Giles Hash of High Aspirations is out of town this month, and he asked me to write a guest post for his blog to keep his readers entertained while he is away. You can check it out HERE.
And while you're over there, you should mosey through the rest of Giles' blog! It's full of good, writerly advice and camaraderie.
Happy Wednesday!
Showing posts with label editing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label editing. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
On Killing your Darlings & Traveling through Time and Space
Time flies, dunnit?
I've said before that I am an inconstant blogger, and I certainly won't take it back now. I hope you're all well out there. And I hope you've shaken hands with 2012 and found her to be charming.
I'm writing today on a subject I have recently had lots of first-hand experience with. It's the old revision tactic scientifically dubbed "killing your darlings." Familiar with it?
Given my druthers, I would always choose to edit like this:
Happy. Easy. Without any pain to myself or the manuscript. Just get rid of those dead leaves and weak sentences, and then I'm good to go. But it seems to me that the more I want to edit with the little pruning shears, the more I need to face the possibility that THIS is what really needs to happen:
I've recently been doing a lot of chainsawing. Consequently, I've killed a lot of darlings. (If you're foggy on this approach, follow this link.) I've been working on a YA fantasy novel for just over a year now, and after an autumn of garnering feedback from betas who read the draft, I found myself with a lot of ideas of ways to improve the book, but no real conviction about which way was the right one. And so, after a week or so of hideous panic, I made the decision to scrap the first third of the book and rewrite it from an entirely different point.
It felt like a setback, but I discovered right away that it was the right decision. Not because it allowed the book to begin in a more compelling and logical place (although it did do that), but because it loosened my death-grip on the petty things I had grown to love about the manuscript.
I don't know about you, but I love words. I love the way they interact with one another, like they're doing some kind of complicated dance on paper. Like most writers, I love to shape them into sentences and paragraphs and pages pregnant with meaning, and then sit back to watch them glitter. But too often I get attached, and it can take a chainsaw to separate me from a bit of prose I really like--even if the story would be better off without it. And that, I think, is what chainsaw editing is good for. It reminds you that your love for one darling may be choking the whole work. And once you learn to let go of one of the little things you're clinging to, you discover that it's much easier to let go of the next one.
And eventually, who knows? You may even find yourself in possession of that elusive lens we call Objectivity, and look at your work as a reader might.
On an unrelated note, I need to go public with some news: I have fallen in love with the Doctor.
I've resisted and resisted his invisible pull for years now, but about a week ago I finally gave in and started watching. In that brief time I have fallen head over heels, first for the Ninth Doctor, and now for the Tenth. (I am so immersed that I actually thought the whir of the push-vacuum at work was the sound of the TARDIS engine.) It's a glorious thing to find an untapped well of Nerddom simply waiting for you, don't you think? But oh, my poor, poor roommate... And I still have four and a half seasons to go!
So today's questions: How do you manage to look objectively at your work? Does it take chainsaws and darling-killing? And if you are afflicted, how do you manage to overcome Doctor Who Mania enough to live a normal life?
I've said before that I am an inconstant blogger, and I certainly won't take it back now. I hope you're all well out there. And I hope you've shaken hands with 2012 and found her to be charming.
I'm writing today on a subject I have recently had lots of first-hand experience with. It's the old revision tactic scientifically dubbed "killing your darlings." Familiar with it?
Given my druthers, I would always choose to edit like this:
Happy. Easy. Without any pain to myself or the manuscript. Just get rid of those dead leaves and weak sentences, and then I'm good to go. But it seems to me that the more I want to edit with the little pruning shears, the more I need to face the possibility that THIS is what really needs to happen:
I've recently been doing a lot of chainsawing. Consequently, I've killed a lot of darlings. (If you're foggy on this approach, follow this link.) I've been working on a YA fantasy novel for just over a year now, and after an autumn of garnering feedback from betas who read the draft, I found myself with a lot of ideas of ways to improve the book, but no real conviction about which way was the right one. And so, after a week or so of hideous panic, I made the decision to scrap the first third of the book and rewrite it from an entirely different point.
