That Last Page Melancholy

07 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Reading as a Writer

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For the better part of four years I have offered you a post on writing, Dear Reader, every two weeks on Wednesday. I have not, in all that time, written a post with more than a passing comment on reading for readers*. Ultimately every post I write is for writers of fiction. This one will be too, but there is just as much here for the readers that may have happened by.
I’d like to think that this is a balanced blog post.
I recently finished the novel “Station Eleven” by Emily St. John Mandel. As I closed the back cover I had that old familiar feeling that we’ve all had since childhood. That last page melancholy, that realization that the dream is over and you’ll never get to read that novel for the first time again. I know many of us re-read novels. We ache to get that rush again, that page-turning frenzy that gripped us the first time through. And often we’re rewarded the second and third time through with a deeper understanding, a missed detail, or a clarified character.
But, there is only one solution to that last page melancholy, Dear Reader. Start reading the next novel on your list.
Writers suffer similar phenomena when they finish writing a story or a novel. There is a melancholy that sets in almost immediately. And the wisdom is the same. Start writing the next story. The day after you finish the one you are working on, start another^.
So whether you’re a reader or a writer, as soon as you finish the book you’re working on, start the next one.
And we’ll keep this relationship going!

*I have mentioned, haven’t I, that there is no such thing as “writer’s block” – that writers who “suffer” this malady are simply not reading? This is true. Writers often go for long stretches without reading. This drains the writer’s creative fuel tank. Someone named the results of this empty tank “writer’s block”.
^The assumption here is that you write every day.

There Are Parts of It That Are Weak

23 Wednesday Sep 2015

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I’ve seen it dozens of times, in my own work and that of my peers. After finishing three drafts of a story there are parts of it that are weak, sections that aren’t carrying their weight. They are easily identified by how they interrupt the narrative pace of the piece, how they pull the reader out of the story.
I tend to fixate on them. They are like splinters in the bottoms of my feet until I get past the following decision:

1. Cut the weak sections and flesh out what is left in order to fill the gap(s) they’ve left behind (if necessary^).
2. Go on to create draft number four and focus on those sections, trying to bring them up to snuff.

Option one is difficult. I like this harder path because that is where the risk and reward are greatest*, however, it is good to pause and give option two some serious thought. I’ve taken option two more often lately and it has worked out well. Why? At this point (draft three complete) those sections that are weak are not far enough developed to make the call that they should be cut** .
What I’ve seen over and over again is the weak sections (after another several drafts) become strong, even rivaling the strong sections. The result is a multifaceted story, one that has depth thanks to those passages that were “weak” and that I nearly laid out on the chopping block. I look back now and see that I was once willing to give up on what would become a significant layer of the story.

*See my post from June 6, 2012 or March 12, 2014. You need to be comfortable cutting material. Very comfortable.
^You would be surprised at how little deleting material from a piece hurts what is left.
**I heard recently on a NYT Book Review podcast that Jennifer Egan drafted parts of “A Visit from the Goon Squad” eighty times! That is mind boggling; however, it is much closer to the reality of crafting fiction than most writers can imagine. In any case, three drafts is only a start.

The Mechanics of Thesis

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by in Earning A Master of Fine Arts

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“To achieve great things, two things are needed – a plan, and not quite enough time.” Leonard Bernstein

The last week of August I started the last year of my MFA – my thesis year. I thought I’d tell you a bit about my path into this next year. There is no manual on how to organize oneself for such a thing.

Background: Over the last several years* I’ve been writing my first book-length story with the intention of taking it through thesis – the writing capstone project of the MFA. My advisor is Ben H. Winters (http://benhwinters.com/). He and I are aligned on the goal – a publishable^ first novel by May, 2016.

Current State: Coming into this summer I had finished the 5th draft of the “novel-in-progress”. During August Ben read it and very kindly made over 400 comments throughout the ~170 page document. Comments ranging from sentence-level suggestions to big-picture concerns. Without exception Ben’s comments are spot on.
While he was doing that, I read the manuscript to myself out loud, and made over 300 comments. Most of my comments were small, text tweaks – adding color here, altering a dialogue tag there.

Onward: I have now done a few things. 1) I’ve read all of the comments and done some exploratory writing to better understand the challenges. 2) I’ve created a writing schedule covering each week from now through April 25th, 2016. 3) And I’ve printed Ben’s commented copy and my commented copy.
I have set these two copies of the manuscript on either side of my laptop and begun the work, according to schedule.
The schedule has me rewriting, from scratch, the entire manuscript twice – once before Thanksgiving, and once again by the end of March – with a read by Ben in-between.
I will work for two hours a day, every day, hoping that will be enough effort to accomplish the work I’ve scheduled.
Do root for me, won’t you? And if you’re looking for me I’m here at my desk – writing.

*A tale unto itself.
^A manuscript an agent will read.

