Posts by Barry Knister
In Kathryn Craft’s WU post for May 9 (“To Diagnose or to Characterize?”), David Corbett makes the following comment:
“Having been in reading/writing groups early in my career, and having counseled students who’ve received curious feedback from other group members, I’ve come to realize that you have to be able to discern valid criticism from that which is something other than valid.”
These words registered with me. In part because of problems I met up with in a writers’ group, I have become a strong advocate for writers submitting their work to professional editors. It costs money, but in my view it’s money well spent. This assumes the writer takes pains to learn all she can before choosing an editor. But an editor and writer form a two-member writers’ group, so knowing how to “discern valid criticism” is no less important.
The practice for some who write WU posts is to wait to the end to summarize main points. But what comes first has the best chance of sticking with the reader, so up front, here are the TAKEAWAYS from today’s post on how to choose an editor.
1. Check the editor’s own writing. Whether it’s a marketing pitch or a response to your questions, make sure your would-be editor’s grammar, syntax and punctuation are as close to perfect as possible.
2. Ask for a sample edit. Editors usually offer to do a sample edit of a few pages to show possible clients how they work. (I would reject any editor who didn’t offer such a test sample.) Are the editor’s comments of the sample clear and useful?
3. Tap the spine. How-to books have become their own genre, and some editors write them. Two such excellent books that I’ve read were written by Writer Unboxed regulars Dave King and Tiffany Yates Martin. In both instances, the writing in their own books made the case for why I should do business with them. After all, editors are trying to sell themselves. They want you to hire them to edit your words. If their own words don’t measure up, I would forget whatever recommendation someone may have given to you, and move on.
4. Pay special attention to the choice of words editors use. Do they rely on commonplace buzzwords and cliches? Is there anything fresh or novel in what they themselves have written? For me, doing this is like using the “Look Inside” feature at Amazon. When I see a book description that sounds interesting, I read the opening pages. If they lack freshness or an intriguing voice, I don’t care what the writer’s reputation may be, whether the book has a zillion five-star reviews or made the NYT bestseller list. Same with editors. The writing has to sell me, not a list, or a third-party opinion.
5. Be sure you’re clear on the differences between copy editing, line editing, and developmental editing. You need to know them to fully understand the contract before you sign it.
6. Understand the beginning, middle and end—of your agreement. Will your arrangement with the editor also include follow-up contact after your manuscript has been edited? If so, will that involve additional charges? My arrangement with […]
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Please welcome author, retired teacher, and WU community member Barry Knister as a regular WU contributor! Barry’s known to many here through his prior guest posts but also through his active presence in the comments here at WU. More about Barry from his bio:
After a career in college teaching, Barry Knister returned to fiction writing. For several years, he served as secretary for Detroit Working Writers, and for two years he directed the Cranbrook Summer Writers Conference. He is the author of the Brenda Contay mystery/suspense series. Just Bill, a short novel about dogs and their owners living on a golf course in Naples, Florida will soon be joined by another novel set in the same fictional golf community. Now and then, Barry also gives in to a whimsical impulse, and writes short posts for several Medium publications. He and his wife Barbara live in Pleasant Ridge, a suburb just north of Detroit. Barry looks forward to hearing from you, either through Facebook, his website, or directly at bwknister@sbcglobal.net. Insult comedians welcome.
Welcome, Barry! We’re happy to have you with us!
For me, the importance of humor in both life and literature is best expressed by Clive James, one of the all-time masters of what I call serious humorous writing.
“Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing.”
Wish I’d thought of that, but I’m glad James did. In my experience, people who lack a sense of humor are usually weak in terms of self-knowledge, something fundamental to common sense. How can we know ourselves, let alone the world when the comic side is missing?
In literature, oddly enough, humor is perhaps nowhere more effectively used than in tragedy. In King Lear, Shakespeare makes use of a jester, the fool in Lear’s court. Unlike everyone else, the fool is licensed to speak truth to power. He is able to at least attempt to make the king see how wrong he’s been to banish his favorite daughter, Cordelia, and then to trust his future to his two older daughters. He offers Lear his fool’s coxcomb, a court jester’s emblem.
“Dost thou call me fool, boy?” the king asks.
The fool replies, “All thy other titles thou hast given away, that thou wast born with.”
Could Lear’s terrible blunder be half so well impressed on us with the fool wringing his hands and making a conventional comment?
In Hamlet, the prince’s one true friend Horatio refers to how soon after her husband’s death Hamlet’s mother Gertrude remarried. The prince answers with bitter wit:
“Thrift, Horatio, thrift. The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the wedding feast.”
Money was saved by serving cold cuts left over from the funeral of Hamlet’s father at the wedding feast following his mother’s marriage to his uncle. How much more intense Hamlet’s sense of loss is for us as expressed through his witty answer.
In some respects, humor works even more effectively in fiction. Nothing better explains the special genius of Flannery O’Connor than her gift for bringing characters to life through humor. How else to explain our laughing when a humorless young woman with a PhD has her wooden leg stolen […]
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In his short story, “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love,” Raymond Carver sets two couples to talking on the subject of love, They are drinking gin to help them discover what they mean, but by story’s end, there is no resolution. The four have talked their way through an afternoon, from daylight to darkness. Carver leaves them there, in the dark both literally and metaphorically.
I don’t want to end up in the same place, but my subject is love, specifically the love that readers have for the written word, and for writers. I think the distinction between the two is worth considering.
