it's all in the wrist

When I read lately, I've been looking at writing techniques that work and those techniques that don't.  When I read for leisure, I savor the words and imagine the scenes vividly.  Although I can devour a book in a night, I know that I'm a slower reader when it comes to reading for fun.  Looking at technique as I read, is a relatively new thing for me to do.  It's different than critically analyzing literature for an English class.  The process is more about mechanics. 

One book I read, didn't adequately describe its scenes.  In one scene, a man gets splashed by a car that was driving by and went through a puddle.  Later in the narrative, we find that the man was out for a jog when the car sprayed him.  It changed the picture I had of a man casually walking in jeans and a t-shirt to a man running in short Tom Sellek shorts.  Big difference!  I found myself re-reading paragraphs in order to get a complete picture of the action.   

One of my problems in writing is that I don't elaborate enough.  The result is that I am careful about how I elaborate.  When I read, if the writer is lamenting over the same thing, or spends a lot of time describing something; I check out.  I don't want the reader to check out when he/she reads my novel.  I want every word to count. 

Another author that I recently read combated this problem by including a lot of action.  The book must have had twenty different sub-plots.  I felt like I needed to keep a flow chart of all the different characters and happenings.  There were times when I would lose track of who's who and what's what. 

This exercise has been helping me figure out how to address some of my own writing issues.  It's helping me balance what to say and what not to say.  It's helping me find tactics on how to deliver the message. 

Bam! Said the Lady

Anton Chekhov quite famously noted that a gun introduced in the first act must go off in the third; a succinct reminder to writers that you shouldn't add anything to the story that doesn't have literary value. Chekhov's Gun is one of the basic fundamentals of any writing class, and like the fundamentals of any craft, one abuses or ignores it at their peril.

It's been on my mind this weekend, brought on by an impulse ebook purchase. Although I have about ten books to read right now, I wanted something fluffy and thoughtless the other day to read, and so I downloaded a well-reviewed romance novel to my Nook the other day, by a Famous and Prolific author whom I had never read. It was actually pretty decent, and halfway through, I downloaded the next two books in the series. Book One was not great, but good, and since it was setting up an entire series, I didn't worry too much about the lack of depth; after all, it had fit my fluff requirement. Book Two had a little more meat on it's bones and was a better read, while also subtly setting up the following novel.

Book Three was an unholy mess. I have no idea how this got out of rough draft, let alone past an editor. Not only did the plot have holes you could drive a semi through, at one point the author actually had a character literally drive a semi through a plot hurdle.

Going into this story, we knew the protagionist was returning to his childhood home to rebuild his life there. His emotional baggage included an alcoholic, abusive father who had died when he was a teen, a mother who committed suicide prior to his father's death, two half-brothers he was not on good terms with, and regret over his failed relationship with his high school sweetheart, his One True Love, who has also coincidentally returned to town.

In true Chekhovian fashion, the author lays the following guns out on the table:

Our Hero had secretly married, and never told anyone in his family
His wife died recently in a tragic accident, but he didn't really love her, so it's no big deal
Our Heroine has also recently lost her spouse in a tragic accident
She also didn't really love him, but feels kind of guilty because he killed himself because of her
Our Hero cheated openly on Our Heroine throughout their high-school relationship
The result of which is a 13 year-old kid he has now randomly taken into his home
However, birth control is still not high on his list of priorites, since "he's clean"
He is also the greatest amateur singer/guitar player in the state, although he never seems to play his guitar or sing
Our Heroine has a six-year kid who is completely unaffected by the recent tragic death of her father, and openly campaigns for Our Hero to be her new daddy within two minutes of meeting him
Our Heroing also sees no need for birth control since she randomly became infertile after giving birth to her daughter
Which is somehow completely unrelated to her late husband's secret vasectomy
Our Hero's bastard child's baby mama has apparently killed one man, and attempted to kill another, and not only flees town, but comes back to town to visit her second victim while he is in JAIL for an unrelated crime, and the deputy forgets to arrest her

Guess which gun goes off in the third act? NONE of them. Not only do none of these plot elements play out, they are crammed into the front end of the story, and never referenced, or even discussed among the characters ever again. Even when the Hero proposes marriage to the Heroine, she never even thinks to say "Hey, what about all those times you cheated on me and had a baby with another woman and that kid is now living with you and I have a kid, too, and we should probably talk about this stuff and maybe lay out some fidelity ground rules and whatnot?" Nope.

So, long story short, I've spent the day frantically reworking my novel so far, and excising chunks of dialogue, exposition, and two complete scenes out of fear that I could be writing a book like this lady. Although the book itself wasn't worth what I paid for it, the lesson has turned out to be priceless, and I hope it's one I won't need to be reminded about in the future.

What I Know For Sure

Write what you know.  I can't count how many times I've read that phrase.  As overused as it is, there must be something to that piece of advice.  I decided to follow it. 

What is it that I know right now?  I know how to fail at a marriage.  I'm pretty damn good at it, actually.  I've failed twice, which is above average.  I don't mean that in a whole, "poor me" way.  It just is.  So, I am writing about that very thing. 

Writing about something that is deeply personal is a little weird, though.  I spend most of my time editorializing what I tell others.  I could rant and rave about the same themes, but in the end it gets a little old.  Instead I self edit what I say to others, as many people do.  Everyone has a filter.  Sometimes, that filter needs to be a little more robust.  In writing a story, I am able to take off that filter and explore the thoughts that I dare not say out loud, for fear of sounding a little off my rocker.  In writing, there is no judgement.  I can explore themes of hurt or longing and not be labeled. 

