Category Archives: Role of the Writer

Crush or Commitment?

02 Wednesday Jun 2021

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Starting a Novel, Writing Discipline, Writing Life

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I have a long-form fiction project I’d like to discuss for a moment. Let’s call it Fabula. (Fabula is Latin for story.) When I’m working on Fabula I enjoy it very much. I enjoy the discoveries I make as I cobble it together and the connections inside the story that are generated. The characters, especially the protagonist, have me hooked. The writing really clicks. This could all be interpreted as a reason to stay with the project, evidence Fabula has legs.

But there’s an issue. A nagging, always present, issue.

I am missing an underlying motivation for Fabula. I don’t know why I’m writing it. I don’t know what question I’m seeking to answer, what curiosity I’m exploring.

Completing a novel is a great deal of work. The project must create fire-in-the-belly for the writer. The micro-delights I’m experiencing will occur with any project and can’t take the place of the story’s reason for existence. Any confusion on the author’s part of a crush (being enamored with the daily writing) and commitment (the depth of underlying, long-lasting, motivation for a project) will be sniffed out by the reader and impact their experience as well. A reader can tell when the author found this deeper purpose in creating a manuscript. They can also sense a missing core. Such energy (or lack of it) translates. As always, the reader’s experience comes of the author’s.

Percy’s Six Elements of Story: Ticking Clock

27 Wednesday Jan 2021

Posted by in Benjamin Percy, Contract with the Reader, Qualities of Good Fiction, Role of the Writer, Technicalities

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[This is the fifth in a series of six posts started on December 2, 2020. We’re exploring Benjamin Percy’s foundational elements of story as found in the opening of his book Thrill Me: Essays on Fiction.]

Ticking Clock

Your story is really starting to come together. You’ve established the narrative goal. Your protagonist is acting with unwavering urgency, meeting obstacles that are building her resolve, and creating tension for your reader. You’ve also got most of the lower-order goals in each scene working as well.

Your main character is already fully motivated. What will adding a ticking clock do for your story?

It will bring to the forefront that reality with which we all live––there is only so much time. The narrative goal, if not accomplished in time, will result in even greater angst for your protagonist. Perhaps this ticking clock is driven by some aspect of place or setting, perhaps it’s driven by an ever-closer approaching antagonist, or even by some simmering character trait of the protagonist himself.  

A ticking clock will get your reader’s heart racing, it’ll pull your reader down into the story like little else can. Time is an element you must manage in your story, regardless. Why not manage it in a way that will cause your reader to––quick––hurry––turn the page?!

A Blind Man in a Textile Shop

21 Wednesday Oct 2020

Posted by in Contract with the Reader, Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Writing Life

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Perhaps this is an illness of all creative writers. Perhaps it’s an illness with which I alone suffer. In either case, I am constantly seeking the perfect metaphor to describe the craft of making fiction––language to best describe the way it feels to write.

Today I believe I hit on one that comes very close to satisfying my search. It describes well the process, the act of writing, the work of finding your way as you place word after word, laying narrative onto paper, story onto screen.

Writing fiction is like being a blind man in a textile shop.

So often, I am guided by my gut, that invisible monitor and detector of aesthetic, rather than by the words my eyes read or the rationale divvied out by my conscious self. Today, while working on my current novel-in-progress I felt suddenly as if my sight had gone dark and I was reaching, feeling the text to see if it had the right hand––as those in the textile business call it. I felt that there was a sensor in my core that had taken over and was weighing the words, worrying them for accuracy. It was physical, yes, but ultimately intuition was judge. The text had to feel right, create a sensation when held.

Writing fiction is like being a blind man in a textile shop. 

Yes, at least for today this metaphor will do.

One Year Anniversary

09 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Debut Novel, Role of the Writer, Writing Life

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Tomorrow, 10 September, will mark the one-year anniversary of the release of my debut novel, The Confessions of Adam. In recognition of this milestone, here are three take-aways from the experience. 