Another Mystical Consideration

26 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by in Role of the Writer, Writing Discipline

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Following my last post, I’ve got one other mystical consideration for you as you work to live as a writer*.

There needs to be attention given to the pace at which one lives in order to consistently produce creative work.
When professional or family life gets hectic, taxing my emotions and energy, I tend to slough off on my spiritual disciplines of prayer and reading scripture. I let time get the upper hand. This equation of being busy and non-meditative represents a great downward slide that is terrible for creative work.
I’ve had highly productive spurts in the throes of depression or when in a position of being victimized by the demands of my outer-life. Usually these spurts have come in the form of poetry or flash fiction. But they’ve been short and hot, like magician’s flash paper.
Circling back to the last post, a hectic pace does not allow for consideration and attention to whatever it is you’re handling. Nuance and focus are replaced by high volume (multi-tasking^) and spotty quality.
Long-term deep thought requires physiological space. That space will not come naturally or as a result of simply sitting down to write. You’ve got to plan for it. You’ve got to live your life in a way that will allow contemplation. Writing requires it.

*So that is two posts in a row where I’ve, as I put it last time, waxed mystical. Some of you are going to appreciate this sort of material, many of you won’t. That doesn’t really matter to me. I’ll tell you what I think you need to hear, dear reader. But since I tend to focus on the practical, craft-oriented, tangibles of getting the work done, you’ll likely find little of this in the future.
A little of this goes a very, very long way.

^Multi-tasking is for computers, not people.

A Mystical Consideration

12 Wednesday Aug 2015

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It is uncommon for me to do this – forgive and bear with me as I wax mystical.

It is critical to your creative work to be attuned to ideas* that come into your mind, to be aware enough to notice them when they arrive and snag them when they do.
Such ideas slide in from the wings and are on stage very briefly. They appear during meetings at work or while you’re standing in line at Meijer. They show up while you’re brushing your teeth or sweeping your garage.
You don’t summons these ideas. You don’t conjure them. They come when they please. They come to you with the mundane, in the daily routine. You may not be sure you detected anything at all, but when you go to capture them, to write, it turns out that there was a wonder that shimmered in your periphery.
Your brain has energy to spare. It is always working, all of it. The skill a writer needs to learn is to notice what it offers and to harness it. This is the creative dance between the conscious and the subconscious. This awareness is another of the creative muscles you must build.

*I’m talking only about creative ideas here. They could be ideas on characters or ideas on how to structure a piece (“maybe that poem should really be a flash fiction”).
Ideas about your next career move or what to get your spouse for his/her birthday do not require this sort of awareness. The practical matters flop down right in front of our faces. That calculus is all done in the logical, conscious part of our minds. The brain’s creative processes are factors more subtle than this.

750-Word Flash Fiction

29 Wednesday Jul 2015

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Over the last couple of weeks I have been working on several flash fiction* pieces. These pieces which are all related and will be in a collection at some point are 750- words in length – about a page and a half. I have concluded that this word count is my perfect flash fiction length.

The flash fiction form brings many craft demands which are helpful for the developing fiction writer. Limiting yourself like this forces an economy of words that results in precise descriptions and transitions that must come from a character’s point of view.

Without this limitation you might allow a description to run on for three or four lines (50 or 75 words). You might even invite the reader to get lost in it. But here you must choose carefully what the reader will see, giving them the precise visual that will allow them to build the world you’ve left off-screen.

I have found that writing an omniscient third-person narrative overwhelms the form. These pieces are most successful when written from a character’s point of view, where the observations are by nature limited and intimate. Intimacy is a key to the form. It is not the place for grand, sweeping epics. I have in the past referred to flash fiction as prose photography (where the novel might be thought of as a feature film).

Each word is chosen for the weight it will carry, for its sensory value. Indeed, as I am putting the final touches on a piece I must look and see if I’ve hit the word count. And then I must go line by line through the piece strategically adding or removing words in the right places, careful not to over-write or weaken the delicate lattice of the story. It is a type of construction that reminds me of the work of poetry.

Investigate this form. Give it a shot. It has a great deal to offer you.

*Flash Fiction is a short, short-story form, a complete story that with a count of 2,000 words or less. Often much less. Perhaps the most famous flash fiction ever written is attributed to Ernest Hemingway: For sale: baby shoes, never worn. http://learning.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/10/03/short-and-sweet-reading-and-writing-flash-fiction/?_r=0

A Round-up…of Facts about the Daily Effort of Writing Fiction

15 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Qualities of Good Fiction, Writing Discipline

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If after a few attempts a particular sentence or section is not working, delete it. Following this maxim has never let me down. The remaining text has never suffered in the absence of the troubling material.

Good writing only comes of bad writing. There is no shortcut to successful prose. Thinking, outlining, discussing, researching, scheduling, obtaining instruction – these are all necessary, but they don’t result in functional paragraphs on a page. Only through writing do we arrive at a draft manuscript. Bad writing is not something to be avoided. It is something to be accomplished with the knowledge that it is the gateway to good writing.

