance set in the old West."  At least, not once we get out of school.  But it certainly doesn't hurt to stretch ourselves a bit.

Can I add a little more humor to your stories?  More romance, mystery?  I've tried using a setting that I have to research, that I'm not familiar with.  I've found that I enjoy it.


3)  Don't repeat yourself

Too often, good designers get stuck.  The judges all loved the dress with the intricately folded fabric detail.  Then the next week the designer sends out a jacket with folded fabric, then slacks, etc.  It gets old fast.

We've all seen it happen with books.  Series can be especially susceptible.  I know I revisit certain themes, but I really try to beware of characters and situations becoming cookie cutter.


4)  You are responsible for your own work

As with most reality shows, there is a confessional type camera that films each individual talking behind the scenes.  Gloating, backstabbing or whining. 

Last season, one of the contestants complained to the camera.  "How do I get the judges to appreciate my brilliant designs?" 

Can you find the problem in that question?  She put all the responsibility on the judges.  What she should have asked was, "How can I improve my designs so I can impress the judges?". 

It's hard to accept criticism.  To hear that maybe we're lacking.  Much easier to blame the critic.  They just don't get it.  I'm trying very hard to listen to critics, really listen and determine how I can take that criticism and improve.

Looking Back

Yes, I'm blatantly copying Jenny.  But it's that time of year. 

How did 2010 measure up?

All in all, pretty well.  Not if I look at total words written.  That number is way down for the year.  I did get MMG one revision closer to being ready to submit, though. 

I think I accomplished something better than a lot of words.  Or at least as good as.  I finally realized what works and what doesn't for me when it comes to feedback on my writing.  And I managed to articulate that to my critique group.  The thing that still makes me smile is that they immediately got it.  A couple other members also spoke up at that point to say what is and isn't working for them. 

I read a lot of books this year.  Just look at the list on the right.  And I learned so much from having read them.  As I do with just about every book I read.  Not just about writing either, but that sure helps.

PPW asked me to do a regular blog post for them.  It's my What I Learned About Writing series.  I publish here first, then PPW picks it up.  Pretty shiny.

My first blog post on Red Room was picked up as a featured blog.  I supposed to get a bunch of books, but haven't seen any yet.  Not like I don't have enough to read.

I took a banjo class and am still practicing regularly.  Performed three dance numbers and a couple "specialties" with my dance class as the Pikes Peak Center--and loved it.  Took an additional tap class over the summer that really helped with technique. 

A pretty dang good year. 

And Another Thing

I learned about writing from Room.

4.  Inspiration only gets you so far.

Emma Donoghue has said that Josef Fritzl case was the original inspiration for the book.  He is the man who imprisoned his own daughter in the basement as a sex slave.

Now I would understand how a crime writer would use a case like that for inspiration, as a psychological thriller, a case study of the man.

But Donoghue turned this inspiration on it's head and, of course, changed it.  It is not the woman's father who abducts her.  It's not a crime story.  It is a psychological study, but of the boy and his mother.

Her website explains the extensive research it took to get everything right.  Some of that research was, as you can imagine, harrowing.  Then there was the mundane, like looking at decorating sites to get the room just right.

I'm going to look at headlines a bit differently from now on.  Instead of dismissing certain stories with "that wouldn't fit my genre," I'll look at how it could if I took it from a new angle.  This could open up a whole new world for my writing.

How about you?  Where do you find inspiration?  How much research do you do for each book?

What I Learned About Writing From

Room by Emma Donoghue.

Since the book is showing up on so many Best of 2010 lists, including my own, it seems like a good time to talk about what I learned from it.

First, the blurb:  Jack has lived his entire five years in an eleven foot by eleven foot room with Ma.  Ma has been there for seven years, ever since she was abducted and imprisoned there.  On his fifth birthday, Jack starts asking questions, and learns about "Outside." 

The book is told in first person from Jack's point of view.