It felt like a setback, but I discovered right away that it was the right decision. Not because it allowed the book to begin in a more compelling and logical place (although it did do that), but because it loosened my death-grip on the petty things I had grown to love about the manuscript.
I don't know about you, but I love words. I love the way they interact with one another, like they're doing some kind of complicated dance on paper. Like most writers, I love to shape them into sentences and paragraphs and pages pregnant with meaning, and then sit back to watch them glitter. But too often I get attached, and it can take a chainsaw to separate me from a bit of prose I really like--even if the story would be better off without it. And that, I think, is what chainsaw editing is good for. It reminds you that your love for one darling may be choking the whole work. And once you learn to let go of one of the little things you're clinging to, you discover that it's much easier to let go of the next one.
And eventually, who knows? You may even find yourself in possession of that elusive lens we call Objectivity, and look at your work as a reader might.
On an unrelated note, I need to go public with some news: I have fallen in love with the Doctor.
I've resisted and resisted his invisible pull for years now, but about a week ago I finally gave in and started watching. In that brief time I have fallen head over heels, first for the Ninth Doctor, and now for the Tenth. (I am so immersed that I actually thought the whir of the push-vacuum at work was the sound of the TARDIS engine.) It's a glorious thing to find an untapped well of Nerddom simply waiting for you, don't you think? But oh, my poor, poor roommate... And I still have four and a half seasons to go!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
A Revelation
Every once and a while I have one of those epiphanies that stops me dead in my tracks no matter where I am or what I'm doing, and makes me turn to whomever is closest (even if it's just my dog) and say, "OH MY GOSH. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST REALIZED???"
Usually this turns out badly for me. Not only because you can never tell what poor, innocent bystander will fall victim to this verbal assault, but also because my revelations tend to be a little, er, shall we say, behind the times.
For example: When I was in college (college, mind you) I realized that the phrase "Take it with a grain of salt" was not in fact, as I had so long assumed, "Take it with the grand assault." This one rocked my world for at least a week.
A few years before this, I was made to understand that the large quantities of fizz produced in the quick pouring of a glass of soda did not result in the irrevocable loss of said soda, but merely indicated some kind of chemical transformation best known by mathematicians and NASA employees. (I had long been indignant at the idea that Coca Cola would sell a product which, if it were not poured slowly enough, would vanish in vast amounts and leave the purchaser with less than half of what they paid for.)
I recently had another revelation, and I hope this one is less embarrassing. It goes like this:
If I were the sort of person who said OMG, I might say it now. For me, this is the best kind of epiphany. It takes something I've been hearing my whole life and links it with something I've been telling myself as long as I've been a writer. And the result is that both ideas are illuminated.
"Actions speak louder than words" is a phrase so overused by elementary school teachers that it draws eye-rolls from anyone over the age of fifteen any time someone so much as thinks it. But consider it in these terms: The reason we must SHOW our readers instead of TELLING them is that actions speak louder than words. Ha! Do you see it? New meaning altogether!
Writing a character's actions conveys your point so much better (so much LOUDER, you might say) than describing that character's feelings or mental progression, doesn't it? Ludwig's shoulders sagged and he dropped into the nearest armchair with a whimper is ever so much more effective than Ludwig was disappointed and tired and he didn't know what he was going to do, as we all know.
But holy mackerel! That's because actions speak louder than words! If I had really understood the depth of that phrase when my first grade teacher droned it to the class so many years ago, maybe I'd be a better writer today! (Are you sick of the exclamation points yet?)
Excuse me. I have to go gaze starry-eyed into space for a while. And then I have to go do some revising.
Thoughts?
Usually this turns out badly for me. Not only because you can never tell what poor, innocent bystander will fall victim to this verbal assault, but also because my revelations tend to be a little, er, shall we say, behind the times.
For example: When I was in college (college, mind you) I realized that the phrase "Take it with a grain of salt" was not in fact, as I had so long assumed, "Take it with the grand assault." This one rocked my world for at least a week.