Try writing from a challenging POV*. I recently wrote a short short story (flash fiction) from the perspective of a character that dies half-way through the narrative. And then I maintained that POV for the rest of the story. No POV should be considered off-limits. Such decisions often lead to more imaginative story because they cause the writer to think differently.
Especially try this if a story is coming off flat.

Action is the result of character A trying to get something from character B that character B doesn’t want to give up. It doesn’t have to be a big thing; it just has to be some thing. In order for there to be action there must be reaction. Agreement between characters is not action and won’t result in story – no matter how interesting the agreement might be.

*Point of View – the perspective from which the story is being revealed. Might be a character or a narrator. Might be 1st or 3rd person, close or omniscient, etc.

Five Myths of Creative Writing #5

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

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The Myth: You write best when you feel moved to do so, when you are inspired. You don’t really have any control over when you’ll produce good writing.

This is a lie. This is an excuse for those who lack discipline. This is something people say who don’t write. This is what people say who are in love with the idea of writing.
Listen to me. All you have to do is write every day*. If you will do this one simple thing you will find that the process will, in due time, produce good writing. After writing every day for a year and after your fifth draft you will see that in fact you do control when you produce good writing. You control it by putting your rump in the chair every single day.
I have never felt like writing except when I’ve been writing. I can think of 100 other things I’d rather do than sit down to write. I know what is in store for me in the discipline and in the process of draft after draft. It is lonely and slow going. But here’s the thing…it works. The process delivers. Confidence in the daily process – this is what motivates me to write every day. Not some abstract inspiration. Not a muse – whatever the dickens that is. Not some highfalutin artistic sensibility.

The Truth: You’ll write best when you do it every day. That is what will result in your best work. Lots and lots of writing is what produces good writing.

*And read. Don’t neglect reading good and great writing. If you’re not a reader you can’t be a writer. The two cannot be separated. Ever meet a musician who never goes to a show?

Five Myths of Creative Writing #4

17 Wednesday Jun 2015

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The Myth: Writing good fiction is about creating wonderful language. Your reader wants luxurious language.

Your reader wants a story, not language. If you were a poet or a librettist we might talk more about language, but not in fiction. Your sentences need to be understood by the average (seventh grade) reader. Wonderful language will wow your reader for a page, maybe two, but not 20 or 200.
Your reader will not work very hard to understand your sentences. There are too many novels on the shelves. Just tell the story. That is your obligation. That is how you will get read.
When you read a “highly stylized” book or story (Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried” comes to mind), what you’re reading is not a voice the author is employing, it is a way of thinking, either theirs or the character’s. It is craft, not invention. (This is part of the ‘write what you know’ conversation. The way you think and speak holds wonderful stories. Write what you know in the way you know it. Your life and experience is much more wonderful and interesting than you think.)
When you reflect on your favorite book you remember all sorts of complexity and depth. However, if you go back and look at the text you’re remembering you’ll find that the language is simple and straightforward. That complexity and depth is what your mind does with story. That is what your reader will do with your story. Leave that to them.

The Truth: Writing good fiction is about creating clear and direct language. Your reader wants language they can understand.

Five Myths of Creative Writing #3

03 Wednesday Jun 2015

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The Myth: Your voice, the way you talk is not adequate to the task of good fiction. You’ll need to find a literary “voice” and then tell stories in that voice.

Here’s an exercise*.
Sit down and write for 30 minutes. Try to write a great first page of fiction – the start to a great novel or short story.

Now, go to the library and find the fiction stacks (I am sure you already know where they are). Start pulling down modern^ novels and short story collections. Read the first lines, maybe the first pages of them. Read the first pages of 30 or 40 novels and/or short stories, more if you have the time. Here is what you’ll find. You will find simple and direct language, clear and concise images. You may not understand exactly where the story is going, but what you’ve read will be clear and straight forward, not open to interpretation. Here are a couple of examples:
“Officially, I started destroying my life that Wednesday morning. But it had been on my mind for a while.” [from The Next Right Thing by Dan Barden]
“The two old men slept on the bank of the dirty flooded river, and from above they would’ve appeared as dead men – corpses washed ashore and left to rot in the coming sun.”

[from What This River Keeps by Greg Schwipps]

Look back at what you wrote. What you wrote is likely not simple and direct. It is complex and trying to do too much. It is working to impress the reader with the author’s skill.
Rewrite your opening as if you were telling your best friend.
There, that is your voice. Write in that voice. Keep writing in that voice.

The Truth: Your voice – the way you talk – is fully adequate to the task of good fiction. Write in your voice. Tell stories in that voice.

*The impact of this exercise will vary depending on how much fiction you’ve written. The only way to become a good writer is to write – everyday, for years and years.
^Published since 1980.