1. Kids can be resilient, which some writers forget.

Yes, Jack has been a prisoner his whole life.  BUT it's the only life he's known.  And Ma makes that life as pleasant as she can.  They exercise, read, play games, watch TV--but no too much, dance and laugh.  Jack loves Room and his life there.  The only exception is Old Nick, who sometimes visits at night, while Jack is supposed to be asleep in Closet.

I think, too often, when we write about people in dire situations, the tendency is to write them as always down and depressed.  People often rise above their situations.  Most of us have experienced a time when everything has gone wrong, and everyone involved ends up laughing.  Not after the fact, but during it.  Adding a scene like that can make the story seem more true to life.

2.  Anticipate the readers' questions/realizations

It seemed that every time I had a question about why Ma was doing what she was or wondered what would happen if . . . , Donoghue let me wonder just long enough and then answered the question or set that event I wondered about in motion.  That makes for a satisfying read.

I've been in group critique situations where people wrote things like "Where is this?  When is it happening? Who is Jack?  What does he want?" on the very first paragraph of the story.  Maybe I needed to attach what I thought the back of book copy would say.  But critiques like that lead the writer to want to dump all the back story in the first chapter. 

Resist this.  If I know everything I need to know on the first page, why should I read the next 250?

3.  Staying in character is key.

Donoghue does slip a few times--at least I thought so--especially toward the end of the book.  Jack's narration seemed too emotionally and relationally savvy for a character with his history.  Jack can do math and read better than most third graders.  So there are times he sounds older than five, but that is with good reason. 

I'm working on a novel with an eleven-year-old boy as the narrator.  Not an easy task.  Donoghue has set the bar pretty high for writing a realistic child of the opposite sex.  I will do my best to write up to her level.


I highly recommend Room to all writers.  It's not always an easy read emotionally, but it is a quick one.  The pages just kept turning, because I wanted to know what would happen to Jack and Ma next.  I think you'll want to know, too.

And Another Thing. . .

I learned about writing from my critique group.

5. Listen to all the feedback.

Even if you disagree. Violently.

This can be a hard one--it is for me. But even if you don't agree with the feedback, you should listen. Because something didn't work for that person. It may be a style thing, which you don't want to change. But the thing is, what they may have given as the reason in the critique may not be the real cause of their discontent with your story.

I'm not saying that anyone is lying to you or purposely obfuscating. But sometimes a piece of a story doesn't gel for us, and we can't quite say why. So we might look at the things we can identify: sentence structure, pronouns, adverbs--anything to try and help the author.

So do yourself a favor and try to figure out what really went wrong. Remember that one reader in your group represents a lot more potential readers for your finished work. Do you really want to lose that many people for something that you could have fixed, without giving up your personal style?

What I Learned About Writing From

Critique Groups

I have been a member of two different critique groups over the past 10 years. Which, I hear, makes me pretty lucky. Some writers bounce around a lot more than that. I met all the members of my current group, Creek Writers Council, at the first one, Colorado Springs Fiction Writers Group. Many lessons were picked up along the way. Here are some of them.

1. If you have to explain it . . .

I've been on both sides of this one. A reader will say, "I don't understand how George went from standing on a hill in Italy to hanging from a flagpole in Quebec." Once the writer starts explaining that, "Well, you see, he boarded a blimp in Tuscany, then he flew to Madrid where he hopped a train for Calais . . ." Yeah. But if it's not on the page, the reader doesn't know this. And you, as the writer, don't get to sit down with every reader to explain that. At least you hope not.

My friend, Jenny, calls it "getting it on the page." What I see left off the page most often is setting. Where am I? What's it like there? How's the weather? All things that the writer has in his head when he's writing, but that he needs to show me as the reader.

I'm trying my best right now to overwrite my submissions. Most of my critique group find it easier to show where to cut than trying to figure out what was left out.

2. Don't assume everyone knows what you do.

I stand by my previous lesson of "Don't underestimate the intelligence of your readers." However, not everyone has the same specialized knowledge. And the terms from that specialized area may not be easy to decode for someone not in the club.

