Cut and Tape

19 Wednesday Jul 2017

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft

≈ Leave a comment

Here is a very practical tool that has served me well time and time again. Most recently a little over a week ago.

When to Use It –
There come moments in writing where the prose is well-honed, from a micro perspective, but is unordered and disorganized. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is always 7 or 8 drafts in. And it is a stopper. It becomes evident when reading it over a few times. You see that all the material is there and it’s written well, but the rhythm and tone feel rough. As a reader you are distracted and unable to settle in, but you can’t determine precisely why.
If you continue to try to edit and rekey you’ll only spin your wheels. You need a more dramatic move.
This tool will free you from the linear manipulation that is the edit & rekey cycle (which is THE primary way to quality prose) and give you an entirely new perspective on the draft at hand.

How to Do It –
Step 1: Make sure the prose is double-spaced (you’ll need the white space) and then print it out.
Step 2: Read it once more. Look for awkward breaks in the prose – those moments that jolt you out of the dream as a reader. Mark them. Look for sentences that follow each other but vary in color or tone and don’t seem well paired. Mark these too.
Step 3: Cut these sentences (or groups of sentences) out of the page with a pair of scissors.
Step 4: Repeat Step 2 and 3
Step 5: One you’re done cutting free your sentences discard the margins and other scraps. There may be sentences you decide to discard along with the scrap.This is good.
Step 6: Grab a clean sheet of paper.
Step 7: Reorder the sentences by laying them out. Keep the scissors handy as you may need to cut apart a few more sentences.
Step 8: Once you have reordered the entire piece, tape the sentences to the paper.
Step 9: Read the piece again and make the hand edits that are now needed in order for this new draft to hang together.
Step 10: Go back to your computer and rekey the newly taped section of prose from scratch.

There! You have a fresh draft, you understand how it’s fitting together, the prose is tighter, and you’ve added material during the rekey.
Now you’re over that hump. On to the next draft.

Cut and Tape

05 Wednesday Jul 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

Here is a very practical tool that has served me well time and time again. Most recently a little over a week ago.

When to Use It –
There come moments in writing where the prose is well-honed, from a micro perspective, but is unordered and disorganized. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is always 7 or 8 drafts in. And it is a stopper. It becomes evident when reading it over a few times. You see that all the material is there and it’s written well, but the rhythm and tone feel rough. As a reader you are distracted and unable to settle in, but you can’t determine precisely why.
If you continue to try to edit and rekey you’ll only spin your wheels. You need a more dramatic move.
This tool will free you from the linear manipulation that is the edit & rekey cycle (which is THE primary way to quality prose) and give you an entirely new perspective on the draft at hand.

How to Do It –
Step 1: Make sure the prose is double-spaced (you’ll need the white space) and then print it out.
Step 2: Read it once more. Look for awkward breaks in the prose – those moments that jolt you out of the dream as a reader. Mark them. Look for sentences that follow each other but vary in color or tone and don’t seem well paired. Mark these too.
Step 3: Cut these sentences (or groups of sentences) out of the page with a pair of scissors.
Step 4: Repeat Step 2 and 3
Step 5: One you’re done cutting free your sentences discard the margins and other scraps. There may be sentences you decide to discard along with the scrap.This is good.
Step 6: Grab a clean sheet of paper.
Step 7: Reorder the sentences by laying them out. Keep the scissors handy as you may need to cut apart a few more sentences.
Step 8: Once you have reordered the entire piece, tape the sentences to the paper.
Step 9: Read the piece again and make the hand edits that are now needed in order for this new draft to hang together.
Step 10: Go back to your computer and rekey the newly taped section of prose from scratch.

There! You have a fresh draft, you understand how it’s fitting together, the prose is tighter, and you’ve added material during the rekey.
Now you’re over that hump. On to the next draft.

Why I Write Long Form Fiction

21 Wednesday Jun 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

It is what the boatwright feels when the hull has taken shape and shavings from the mast are beginning to litter the floor.
It is what the mountaineer feels when he is a mile above base camp and the trees are beginning to thin out.
It is what the marathon runner feels at mile 15 and her shoes feel like part of her feet, like wheels she is riding.
It is what I feel when I’m in my eleventh draft of the seventh chapter of a novel.

