I've been pretty wishy-washy about my goals lately. But it's felt like I needed that in order to figure out my next steps. Which story to work on. That sort of thing. I've definitely decided to work on MMG, since it's the one that's been in the queue the longest (it hates being called "the oldest").
So, without further ado:
--Finish CWC critique(s) (1/1)
--1,250 words a day on MMG
Okay, maybe a little more ado. Since critiques are now due the 1st Sunday instead of the last Monday, I'm counting the December critique. Which is Jenny's for this month.
Where did 1,250 come from? That's about 5 pages. When things are percolating, I can get 5 pages in about an hour. Doable. AND that should get me to Done about the end of January, which is what I was shooting for. All good.
Easy peasy.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, November 22, 2010
And Another Thing
I learned about writing from Sandman:
4. Break Those Stereotypes
Death is one of Dream's siblings. What is the picture that just popped into your head? A hooded figure? Perhaps skeletal? Definitely male though. Not in Sandman. Death, in Neil Gaiman's universe, is a cute Goth teen. And it works.
Gaiman shakes things up in other ways as well, taking what we think of as fact and flipping it upside down and backwards. In The Sound of Her Wings, my favorite story from Preludes and Nocturnes, Dream is in our world. He is sitting on a park bench, feeding the pigeons, and he sees Death. They discuss humans. Death says, "Mostly they aren't too keen to see me. They fear the sunless lands but they enter your realm each night without fear." Dream replies, "And I am far more terrible than you, my sister."
I've been called out by my critique group on stereotypes and cliches in my work. Never intentional, but that doesn't really matter. one of the things I'm working on is really shaking up expectations with my characters.
What do you think? Can dreams be more terrible than death? Are there ways you can surprise your readers by not living up to their expectations?
4. Break Those Stereotypes
Death is one of Dream's siblings. What is the picture that just popped into your head? A hooded figure? Perhaps skeletal? Definitely male though. Not in Sandman. Death, in Neil Gaiman's universe, is a cute Goth teen. And it works.
Gaiman shakes things up in other ways as well, taking what we think of as fact and flipping it upside down and backwards. In The Sound of Her Wings, my favorite story from Preludes and Nocturnes, Dream is in our world. He is sitting on a park bench, feeding the pigeons, and he sees Death. They discuss humans. Death says, "Mostly they aren't too keen to see me. They fear the sunless lands but they enter your realm each night without fear." Dream replies, "And I am far more terrible than you, my sister."
I've been called out by my critique group on stereotypes and cliches in my work. Never intentional, but that doesn't really matter. one of the things I'm working on is really shaking up expectations with my characters.
What do you think? Can dreams be more terrible than death? Are there ways you can surprise your readers by not living up to their expectations?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Who Am I?
Last night in dance class, the teacher referred to us as dancers. And that immediately set off the little voice in my head. "I'm taking dance classes, but I'm not a dancer," it said.
This is my second year of classes. We are not limited to beginner moves at all. I have performed on stage at the Pike's Peak Center. The same stage that "real" dancers grace all the time. So why don't I think of myself as a dancer?
Most of the writers I know have gone through a similar experience. "I'm working on a book, but I wouldn't exactly call myself a writer." It's a big deal the first time one of says, aloud to another person, "I'm a writer."
Why is it so hard? Where is the line that makes us self-identify as something--writer, dancer, artist, musician, athlete?
Time? Do we feel we have to practice for years before we magically become that which we so obviously already are? I can say I'm a writer without flinching. Not so with dancer or musician. But I've played music most of my life. So it's not just time.
Payment? I've received a sum total of $55.00 for my writing over the last ten years. Not money.
Recognition? I took a couple bows, as part of a group, at the Pikes Peak Center, and a few other students have told me how fast I'm progressing. I had a couple solos on the clarinet back in school, and quite a few atta-girls in banjo class. So it's not the approval of others.
Self-perceived skill level? I think this may be the one for me. Not that I feel I'm all that as a writer, but I have built a certain confidence in my writing. Although I've played music a long time, I'm relatively new to my current instrument, the banjo. I struggle with a couple chords and still do not play fast. I seem to be a pretty quick study in dance, but I'm not confident as a dancer. Again, I struggle with some of the moves, especially the faster ones.
What is the trigger for you? When is it okay for you to identify yourself as [fill in your own blank]? Is it one of these things or something else?
This is my second year of classes. We are not limited to beginner moves at all. I have performed on stage at the Pike's Peak Center. The same stage that "real" dancers grace all the time. So why don't I think of myself as a dancer?
Most of the writers I know have gone through a similar experience. "I'm working on a book, but I wouldn't exactly call myself a writer." It's a big deal the first time one of says, aloud to another person, "I'm a writer."
Why is it so hard? Where is the line that makes us self-identify as something--writer, dancer, artist, musician, athlete?
Time? Do we feel we have to practice for years before we magically become that which we so obviously already are? I can say I'm a writer without flinching. Not so with dancer or musician. But I've played music most of my life. So it's not just time.
Payment? I've received a sum total of $55.00 for my writing over the last ten years. Not money.
Recognition? I took a couple bows, as part of a group, at the Pikes Peak Center, and a few other students have told me how fast I'm progressing. I had a couple solos on the clarinet back in school, and quite a few atta-girls in banjo class. So it's not the approval of others.
Self-perceived skill level? I think this may be the one for me. Not that I feel I'm all that as a writer, but I have built a certain confidence in my writing. Although I've played music a long time, I'm relatively new to my current instrument, the banjo. I struggle with a couple chords and still do not play fast. I seem to be a pretty quick study in dance, but I'm not confident as a dancer. Again, I struggle with some of the moves, especially the faster ones.
What is the trigger for you? When is it okay for you to identify yourself as [fill in your own blank]? Is it one of these things or something else?
Monday, November 15, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Happy Veterans Day
Thank you to all those who have served, are serving, or who have waited at home for someone serving in the armed forces.
Monday, November 8, 2010
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?
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?
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