Dancers, musicians, computer programmers, accountants, teachers, doctors, etc. all use terms that people outside of those realms may or may not know. Or it may mean something different to other specialties. A paradiddle in dance sounds like a paradiddle in drumming, but one is executed with the feet and the other with the hands.

This is a hard one, because once you learn something, it can be hard to remember that you didn't always know it. This is where critique groups from diverse backgrounds are essential.

3. No two people read exactly alike.

Everyone approaches submissions in his own way. Some read straight through the first time, then go back and dissect. Some mark as they go and only read once. And each person has his own focus for critiques.

I've seen puns be a pet peeve for one reader and a delight for another. Some will add a comma to your sentence and others are just as likely to mark one out. I once had a woman tell me that I had a male character describe a room as only a woman would. The scene didn't bother the man in our group at all.

All of this can be really frustrating. But it is good practice for when your work goes out into the wider world. Get used to people misreading your work, your intention.

I'm learning to weed through the feedback so I can determine what to act on and what to leave as is. Notice I didn't say "ignore." I do listen to and read all feedback. I just don't always agree with all of it.

4. It's your work.

That's the biggest lesson from working with critique groups. Your work has to reflect you. Your voice. Your story. Your style.

We recently shook up how we run our critique group, because the original format was no longer worker for some of us. It's not that it was wrong, just that we are at a different place in our writing. The strength of the group was tested and held. We discussed the issues and made a change that everyone could work with.

I've learned that I need to speak up when something isn't working. Because of Lesson #3. It's my work, and I'm the one who needs to take responsibility for making the best it can be. With the help of my friends.

What I Learned About Writing From

The Sandman Comics


I know. I know. There are those of you who are screaming, “Graphic Novels!” If the author of “The Sandman” series, Neil Gaiman, refers to them as comic books, who am I to quibble?

Neil Gaiman has been one of my favorite authors for a while now. I’ve read his novels, children’s books, YA books and short story collections. But I avoided the comic book collections. My experience with comics was limited to “Archie and Jughead,” “Little Lulu” and “Casper.” And those when my age was still in single digits.

Curiosity got the better of me, especially after reading reviews and hearing interviews with Mr. Gaiman about “The Sandman.” I tried to hide the first collection “Preludes and Nocturnes" under a stack of magazines and other books when I bought it at a local bookstore. After all, I was a woman of a certain age buying a comic book. I didn’t want anyone to see. The clerk, however, picked it up and announced, “This is a great series. You’re going to love it.” Red-faced, I snatched the bag from him and left in a hurry.

He was right. The next time I picked up a Sandman book, I didn’t hide it. Not only did I enjoy the series, but I learned a few things about story-telling.

1. How you draw things changes the tone of the story.

Mr. Gaiman collaborated with many different artists over the course of the series. Depending on the style of the drawing, the feel of the story changed. Some were very stylized and the story seemed more sophisticated. In the few that were more whimsically drawn, the stories were lighter in feel even with the same dark subject matter. Although the characters retained the same basic size, shape and coloring, the artistic style of the drawings gave the characters’ personalities a slightly different twist.

The settings changed as well. Again, Dream (our Sandman), lives in The Dreaming. But what we see of his land or other magical realms, or our own world for that matter, effects the story being told. Is the setting dark and shadowy? Or is bright and sunny?

I love a well-defined setting in fiction. I may or may not be successful at drawing my own worlds with words. But I’m working on playing with setting more. What does it do when a happy occasion takes place during a thunderstorm? Can a change in background give a scene more kick?

2. Your protagonist doesn’t have to be a nice guy.

Dream isn’t even technically a guy. He’s one of seven siblings, known collectively as The Endless. At the beginning of the series, Dream has been imprisoned by a wizard. After his escape, he sets about atoning for some of the wrongs he’s committed. However, he’s still often thoughtless, stubborn and cruel. When you’ve existed for billions of years, you get used to doing things a certain way.
It’s in the contrasts between Dream and the other characters—some human, many not—that brings out the brilliance of Gaiman’s universe. Dream is often kinder than those around him, even if it’s by accident. Sometimes helping out can be the worst thing you could do for another person.