A few years before this, I was made to understand that the large quantities of fizz produced in the quick pouring of a glass of soda did not result in the irrevocable loss of said soda, but merely indicated some kind of chemical transformation best known by mathematicians and NASA employees. (I had long been indignant at the idea that Coca Cola would sell a product which, if it were not poured slowly enough, would vanish in vast amounts and leave the purchaser with less than half of what they paid for.)
I recently had another revelation, and I hope this one is less embarrassing. It goes like this:
ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS
=
SHOW INSTEAD OF TELL
If I were the sort of person who said OMG, I might say it now. For me, this is the best kind of epiphany. It takes something I've been hearing my whole life and links it with something I've been telling myself as long as I've been a writer. And the result is that both ideas are illuminated.
"Actions speak louder than words" is a phrase so overused by elementary school teachers that it draws eye-rolls from anyone over the age of fifteen any time someone so much as thinks it. But consider it in these terms: The reason we must SHOW our readers instead of TELLING them is that actions speak louder than words. Ha! Do you see it? New meaning altogether!
Writing a character's actions conveys your point so much better (so much LOUDER, you might say) than describing that character's feelings or mental progression, doesn't it? Ludwig's shoulders sagged and he dropped into the nearest armchair with a whimper is ever so much more effective than Ludwig was disappointed and tired and he didn't know what he was going to do, as we all know.
But holy mackerel! That's because actions speak louder than words! If I had really understood the depth of that phrase when my first grade teacher droned it to the class so many years ago, maybe I'd be a better writer today! (Are you sick of the exclamation points yet?)
Excuse me. I have to go gaze starry-eyed into space for a while. And then I have to go do some revising.
Thoughts?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Manuscripts Are Like Children
Happy Thursday to you!
I am pleased to say that last week's begging and pleading worked out very well. The readers who volunteered to take SUNCHILD to their bosoms and thump all the hiccups and burps from her tender little frame were more plentiful and talented than I could have ever hoped. It delights me to know that she is in such capable hands.
Of course, she is only in those hands because I have at long last relinquished her from my own. Which brings me to the point I'd like to discuss (on the metaphor I've already started, because it works pretty well): What do you do with yourself when your baby goes into the world for the first time?
Now, I've never given birth to a human child before. I haven't given birth to an animal child either, although I've found myself in the position of mothering two different baby-beasts in my adult life. But I have now conceived, carried, birthed, and nursed five full novels into maturity, two of which (and now three) have left me to go striding out across the wide world to seek their fortunes.
I confess this loss to have a strange effect on me.
The first thing that happens once I tie up all the fragmented ends of a young manuscript--brush its hair, you know, and tidy its outfit and wash its face--and send it off into someone else's care is that I feel a miraculous sense of relief. The thing is done! I think to myself, breathing my first deep breath of freedom and standing up from my computer to see if my numb limbs still function properly. I can do anything I want! I can watch a movie! I can eat a sandwich! I can change out of my ratty t-shirt and go out on the town!
But the moment this sense of possibility breaks over me with all its brilliant rays, I remember the list that has been accumulating for months as I have inched, slothlike, toward this stage of manuscript near-completion. The list includes things like, "Pay rent" and "Buy dog food" and "Wash your hair," and it goes on for pages and pages--which are of course scattered over my entire apartment, on various scraps of trash or folded post-its, and which could not all be located even if I had the motivation to try. So my raptures are extinguished as quickly as they ignited, and I merely replace one ratty t-shirt with another and set to finding and carrying out the list.
By the time the list has been reasonably reduced, though, I find that something strange has happened to me. I no longer have the urge to watch a movie or make a sandwich. My desire to wear something socially acceptable and go out in public has vanished. I can think of only one thing I truly want to do: Write.
This stage of the process is called MANUSCRIPT WITHDRAWAL. During this stage, a writer experiences selective memory loss with regard to the manuscript they have released into the wild: they can no longer recall the feeling of murderous frustration they experienced when gazing upon that stubborn section that refused to comply to their wishes; they have no memory whatsoever of the grueling headache that plagued them during their last week of revisions; most remarkably of all, they cannot imagine what would have possessed them to daydream of time spent away from the project, when the only thing worth doing in the world was--and IS--spending time on that manuscript!