  • Involve Others. You will not be able to launch your debut alone, and you don’t want to. Engage the skills of others to help shepherd your book into the world. I enlisted an eager and willing team of friends with diverse skills such as event emcee, graphic designer, web plugin integrator, book club leader, and small business owner. Some of this was organic as I worked to create a local launch of the novel and let my needs be known, but in the end I had a base of people who were creatively engaged with me and vocal advocates for our unique effort.
  • Keep Writing. It is critical that you start and make progress on your next project. You may find you’re consumed with the book you’ve finished and have stopped writing. This may seem prudent or even helpful in the short-term, but once the excitement wanes, you’ll be left only with the writing. Make sure it’s not a blank page. The writing is the only part of the process that you fully own. Keep doing the work. I kept writing. It became a solace.
  • Tend to Everything Else. Over the last year I’ve seen voluntary and involuntary job change, the one-year anniversary of the death of my mother, the birth of my first grandchild, a close friend traverse cancer, and a global pandemic. The rest of life marches on even as this momentous goal you’ve worked toward for so long is realized. Give the people and events of your life their needed attention and consideration.

And remember to take a moment to enjoy it all. To use David Gibson’s phrase––life is gift, not gain.

First Book Club

26 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by in Contract with the Reader, Debut Novel, Role of the Writer, Writing Life

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On Saturday evening, August 29th, I will attend my first book club where The Confessions of Adam has been read and will be discussed. I’ve been invited to come and talk about my debut novel. These readers aren’t rookies. They’ve met monthly, enjoyed dinner, and read books together for over two decades.

As I prepare for the conversation, I’m pulling my notes from research, considering what I might read if asked, and gathering a few extra books, bookmarks, and author cards. But what I know is this––what I bring to this group of thoughtful readers will pale in comparison to what they will give me. They have taken the time to read my novel and I will receive an hour of reader insight––listening in as readers talk about their experiences with my book. Such conversation is invaluable as I work on my next manuscript. Such feedback informs and educates a writer like none other can. It’s a rare opportunity for which I am grateful.

We’re Insecure and Lack Confidence

29 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Starting a Novel, Writing Life

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“Yesterday evening, I started my novel. Now I begin to see stylistic difficulties that horrify me. To be simple is no small matter.” 

– Gustave Flaubert in a letter to Louise Colet, 20 September 1851

When Flaubert wrote the sentences above he had just started work on what would become the first novel of modern realism, a French classic, and a world literary masterwork, Madame Bovary. 

When starting a new project (and deep in the throes of one) an author will encounter feelings of inspiration and the sense he or she is on a mission, but just as quickly as these gifts of perception arrive, they will disintegrate into feelings of uncertainty—both in the conceit of the project itself and in one’s ability to pull it off.

Every author travels this terrain. And with every manuscript. Of course we cannot know what will be the fate of our work once it is out in the world, should it be so successful as to find readers. For this we can be grateful. If Flaubert had prophetically known what his new project would come to be, wouldn’t he have been further “horrified?” If I knew no one would ever read my novel-in-progress, how would I carry on?

It’s true, Flaubert was attempting to break with convention, to write in a new way, but such somersaults are attempted to some degree with every project. Every author is attempting the unknown, seeking to climb a mountain of her own invention, one he has never before seen.

So take comfort. You are in creative company with Flaubert, and every other writer of whom you’ve ever heard. And those you haven’t. We’re all walking our ridge, in search of footing with every step.

The Invention of Character

15 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by in Character in Fiction, Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Starting a Novel

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There are many examples for writing students of exercises and worksheets through which to create characters. Do a search in Google Images for “character creation worksheet.” 

Are you overwhelmed? Close your browser. Let’s talk about how working writers get this done.

People present themselves in what they say and what they do. These are a result of beliefs and experiences. And all of this is alive, complex, and full of contradictions. 

We know very little of people when we first meet. We learn through doing life with them, through conversations, through time spent together. It’s a slow process. But a rewarding one. It’s what gives much of our life meaning. A person’s hobbies or where they went to school? These are simple trivia. Their tics and idiosyncrasies, their moments of insight and magnificent blunders––these are what endear them to us.

Characters are people. They are dynamic, not static. Characters aren’t developed, they’re ever-developing. I knew nearly nothing about Oren when I began to write my novel The Confessions of Adam. I knew simply that he was from Susa, a master scribe, and a proud skeptic. All of these details came by necessity of the story. Oren walked onto the set. That is how we met.