Could exploring my characters’ dark sides, especially my “good guys”, make them more well-rounded? How could a well-intentioned action create havoc for another character?

3. Mythology is your friend.

Gaiman uses myth a lot in all of his writing but particularly in “The Sandman.” The Greco-Roman pantheon is present, but so are Egyptian, Norse and Asian gods. I suspect that he also makes up myths—or I’m just not as well-versed, which is a distinct possibility. He uses them head on in the comics. Sometimes with a lesser known name applied to a god and always with his own twist, but still addressing the actual myth as it’s come down the ages.

Writers are often told to go to myths for ideas for their stories. Too often, I think, we just take a myth and set it in the here and now with very little change. And we have a lot of books on the shelves, including “American Gods” by Neil Gaiman, that take the gods and plunk them down in modern times.

Can I come up with a new way to use mythology in my writing? I don’t know. But I’m sure going to try.


I'm sure I'll come back to Neil Gaiman in the future. He's an amazing writer, who I've learned many lessons from.

And Another Thing

that "Lost" did so well.

10. Make every character vulnerable, and not just the Nikkis and Paolos.

Nothing kills suspense in a scene like knowing that a character is bullet-proof. If a series is built around a few core characters, we're pretty sure that those characters are going to survive. Back when the Cartwrights road the range, we weren't all that concerned when Little Joe was shot.

"Lost" shook up that sense of security. Near the end of Season One, a major character is injured and dies. This adds fuel to the rivalry between Jack, the leader who is a man of science, and John, the leader who is a man of faith. It also means that everyone is in jeopardy. Now when one of the group is in harm's way, we get nervous for them.

Throughout the series, other major characters died. Each was wrenching and, I think, each was necessary to move the story forward. A few times newer characters that weren't working out were also killed, but those didn't have the impact of the others.

I'm often told I'm too nice to my characters. Why not? I like these people. But I'm learning to beat up on them for the sake of the story. Will I kill off any of my main characters? Don't know. It would certainly shake things up.

How about you? Have you every killed off a major character? What was the reason?

What I Learned About Writing From

Welcome to a new, regular blog feature. I was asked to contribute a regular blog post to the Pikes Peak Writers blog. They allow reprints so it's okay for me to post here as well. My idea for a fortnightly post is to talk about what writing lessons I take from a variety of sources. It could be a book, movie, television show or something one wouldn't immediately equate with writing. I hope it's fun and informative. We'll see.

The first entry has been percolating since last April. It's What I Learned About Writing From "Lost."


1. It’s a good thing to raise questions from the start.

The opening shot of the series is a close up of a man’s eye. He stares up through a bamboo forest. He’s flat on his back, obviously hurt, and he’s wearing a suit and tie. A yellow Labrador runs by. After the man struggles to his feet, he finds a tiny bottle of vodka in his pocket.

Okay, I’ve got a bunch of questions already. Who is this guy? Why is he in what looks like a jungle? Was that his dog? How’d he get hurt? Why does he have booze in his pocket? Is he an alcoholic? Was he on a plane? Because it looks like what you get on a plane. What’s up the suit and tie in a jungle?

Get the idea? If this had been a book, I’d be punchy from lack of sleep, because I’d be turning pages all night to find out answers to those questions.


2. BUT it’s a good thing to reward your readers with a few answers along the way.

The man hears a loud noise, people calling for help, and he runs toward the sound. When he stumbles onto an expanse of beach, he finds chaos. A crashed jetliner—that’s where the booze is from—and people in a panic, many injured. He takes charge of the situation, performs medical procedures, introduces himself as Jack to someone, and so on. We find out his last name is Shepherd.

Now I have some answers, but I have more questions. Is he a doctor? Is that last name significant? Which of these characters are going to be important? Etc.