I have felt symptoms of this illness coming on in the last few days, usually manifested in periods spent staring listlessly at my desk, wondering if I should do something, but not knowing what that something might be. And I know how it goes. Before long, I'll delude myself into thinking I want that annoying, time-devouring child back.
Which of course I do.
But I still had better not waste this precious time I have now. So. What do YOU do while you take breaks from manuscripts? Start another project? Take some intentional time away from writing? Fuel yourself into productivity by means of bribery, threats, or coercion?
And if you have no manuscript, but you have other kinds of babies (humans, animals, chia-pets, etc.), how do you get some healthy distance from them, and refresh yourself while you are apart?
I want to know.
I am pleased to say that last week's begging and pleading worked out very well. The readers who volunteered to take SUNCHILD to their bosoms and thump all the hiccups and burps from her tender little frame were more plentiful and talented than I could have ever hoped. It delights me to know that she is in such capable hands.
Of course, she is only in those hands because I have at long last relinquished her from my own. Which brings me to the point I'd like to discuss (on the metaphor I've already started, because it works pretty well): What do you do with yourself when your baby goes into the world for the first time?
Now, I've never given birth to a human child before. I haven't given birth to an animal child either, although I've found myself in the position of mothering two different baby-beasts in my adult life. But I have now conceived, carried, birthed, and nursed five full novels into maturity, two of which (and now three) have left me to go striding out across the wide world to seek their fortunes.
I confess this loss to have a strange effect on me.
The first thing that happens once I tie up all the fragmented ends of a young manuscript--brush its hair, you know, and tidy its outfit and wash its face--and send it off into someone else's care is that I feel a miraculous sense of relief. The thing is done! I think to myself, breathing my first deep breath of freedom and standing up from my computer to see if my numb limbs still function properly. I can do anything I want! I can watch a movie! I can eat a sandwich! I can change out of my ratty t-shirt and go out on the town!
But the moment this sense of possibility breaks over me with all its brilliant rays, I remember the list that has been accumulating for months as I have inched, slothlike, toward this stage of manuscript near-completion. The list includes things like, "Pay rent" and "Buy dog food" and "Wash your hair," and it goes on for pages and pages--which are of course scattered over my entire apartment, on various scraps of trash or folded post-its, and which could not all be located even if I had the motivation to try. So my raptures are extinguished as quickly as they ignited, and I merely replace one ratty t-shirt with another and set to finding and carrying out the list.
By the time the list has been reasonably reduced, though, I find that something strange has happened to me. I no longer have the urge to watch a movie or make a sandwich. My desire to wear something socially acceptable and go out in public has vanished. I can think of only one thing I truly want to do: Write.
This stage of the process is called MANUSCRIPT WITHDRAWAL. During this stage, a writer experiences selective memory loss with regard to the manuscript they have released into the wild: they can no longer recall the feeling of murderous frustration they experienced when gazing upon that stubborn section that refused to comply to their wishes; they have no memory whatsoever of the grueling headache that plagued them during their last week of revisions; most remarkably of all, they cannot imagine what would have possessed them to daydream of time spent away from the project, when the only thing worth doing in the world was--and IS--spending time on that manuscript!
I have felt symptoms of this illness coming on in the last few days, usually manifested in periods spent staring listlessly at my desk, wondering if I should do something, but not knowing what that something might be. And I know how it goes. Before long, I'll delude myself into thinking I want that annoying, time-devouring child back.
Which of course I do.
But I still had better not waste this precious time I have now. So. What do YOU do while you take breaks from manuscripts? Start another project? Take some intentional time away from writing? Fuel yourself into productivity by means of bribery, threats, or coercion?
And if you have no manuscript, but you have other kinds of babies (humans, animals, chia-pets, etc.), how do you get some healthy distance from them, and refresh yourself while you are apart?
I want to know.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Call for Betas
Well, well, well! Look who it is!
Yep. It's me.
