When to Write and When to Read

Writing and reading cannot be separated in the life of a writer. A non-reading writer is akin to a musician who doesn’t listen to music. Such a musician wouldn’t be making music for long—at least none of any quality or relevance. A writer must read as he writes and he must read with the ebb and flow of his writing. There’s much a person gives up to become a writer. Reading for recreation is one. Click To Tweet
While reading must be a constant, a writer’s reading takes on different purposes and shades of importance as a writing project progresses.
Early in a writing project more reading than writing is needed. At this stage of a project, the writer is reading in order to get his bearings, to find his direction, to understand his proposed project, to make a start and establish momentum.
Mid-point and later in a project’s development, the amount of time spent writing will quickly eclipse the time spent reading, as the reading a writer does becomes less critical. Reading at this stage is intended to reinforce the writing and thinking the writer has put in place, to inspire him onward toward completion, and to broaden his perspective on his work (e.g. with what other writing is my project in conversation?).
I am currently at the start of my third long-form fiction project. The writing I’m producing is of the broadest brush stroke. It is metawriting and holds very little story. Reading is critical and highly intentional. I’m reading a novel I believe is a model for this project and another novel that was a model for it. I am reading a craft book for painters, which is giving me diverse ways of looking at my writing, and I’m reading some poetry to maintain line of sight to the fact that each word matters. These books are all giving me maximum fuel at the start of this project, at a moment when momentum is not yet built and a great deal of fuel is needed.

Over A Decade of Blogposts

This post marks eleven years of “Revel and Rant ~ A Column on the Craft of Fiction.” 

Every other Wednesday, with a handful of exceptions along the way, I’ve offered a few hundred words, give or take, on the craft of writing fiction and the writing life. I started this series during  grad school as a way to capture and share what I was learning.

I’ve thought about taking a break from this project. Stepping away and reimagining a new blogpost series on another topic or aspect of my work.

Here are the reasons I’m not going to do that:

    • Stopping is a risk because starting again often takes much longer and is much more difficult than ever imagined. Momentum is easily undervalued.
    • I have faithful readers and I’d like to think they’d be disappointed. If it’s in one’s power not to disappoint, why do so?
    • I’m still learning. This cache of blogposts represents everything I’ve learned thus far about the writing life and the craft of writing fiction. I see no point in capping it here.
    • I have two ideas laying here on my desk for—what I like to think will be interesting—blogposts: a comparison of being in character on stage and embodying a character as a writer, and a riff on a drawing instructor’s advise about revision, ‘you erase more than you draw.’

Here’s to the next decade of blogposts and continuing the conversation together.

Imago Dei

Creativity is infectious. When there are others around me seeking to produce creative work, this spurs my own production. This is why I’m part of a creative community. I work in solitude, but not alone. Similarly, consuming high-quality creative work provides me with energy for producing my own.

Over the last several weeks I’ve been to two art museums. Thanksgiving weekend I enjoyed a visit with friends to the Art Institute of Chicago. Yesterday, my daughter Lydia and I went to Newfields, the Indianapolis Museum of Art. 

Walking through these galleries and exhibits, my creative tank is filled. While in awe of the skills of others, I also gain perspective, ideas, and energy for my own creative effort. While I don’t work in the same medium as those populating these spaces, we are all in pursuit of an aesthetic, a collective effort to represent our chosen content in an engaging, surprising, and informative way. We are all responding to our own design.

We are made in the image of a Creator, a Creator who reimagined Himself and walked among us. We are creative because He is creative. When I observe creative work I’m seeing evidence of this fact. And when I join in producing creative work, I’m adding to the chorus.

An Opportunity to Teach, in Review

Last evening I submitted final grades on behalf of the seven writing students I had the pleasure of working with in Intermediate Fiction at Grace College this Fall. On August 25th I wrote six “guiding principles” I wanted them to take away from the class—ways I hoped they would come to think about their creative work.

As I look back over these past weeks we were successful in discussing these, often hitting on them multiple times. We were also able to form a creative community and workshop their writing––a diverse mix of realism, fantasy, thriller, young adult, and children’s literature.

In that August post I also said I’d remember what I learned from them. The first step in remembering is to record, so here are a few of my take-aways.

  • There are many books I need to read in order to diversify my perspective on the craft and be tuned into what is influencing these students. I am severely under-read in fantasy and young adult fiction.
  • Confidence is an essential element. Youth often appears to be over-confident (whether in writing or life); however, it is this trait that allows them to dive headlong into a life and a world that might otherwise frighten them into inaction.
  • Grading creative work is a skill unto itself. A skill which, to the benefit of these seven students, is one I’m only beginning to acquire. I imagine a balance of objective measure and creative playground that could somehow be codified and reflected in percentages. I fear this will be not  unlike the imagined aesthetic I have for my own creative work––one for which I’ll strive and more closely fail to meet at each outing.

But above all such musings, I’ll remember each of these young writers––AS, RM, HK, BW, MB, JS, and RH. And I’ll be here should they reach out. This was only the start of the support I hope to offer them.

Define Done

It’s been said many times: a writer never finishes a piece of writing, he just stops working on it. This is true. The risk is that the writer never stops working. And this would be easy to do. But we must stop working if we’re to be successful, and we must somehow decide when to cease our efforts.

Here are a few ways to define done:

  • Give the work to beta readers and see if their reader experience matches your vision for the work.
  • Send the piece to an agent or editor. While a rejection doesn’t tell you the work needs more attention, a dozen might. And an acceptance says you’re likely finished––except for the requested edit or two.
  • In the writing process you find you are getting less and less energy from the manuscript. The manuscript is telling you less of what it needs, making fewer demands for development. It may be you’ve reached done. It may be time to stop working.