The creative minds behind the show—J.J. Abrams, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof—took some heat for raising more and more questions as the series went on without giving any answers—at least as far as many fans were concerned.

This can be a fine line to walk when you have a long story to tell. There should be some surprises later in the story, but it can be dangerous to keep too much too close to the vest. Let the reader in on some of the secrets along the way.

Which leads me to:


3. Know the end before you start.

Abrams and Cuse created a series ‘bible’ at the beginning which outlined the major plot points for an ideal 5-6 season run.

This is a good rule for stand-alone books, although you can always change things as you go. It’s really important for a series so that a character’s eye color doesn’t change or her house doesn’t inexplicable move from one side of town to the other between books 3 and 4. The writer may forget, but the reader won’t.


4. Knowing the end doesn’t always help the middle.

When the show became a bona fide hit, there was the possibility that it could go on for years beyond what Abrams and Darlton (the moniker fans gave Cuse and Lindelof) had dreamed. The middle got bogged down with more possibilities for what was happening on the island and a growing cast of characters.

A problem that’s easier to deal with when writing a book, because we can go back and fix the middle before anyone else gets to see it. Woo hoo! One for us.


5. It’s okay to have a large cast of characters, but you have to handle it right.

For most of it’s run, “Lost” listed around fifteen main characters with another dozen or so supporting players. Focusing on a few key people each episode helped fans keep things straight. That didn’t mean the others weren’t around, but they would fade to a supporting role. It helped the viewer get to know them all.

Introduce characters slowly—something I’m learning—and let each one have their own spotlight. It can be tricky to give each one enough time to complete the scene but not so much that the reader forgets some of the others.

Tread carefully. And—something I’m still struggling with—give each one a distinct personality. If Fred can stand in for Frank, maybe I don’t need Frank.


6. The Nikki/Paolo Rule.

Two new characters were abruptly introduced at the beginning of the third season. That wouldn’t have been unusual—new people showed up every season—except the regulars acted like these two had been around all along. And the couple seemed to add nothing to show. Darlton admitted the pair were brought in to answer the fan question of what the other survivors were up to. Since they were “universally despised” by the fans, they were killed off.

In a book, unless it’s part of a series, you can’t do that in response to reader feedback. So make sure any new additions are there for a good reason. Since I tend to overpopulate my books—one reason I love the previous rule—I am ever vigilant about this one.


7. Trust that your audience/readers are as smart as you are.

“Lost” did this beautifully. The writers never talked down to viewers. They gave characters names, often of philosophers, to help fans figure out what role that character was going to play. Aspects of different religions and mythologies were introduced without explanation. Either you got it or you didn’t. If you didn’t, you could still follow what was happening, but there was an extra layer of fun and meaning if you did.

This is another fine line I have to walk in my own writing. I’m trying to just write whatever reference feels right. If I get a lot of questions from my critique group, then I’ll go back and explain.


8. Playing with timelines can heighten suspense.

Another thing “Lost” did with great success. They used flashbacks from the first to help give background on the characters. But in Season 3 the creators introduced the flash forward. A glimpse of Jack and Kate in the future. Intriguing. What did it mean? Others followed in subsequent episodes.

Then in the final season, there were what Darlton called flash sideways. Was it a parallel timeline or universe? Could it be the future? We didn’t find out until the final episode.

Think about how altering the way you tell your story could up the tension. Does it need to be told in a chronological order, or would mixing it up be better? I have one story that it works with, but another would just be frustrating to the reader. How about multiple POV characters. Play a little with it.


9. Ultimately, you can’t please everyone.

The resolution of the flash sideways was controversial among fans. I loved it. Others? Not so much. The same with the answers to the big questions. And there were those who were disappointed that not every single little question was answered at the end.

This can happen with books as well. Do you spend time tying up every single loose end? Or do you let a few dangle so the reader can come to her own conclusion? I tend to prefer the latter, as long as there aren't too many major questions unanswered.