Nothing like a lengthy, unplanned hiatus to make you forget you have a blog, eh? But I've remembered, and what's more, I've decided to keep on remembering. In other words, I think it's time to get back in the proverbial blog saddle and start posting again. Because I'm inches away from finishing my first revision of SUNCHILD, and that means more time for other types of writing.
Which brings me to the main purpose of this post.
I need beta readers.
(If you don't have the foggiest idea what a beta reader is, click this link and have a look at what Casey McCormick has to say on the subject.)
What I'll be asking you to do, essentially, is to read the manuscript from beginning to end, while keeping a shrewd eye out for things that slow you down, things that don't make sense, and things that make you want to stop reading and go vomit instead (although I hope there will be very few of those instances). Your assistance in this vital step of the revision process will help me iron out kinks in plot, pacing, and flow, and will demonstrate to me what more needs to happen before SUNCHILD will be ready for querying. But please be advised, should you decide to offer your help, that the manuscript is still in rough draft form. It will at times be very like slogging through a swamp.
The book, in case you are wondering, is YA fantasy, and it is currently floating at a little over 100,000 words. Essentially, it's about a girl with a magical connection to the sun who lives in a land that's cursed by darkness, facing this question: how can a sunchild be who she's meant to be--and save her kingdom to boot--when she has never even seen the sun? (For more, please click here.)
If you are interested in being a beta reader for SUNCHILD, please email me at hanna.c.howard(at)gmail.com, and I will add you to the list of people whom I will love and adore forever and ever, amen, and send you a very fat attachment on Friday, July 29, which is my self-inflicted deadline.
If you are not interested, then this post is largely irrelevant to you, and I must therefore beg you to stay tuned for my next missive, because I promise I'll return soon. No more shlepping along silently. I'm back, now, and I'm determined to stay. Let's talk writing, folks, and let's talk life.
Let's be e-friends, shall we?
Friday, April 29, 2011
Have I Mentioned How Much I Like Quotes?
"The research is the easiest. The outline is the most fun. The first draft is the hardest, because every word of the outline has to be fleshed out. The rewrite is very satisfying." -Ken Follett
I'm with you, Ken. I'm with you.
Anyone else with him?
I'm with you, Ken. I'm with you.
Anyone else with him?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Countdown to NaNoWriMo DAY SEVEN! (Evolution of a Manuscript)
Happy Halloween! And...
Holy crap! Holy crap! Anyone else seeing a massive to-do list flying before their eyes right now, and wondering how on earth they'll manage to accomplish everything before tomorrow morning? Anyone else wondering why the devil they didn't take care of all these things last week? Anyone else suddenly doubting their ability to compose a coherent sentence, much less a 50,000 word novel--despite having done both many times before?
Yeah. We'll get over it. You know why? Because NaNoWriMo is FUN. And even if it is a major tax on that thing we like to call Spare Time, it's totally worth it. It's like a kid being told to eat all the cookies on the pan as fast as possible: It seems like it shouldn't be allowed, and you know it will make you at least a little sick... but it's so opposite of what you normally do, you simply can't resist the outrageous fun of it.
Okay. Let's get on with it. Today's workshop highlights are from editor/publisher Stephen Roxburgh (see his other workshop here), and it's all about the Evolution of a Manuscript. And from someone who's had lot's of experience watching a manuscript develop (Mr. Roxburgh has worked with many authors, including Roald Dahl and Madeleine L'Engle), I think this information is golden.
The Stages of Novel Writing:
Any thoughts on all this? Personally, I found it to be a very useful way of looking at the whole process--from brainstorming to polishing--all from an editor's perspective. Mr. Roxburgh's advice is good for NaNoWriMo, but it carries us well beyond November. Anyone have any thoughts or opinions (or experiences) to add?
Happy NaNo-ing! Come back tomorrow morning before you start for a wave farewell and a NaNo share-fest!
Holy crap! Holy crap! Anyone else seeing a massive to-do list flying before their eyes right now, and wondering how on earth they'll manage to accomplish everything before tomorrow morning? Anyone else wondering why the devil they didn't take care of all these things last week? Anyone else suddenly doubting their ability to compose a coherent sentence, much less a 50,000 word novel--despite having done both many times before?