Beware, there are variations on this theme. Sometimes it’s necessary to abandon a piece of writing before it’s finished. Manuscripts can fail for a variety of reasons. But this is not the case here. Here we’ve produced a piece of writing to the best of our ability. It’s time for the writing to become a part of our body of work. Readers welcome.

When Writing Upstages Story

Upstage is a theater term. This is when one actor over-acts and pulls the attention of the audience to himself––regardless of the intended focus of the script or the play. This is a selfish move, one meant to highlight the actor and his skill at the cost of the other elements of the play. Upstaging is bad acting and can be either intentional or unintentional. Upstaging is always spotted by the audience. It pulls them out of the viewing experience and results in a failed scene.

Because we are writers and writing is what delights us, there is a tendency, especially among newer writers, to allow the writing to upstage the story––to make the writing the product we’re seeking to produce vs. the story and the reader’s experience of it. This is a type of author intrusion. Such writing is characterized by overly complex language, over-use of modifiers (adjectives, similes, etc.), and awkward, unwieldy sentences. What readers say when they read this kind of writing is ‘I tried. I just couldn’t get into the story.’ A failed scene.

If your writing is trying to accomplish anything other than a lasting reader experience, refocus the work. No reader is going to come to your work for the purpose of consuming beautiful words and marveling at your skill. Readers read for the intoxication story offers. And it’s your job to enable them to do so.

Draft 18

I am in the midst of draft 18 of my current novel. This is an administrative fact, but one that carries nuance.

The term defined: This is the 18th time I’ve printed, hand-edited, and rekeyed the entire manuscript. That is the extent of the value of saying “this is draft number 18.” 

The nuance it carries: There are sentences and paragraphs in this manuscript that are in their 3rd draft and others that are in their 12th. As I write this 18th draft, I’ll be adding sentences. These sentences will be first draft sentences. These rookie sentences are joining a roster of preexisting sentences—some of which are veterans, some of which are mid-career. 

My job is to develop this manuscript as a whole, to bring all of it along, to ensure that each sentence, no matter its tenure, is carrying weight, is collaborating with the sentences surrounding it. And, if I’ve done my work well, those first draft sentences and paragraphs, those last minute edits won’t be visible to the reader. If I’ve done my job well, the reader will never consider this entire process, but will get lost in the dream that is story.

HBARP

First Day of Class

Today was the first day of class. My Intermediate Fiction creative writing class will meet twice weekly for the next eight weeks (taking a week off for Thanksgiving).

Planning: I spent mid-August to mid-October reading textbooks, building and re-building a syllabus, reading fiction to place in assignments, re-reading all of the above, completing adjunct employment paperwork, and designing the course on the college’s learning management system. I had a great deal of help and guidance (i.e. I would have failed without it) from my wife, and my colleagues Lauren, Brent, and Thad. I learned a great deal about what goes into sound planning while leaving room for flexibility—especially in a creative writing course.

Producing: The goal is to generate student enthusiasm over and growth in writing and ensure this results in a creative community of productive writers, of which I am seen as one. There’s evidence from this first meeting that this goal is within reach.

While the students were clearly interested in understanding how this course will fit into this quarter’s workload, they were also attentive and engaged. They are readers and writers and I believe together we identified the raw material among us that will result in a creative collaboration. Here’s to the weeks ahead!

September, In Memoriam

If you read these blogposts regularly, you’ll note there were no posts in September. It wasn’t that I had nothing to offer or that I reprioritized or procrastinated or was distracted—well, I suppose that last possibility is closest to the truth.

During September, these blogposts were simply forgotten, pushed out of mind by two deaths and the aftermath of loss. During September I delivered two eulogies in two weekends.

On September 16th I delivered a eulogy on behalf of my dear friend J as we celebrated the life of his wife A, who was lost suddenly in an auto accident on the evening of August 24th. I spoke of A’s creativity, love of summer, and her faith in her Maker. My wife did not attend the service with me so she could be with her parents. Her father, in the midst of a long-term illness, had taken a turn just days before. 

At the end of A’s service, I walked out into the beautiful late-summer afternoon and got in my car to follow the hearse to the gravesite. I picked up my phone from the console and saw a text from my wife. Her father had passed thirty minutes prior.

On September 24th, I delivered a eulogy for LB, my father-in-law. I spoke of his love of Charles Dickens, his interest in WW2, and read a quote from C.S. Lewis as we reflected on his faith in Christ and the life he is now experiencing.

If you read these blogposts regularly, you’ll note there were no posts in September. I wanted to offer a reason for my absence, and in the process place here a brief remembrance of these two lives circumstantially linked in the end.

An Opportunity to Teach

This Fall I’ll be teaching creative writing at Grace College in Winona Lake, Indiana. I’ll be teaching one course—ENG 3232 Intermediate Fiction—each Wednesday and Friday afternoon for eight weeks. In this course I’ll have seven or eight students who’ve completed Introduction to Creative Writing and are either Creative Writing minors (Grace currently does not offer a Creative Writing major) or students highly motivated to write fiction.

My goal with this class is for me and my students to walk away more skilled in our craft. This will happen through their writing, and through our conversations about their writing. Beyond this, what do I want these students to know when they leave this class? Are there “guiding principles” I want them to remember? Are there ways I want them to think about Creative Writing?

Yes. Here are a few:

  • Why humans are creative.
  • The criticality of being a reading writer.
  • The craft of writing fiction as a skill.
  • The establishment of a writing practice.
  • The value of metawriting.
  • The contract your work creates with the reader.

I look forward to establishing a community of writers with these students over these upcoming eight weeks. And I know that while I may fixate on what I’m offering them, what I’ll remember after the class ends is what they offered me.