As I wrote, I learned much more about Oren. I learned his father and he had a difficult relationship. I learned his son and he did as well. I learned about his tragic romantic life, his insecurities, and loneliness. These were dimensions of him I learned through the writing, through listening, in time spent with him––not ones I invented writing a character sketch. This is life, not a lab.

Oren became a friend. He was from a culture, time, and place unlike my own. He was at once ancient and modern. I listened to what he said, how he said it, and I came to better understand him as I wrote these down. I am convinced there are nooks and crannies of Oren I know nothing about, depths of his psyche and complexities of thought he intentionally holds back, ones he himself doesn’t yet understand, or doesn’t know how to share.

When you view a character in a story you’re writing just as you would a new acquaintance, and in time, an old friend (or enemy), you have a fully developing character.

Love and Commitment (in Writing, not Relationships)

01 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Writing Life

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In the past, I’ve been very fond of the story I was writing. I’ve experienced deep feelings of belief in the story, a sense that it must be told and I was on a mission to do so. With my first novel, The Confessions of Adam, I had this sense from the beginning. The story felt fresh and my pursuit of it, my commitment to it, never waned. 

I assumed this would always be the case with every project and I was surprised, confused even, when it wasn’t.

With my current project, the love affair has been on again, off again––more like a negotiation than a relationship. For a long time I’ve sought but not had the same experience I did with Confessions. I’ve felt the project was a worthy one certainly, yet I couldn’t figure out what about it was particularly engaging. I’ve now completed ten drafts of the manuscript and I’m just starting to get a sense of what the project is seeking to become and how I might be invested in that effort.

I’ve come to see this as part of the creative process. Commitment must not be too tightly lashed to emotion. Commitment to a project may well need to be in place long before creative energy is found and emotional delight is realized.

For Beginning Writers – Writing is Collaborative

06 Wednesday May 2020

Posted by in Beginning, Role of the Writer, Writing Life

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In the last blogpost I mentioned a writers’ group. What is a writers’ group and why bother?

We are created to work in community. While the life of a hermit may sound inviting, such an existence isn’t good for the soul. All good writing comes of a community effort, whether it’s early in the project when a reader is engaged to help shape an idea, or later, when an editor gets involved to finalize it. Writing isn’t solitary. As a writer, you must spend time alone crafting sentences and redrafting the text, but in order to grow in your craft you must have relationships outside your immediate family and friends that are designed to specifically support your creative work.

A good writers’ group (I actually prefer the term writers’ workshop) is made up of 6-8 committed writers. Not people who are interested in writing. Not a book club. People who write as a habit and have demonstrated results. The group is led by someone with some credibility either via publishing credits, formal education, or both. They know the craft. This person also knows how to lead a group. They’re organized and attentive to the individuals as well as the group as a whole. 

Once you find a group that seems like a good fit, get involved. Attend and participate. Seek the group’s guidance and mentoring. Submit your writing and obtain feedback. Provide your thoughts on their work. You will soon find that between your readers’ and your writers’ groups you will have set up around yourself a creative trust and your work will benefit greatly.

A final thought—-don’t start a writers’ group. Join one. Your goal isn’t to start and run a successful writers’ group. That’s a skill you can develop later. For now you need to write.

Solely for the Writer’s Use

26 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by in Contract with the Reader, Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer

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Earlier this week I was working on the second draft of a chapter of a manuscript. As I wrote I inserted bits right into the text [THAT LOOKED LIKE THIS. NOTES ABOUT THE DRAFT FOR RESEARCH OR FOR THE NEXT DRAFT].

This has been a long-standing habit for me in early drafts, but this time, as I did it, I had a realization. An aspect of the writing process crystalized for me, as it occasionally does.

Our tendency is to think early and often of the reader and to try to make a piece take shape as soon as possible, to take a form that will entice a reader. While noble, I think this is an error and a risk to the process.

The first three drafts of any piece of writing are strictly for the writer. Solely for the writer’s use. These early drafts teach the writer what the piece needs, what form it is to become, what elements need to be included––and what elements need to be excluded.

It is not until the fourth or fifth draft that the writer should begin to consider the contract with a reader. Not until this point, as these later drafts are created, is the piece starting to stand on its own. Only then is it capable of withstanding the scrutiny necessary to bring it before a reader. Only then does the writer understand it well enough to invite the reader to collaborate.