It is the sense that your skills are being pushed, and doing the work is layered with meaning that you couldn’t imagine yesterday.
It is the discovery that you’re honing your process more than creating a product.
It is the realization that this same process is being expanded to fit this new achievement, and that the product is now informing you and your process as it’s revealed before you.
It is that moment when you are keenly aware that you are learning about your craft and deploying that learning at the same time.
It is the fact that it cannot be done in an afternoon, a week, or a month – and the delight you take in this delay.

The finished manuscript, the boat built, the mountain climbed, and the finish line crossed do more for the person who has done the work than for anyone who might observe the outcome.

This is why I write long form fiction.

Read Aloud

07 Wednesday Jun 2017

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Qualities of Good Fiction, Role of the Writer

≈ Leave a comment

Do you read your writing aloud to yourself? Is this part of your writing process?
Yes? Good. You can stop reading here. Well done. Carry on.
No? It should be.
Why? Two reasons:
It will improve your writing. You can hear problems in your writing that you can’t see. Language is processed differently by the ear than it is by the eye. We can hear what we can’t see. Likewise we can’t fully imagine the sounds of language when reading in silence. There is music in well-written prose. There is rhythm and tone. These are important aspects of high-functioning prose. But you can’t see them. And you can’t write-in these elements effectively if you don’t read and listen for them.
Reading your work aloud is a skill that you will need if you achieve any significant success as a writer. All writers who have published more than a little will be asked at least a few times to read their work aloud. You may read to a high school lit class, a book club of a half-dozen souls, or to several hundred devout fans in a university lecture hall. In any case, your ability to read your work in an entertaining and captivating way will increase your readership and exposure. Conversely, if you don’t develop this skill it will prove limiting. You’ll be frustrated. And if you’re successful as a writer you’ll experience the misery of developing this skill as your readers sit in the flesh before you and watch.
So make reading your work aloud a part of your creative process now. It will benefit your writing and you’ll be preparing for future success.
Besides, reading stories aloud to your kids or to your spouse after dinner, is wonderful. Try it.

When Our Delight Becomes a Task

24 Wednesday May 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

We live in a fast-paced, routinely and deeply dissatisfying culture.
This is not news. We live it. It is the water. We are the fish.
In this state, it is too easy for the daily actions we undertake in the practice of our creative craft to become another set of tasks on our to-do-list. If we allow it, we can sit down to read or to write and find ourselves rushing to get done, pressed to get the other “tasks” on our list finished before the day ends.
But this work – this work of taking in the creative work of others and produce the same – must be handled differently. This work is an oasis. It brings us joy. It feeds a part of us that resides at our core. It is where we value producing over consuming. It is where we marvel in the doing, not rest in the done. It is part of our image-bearing as creations of the Creator. And so, for these reasons, this work must not obey the pace and intent of the many other daily tasks we undertake.
Pause and recognize the difference between tasks and intentional actions. Move your creative work out of the task column and into the intentional, thoughtful action column.
And if possible, hire someone to mow the grass. Only you can write your next short story.

A Pair of Metaphors

10 Wednesday May 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

Some days the writing really works – it just pops and flows – but other days it feels like you’re in the center ring, in the cage with it, your chair in one sweaty-palmed hand and your whip in the other. Across from you the writing is crouched, staring you down, showing off its roar and its razor sharp teeth.

To pile on another metaphor, I have come to see the writer’s life like being invested in the stock market, in the blue chips. You’re in it for the long haul, the return that will come months if not years hence. You’re a fool if you let any single day cause you to stall and falter or to shout and celebrate. You’re best to quietly enjoy it when it’s good and just keep going when it’s not, trusting the investment you’re making as you build your writing portfolio.

[Don’t] Write What You Know

19 Wednesday Apr 2017

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

≈ Leave a comment

“Write what you know.”
This is a very old bit of advice for fiction writers. The idea is that your life is far more interesting than you realize. You needn’t look toward the exotic or far-fetched to find material. You are an expert at many things. Your experience has gained you an edge. So, simply write what you know.
If this works for you, ride the wave. Quit reading this blog post here and get back to work.
Go on. We’ll wait while you leave.
OK, now that they’re gone…
If you find this advice leaves you flat, maybe even bored, try this bit instead.
“Write what you want to read.”
You were a reader before you were a writer. You have likely started writing because you want to create more literature like the writing you enjoy. Your reading has probably given you ideas. Ideas you want to explore. So, do it! Write the sort of book that you’d want to read.
Isn’t that refreshing? This approach will keep you engaged in your project, fuel your writing routine, and will take the focus off of you – putting it back on the work…which is always where your focus should be.