The experience has been freeing.  In life, I tend to try to see things from another's perspective.  I tend to compromise, which can be good, in the case of resolving a dispute.  It can also be bad, in the case of compromising one's beliefs or happiness.  By removing my filter and allowing myself to freedom to express what is mine alone, I have been able to see things clearly and achieve peace.   
 

Craftsmanship

One of the alarming things I'm learning about myself through this project is that I really do need some sort of external pressure to complete...anything, apparently. I've always been more task-oriented than goal-oriented, particularly if the tasks were set by someone paying me a salary. As much as I like to say I'm self-directed, the reality is that I'm only that way when I'm on the clock.


I had decided, sort of, that one of my goals this year would be to try to complete a novel by October 31st, which would then free me up to churn out a potboiler during NaNoWriMo. It seemed more than achievable - if I could write a crappy novel in a month, as I have for past NaNos, than surely I could write a good book in ten months.

It turns out, writing, regularly and with care, is really, really hard. I've never had to do it before; in the past I could churn out papers, essays, and stories quickly and with minimal effort.

Now, though, I'm putting a lot more care and work into it, and it's going at a snail's pace, to the point where it's borderline disheartening. It's hard work, and I'm really trying at it now in a way that I never had to before. Proofing, refining, doing outlines and timelines and character backgrounds; researching buildings and towns and professions. I know I can write well; I know I have a handle on the art of it. What I'm learning, painfully, now, is the craft of it. Like any other trade, I need to develop and hone my skills in ways that are not apparent on the surface, and the only way I can do that is through experience.

So it's been a slow go lately for me, but I'm glad that I'm sticking with it. It'd be easy to cheat, or quit, or pretend I lost interest in the project altogether, but I feel I have a bigger responsiblity now. Now just to Jen, my partner in crime, but to me; to achieve this goal I have set for myself. Not just to know that I can do it, but to believe that I will do it.

What flavor am I?

For years I daydreamed about being a writer.  One such manifestation of my dream was that I was a freelance writer for a magazine.  Last week I looked into what it would take to be a freelance writer.  The world of freelance writing is pretty vast.  There are postings for blog writers, marketing content, web articles, and product reviews.  I was amazed at how many different types of freelance assignments there were.  I also quickly discovered that there was global competition for these jobs. 

I decided to give it a try.  I answered an ad for someone to write biographies for the artists signed with a particular record label.  The person who posted the ad had a computer mishap and needed help in writing her articles.  I contacted her and submitted a bid, which told her how much I would charge, how much work I could take on, and when I would finish the job.  I discovered that many of these writing jobs paid barely more than minimum wage.  After an hour and a half of my time, she said that she would accept my bid contingent on writing a sample bid, which took me another hour and a half.   

In the end I didn't get the bid.  Given the rejection rate of writers and other artists, I didn't take it to heart.  However, I did gain some insight.  In the business world, time is money.  But in the world of art, money isn't everything.  Many of the people who were awarded projects were from overseas where the dollar stretches further.  Given this climate, it is clear that freelancing would only augment my income and enhance my resume.  It wasn't the dream I had in mind.

I think this was an important exercise in defining myself more as a writer.  I was able to delineate what I would and wouldn't do.  The more I write and dig into this process, the stronger my voice is as an artist.  Creating something with a better awareness of the marketplace will hopefully give me perspective so that I can write with relevance.  At the very least, it gives me understanding so that I don't feel like a bumbling idiot.  Now the next time I dream, it can be a little more specific.     

What's the saying about good intentions?

A couple months ago I was daydreaming and thought the idea would make a good story.  I developed the story by asking myself, "How did these characters get in this situation?"  Then I wrote, not caring if it were good or bad.  I just wrote to get the words out.  I'm about 100 pages into it, and it feels wrong.  I can't make the connections.  The more I develop the book, the outcome is so far removed from the original idea.  It's clear, in my mind, what I need to do.  I need to keep the original idea for later, and finish the new story. 

What happened with this story echos real life.  Starting out with best intentions, only to have something go wrong, and end up trying to fix it.  Nothing is beyond fixing.  In the end, I think the newly fixed outcome will be better than the original intended outcome.  At least, that's the thought that keeps me going.

I'm writing...now what?

I've been feeling a little accomplished lately, so I decided it was time to squish my high spirits.  Actually, I decided it was time to research next steps.  The squishing of my spirits was a unfortunate yet inevitable side effect.  I wanted to get published.  So, I read articles from writing organizations and writers to see what their advice to me was.


Each article detailed the long and arduous road of getting published.  It told of a struggle that lasted years.  It detailed the hundreds of rejections.  It told of project after project that would never know an audience.  Writing is not for the faint of heart and I was starting to become faint. 

The writers also had conflicting pieces of advice.  Just do it.  Don't just do it- practice then do it.  Write what comes naturally.  Think outside of your comfort zone.  Use natural language.  Use thought provoking language.  By the end of the night, I thought my head would explode.

In the end, none of it mattered.  I spent a day reading what someone else's ideas on writing were.  I had hoped for inspiration by people I admired.  There were very few articles that achieved that end.  So, I ended up back at the beginning, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  In the end, I know what I know and that is that I'm a writer.  Whatever profession I hold, I'm a writer.  My identity as a writer goes beyond a paycheck, beyond what's on my business card.  Writing is what I do.  Right now it's what I do for fun.  Hopefully it will become something that will be shared with others.  I just need to keep doing it.