Yeah. We'll get over it. You know why? Because NaNoWriMo is FUN. And even if it is a major tax on that thing we like to call Spare Time, it's totally worth it. It's like a kid being told to eat all the cookies on the pan as fast as possible: It seems like it shouldn't be allowed, and you know it will make you at least a little sick... but it's so opposite of what you normally do, you simply can't resist the outrageous fun of it.
The Stages of Novel Writing:
- VISIONARY STAGE
o Replace the concept of DRAFT with that of a PILE.
o In the imagining stage, let go any sense of structure. Don’t cling to anything. Don’t let the technical questions hamper you down. JUST WRITE. As long as your imagination is giving you things, write them down!
o Words on paper may be rubbish or discordant, but at least they are more than just a thought.
o Give yourself the freedom and opportunity at this stage to Just Write.
o Don’t put it on the clock! Don’t try and put a time limit on a project. [UNLESS YOU'RE WRITING FOR NANOWRIMO. :) ]
o It is not a test of will. Wrestling a project to the ground doesn’t work. This kind of work does not lend itself to full-frontal assault. Your story doesn’t want to be forced out.
o In this stage, just let yourself write.
o “Writer’s Block” comes from setting the bar way too high.
o The things that happen when you let yourself go and loosen up are marvelous.
o You can interrupt the process at any time to add, etc.
o You have to know so much more than your reader, and the only way to know is to write it. So write down all your backstory and character webbing, even if you know you'll never use it in the story.
o Under-imagined characters don’t bring anything to the book. Always write it out, even if only for yourself. Give yourself the time.
o We’re already disposed to be hypercritical of ourselves. Don’t do that at this stage.
- REVISIONARY STAGE
o Revision requires distance: objective, critical viewing of the story. Stand up above it and see if it has a recognizable shape.
o People tend to revise by going back to the beginning and reading to the end—doing the same thing over and over—merely tweaking and polishing. Not Re-Visioning. (You can’t polish a turnip. You can only rub it.)
o They also try to track too many things at once. Juggling too many things at one time is NOT productive. Look at only ONE thing at a time. Don’t get sucked in to polishing. Look at the big picture first.
o Take the Heart of your story and examine every scene that encompasses it. See if it is all moving the way you want it to.
o View your work analytically.
o Only look at one piece at a time. Focus. Does each scene move the plot? Does it accomplish what I want it to?
o Flag the things you want to come back to.
o Flag the places that slow things down.
o If two encounters do effectively the same thing, lose one.
- Crude, and startlingly effective Revision Tips:
o Have in your mind to see clearly.
o It is an endless cycle of refinement
* Put the MS away for one year.
* Try to work on something else anyway.
* Take the time to get away from it, and distance yourself.
* Reset the font, margins, and line spacing. This will force you to have fresh eyes.
* Don’t start on page one. Shuffle pages, and read them one at a time, out of order. This is very good for refining. You’re not caught up in the story.
- THE MOST ADVANCED STAGE OF EDITING
o Looking at every word, every encounter, and making it the best possible word/sentence to notch it up and intensify it.
o Your language should burn with a hard, gem-like flame.
o Ask yourself: how do I want my reader to feel right now? Is there anything at all I can do to intensify or enhance that?
o Revision is seeing something anew, in another way.
- Some Other Notes
o You have to be consistent. The last word in a Manuscript after it is published IS THE MANUSCRIPT—not anything the author might say about it.
o If you don’t know what should be happening in your book, there is a problem.
o “Maybe they won’t notice…? Maybe this will slip by them and they’ll give me the Newbery anyway…?” NO. If there’s a problem with your manuscript, you’d better fix it.
o The Mushy Middle is the hardest part. If you can tighten it and get the pacing right, you’re doing well.
o Most people submit prematurely. They don’t hold on too long, they let go too early. That can dig your grave, because most professionals won’t give you a second chance with the same book.
Happy NaNo-ing! Come back tomorrow morning before you start for a wave farewell and a NaNo share-fest!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)