Westside Writer’s Workshop

08 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by in Role of the Writer, Writing Discipline

≈ 1 Comment

There are six people who are now meeting once a month in Danville, Indiana, to talk about and get better at the craft of writing. The Westside Writer’s Workshop is Andrea, Roger, Jim, Rita, and Teresa. And I’m delighted to be facilitating these meetings.

There are some things you should know about these people. They are not rookies – at life or at producing a variety of creative work. They are not easily distracted. They’ve learned how to take risks. They also don’t have time to write. There are dozens of other things they could be doing. And likely a half-dozen other things that they should be doing. But they know that writing is a powerful way to process what is happening inside them – and in the worlds they inhabit.

Let me tell you how I know this.

At our first meeting I spread a stack of random portrait photos in front of them, photos I’d pulled down off Google images. I asked them to each choose one – whichever seemed to pull at them. They each leaned forward and chose one. I then asked them to write for five minutes about the person in the picture.
Within 15 seconds they had all started writing. Seven minutes later they were still writing.

The Westside Writer’s Workshop is a group of people who have things that they are driven to get down on paper. This has been obvious from the start.
And I intend to do all I can to help them get that done.

My Supporting Character

22 Wednesday Feb 2017

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Writing Discipline

≈ Leave a comment

I haven’t always been like this. For 18 years I was a fully functioning member of my family. I was always present, always a part of what was going on. Wherever my family was – in the living room, on the back patio, downstairs playing ping-pong – there was I. I went with my wife to the grocery store. I cleaned out the garage. I once washed the car in the driveway. I stood in the cul-de-sac and chatted with the neighbors. Time was easily spent, my attention was never split, and my mind was always on the task at hand.
On February 25th, 2010 this changed. I began writing every day.
Now some part of my brain is always working on the writing. I’ve fallen out of touch with my neighbors and my garage is a shameful mess.
I spend a lot of time alone. Every day I spend some significant part of my prime time alone, off in my study in a carefully procured silence. Because of this, my wife spends a lot of time alone as well. She gives me up to my craft. She does this willingly, and when people do things for us willingly it is easy to take such acts for granted.
Each of us has a Supporting Character*. We have someone who pays the price with us. Someone – likely the person you share a bed with – that deals with the often distant and distracted person that is you, the writer.
So as you spend another mid-winter pulling text from your core, pause and recognize that while it may look to the casual observer to be the case, you don’t work alone.

*Supporting Character is a word which here means that one who supports us who writes.

How to Say You’re Lonely

08 Wednesday Feb 2017

Posted by in Character in Fiction, Emily St. John Mandel, Qualities of Good Fiction

≈ Leave a comment

On November 30th, at Butler University I had the privilege of hearing Eric Freeze read from his collection of stories called Invisible Men. During the introduction, one of Eric’s students stated that Eric gave the following writing advice during a recent graduate fiction workshop:
“If you’re feeling lonely, don’t tell us you’re lonely. If you describe your surroundings with enough care the emotion will surface.”
This bit of advice struck me as profound. I think it is the first time I’ve heard the ancient writing adage “show don’t tell” adequately explained.
Eric’s advice proves out. Descriptions are never neutral, never objective. They always bear the mark of the one doing the describing – they always (if done “with enough care”) make the mind of the character visible. The emotion comes through in the details that are provided as well as those that are not. Description is a series of choices – both conscious and subconscious.
How about a quick example?
Here are the first two sentences of Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven. “The king stood in a pool of blue light, unmoored. This was act 4 of King Lear, a winter night at the Elgin Theatre in Toronto.”
What does this description reveal about the mood of the narrator and the tone of the novel that follows? What do these opening choices suggest? What do you make of the description’s mention that it’s act 4 and wintertime? Are we reading a romance? I doubt it. Detective fiction? Not likely. You’ll not be surprised to learn that this is a literary post-apocalyptic novel.
The mood is set from the first line. No tell. All via careful description.