Here’s a hypothetical. I visit a well-known writer’s website. The writer is promoting his latest suspense novel, in the course of which he laments how little support he’s been getting from those closest to him, his friends and family.
The writer acknowledges how time-starved so many of us are, and that reading is time-consuming. He even goes so far as to acknowledge a simple if depressing truth: many people just don’t like to read. Even so, it seems to him the neglect he feels is not his imagination. Even if those he knows don’t have time to read or can’t be bothered, it seems reasonable to him that they would show a little interest in what he does. He has been let down, and wants people to know it.
When I read these complaints, I think there’s something wrong. I comment to the effect that this successful, admired writer seems to be engaged in self-pity. Of course I know what he’s talking about. With a handful of exceptions, who among the community of writers doesn’t know? But reading this writer’s expression of being wronged just doesn’t seem right. Not in the face of his success in the marketplace.
Is my comment motivated by envy for a writer much more successful than I am? That’s certainly possible: I write suspense novels, too. But in my view, even if my motives are questionable, that’s not relevant. To me, the writer deserves to be challenged about his complaint.
Reaction is swift. One person replies to my comment by saying it’s wrong to criticize anyone for thinking out loud about something that bothers him. We all have the right to express ourselves on anything, and who am I to say otherwise. Another tells me that if I knew the author, I would understand that he never complains about anything, that he’s tough as nails. Not only is he tough, but he’s also mindful of sensitive matters related to race, class, gender, and the environment. Another supporter points out that the author is extremely dedicated to his craft, plus he goes out of his way to help other novelists.
I am an older writer, so my takeaway from all this may be influenced by my age. First, it’s true: I don’t know the writer. I’ve never gone to a reading or book-signing of his, I’m not on his mailing list, and we’ve never met at a conference. Those who have defended him obviously do know him in some way, and they see my criticism as unfair. The writer should be left alone. He’s hard-working, and makes every effort to do his best, plus […]
Read MoreBy Kris Williams via Flickr CC
Please welcome back Barry Knister, one of our own here on Writer Unboxed. After a career in college teaching, Barry returned to fiction writing. His first novel, a gritty thriller titled The Dating Service had been published by Berkley. More recently, he has self-published a suspense series featuring journalist Brenda Contay. Godsend, the third book in the series was released last month, joining The Anything Goes Girl and Deep North. Barry also published a novel for adult dog lovers, a work of magical realism titled Just Bill. The book will be re-released by BHC Press this spring.
Barry served for four years as secretary of Detroit Working Writers. For two years, he was also the director of the Cranbrook Summer Writers Conference. More recently, he wrote “Let me get this straight,” a weekly column on language for the Naples (Florida) Daily News. He lives in Michigan with his wife Barbara, where they serve as staff for Skylar, an Aussie/Sheltie rescue. Barry wants to hear from you, and hopes you’ll contact him through Facebook or his website.
Back to the Future: How to Use Our Craft’s Own Backstory
In the biopic Genius, Jude Law plays Thomas Wolfe to Colin Firth’s Maxwell Perkins. In one scene, it takes three workers to haul boxes of foolscap manuscript into editor Perkins’ office at Scribner’s. Perkins’ job is to machete his way through this scribbled jungle, and turn Wolfe’s undisciplined effusion into Of Time and the River.
Genius isn’t a very good movie, but the story of what Perkins did, for F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway as well as Thomas Wolfe is the stuff of legend in our time. These days, writers must be their own Maxwell Perkins, their own mentors and critics. They must rely on beta readers, other writers in groups, and professional “hired gun” freelance editors to help them identify and develop the potential in their work.
Light My Fire
And we now also rely on accelerants. Arsonists use accelerants like gasoline to set fires in buildings for which they want to cash in insurance policies. I use accelerants to light charcoal briquettes when I grill.
For readers of Writer Unboxed, the idea of accelerants can be applied to the many aids for speeding up the pace of progress as writers. I’m talking about craft books, workshops, online courses, software, conferences, coaching, and probably half a dozen other strategies and “tools” that have come on the market since I started typing this post.
I am a firm believer in the whatever-works-is-good school of craft development, and I know craft aids are highly valued. Occasionally, I make use of such products, especially when I learn about them through an ethical source like Writer Unboxed. I count Self-editing for Fiction Writers by Dave King and Renni Browne among my most important resources. That goes as well for professional editors who have helped me with manuscripts.
That said, I think it’s worth noting that until recently—say, within the last three decades, a time marked by the rise of self-publishing—the process of learning how to write included almost no such aids. There were summer conferences, but otherwise those who got the writing virus looked to the only remedy available—good examples in the form […]
Read MoreOur guest today is Barry Knister who returned to fiction writing after a career of college teaching. His first novel, a gritty thriller titled The Dating Service had been published by Berkley. More recently, he has self-published two novels in a suspense series, The Anything Goes Girl, and the just-released Deep North. He has also published Just Bill, a short novel for adults about dogs and owners living on a Florida golf course.
Barry served as the past secretary of Detroit Working Writers, one of the country’s oldest writing organizations. For two years, he was also the director of the Cranbrook Summer Writers Conference. More recently, he wrote “Let me get this straight,” a weekly column on language for the Naples (Florida) Daily News. He lives in Michigan with his wife Barbara where they serve as staff for their Aussie/Sheltie rescue, Skyler.
Barry enjoys corresponding with writers and invites you to contact him through his website.
Goodfellas and Third Rails: The Conflict Between an Author’s Self-Interest and Freedom
Like other top sites for writers, Writer Unboxed offers inspiration, as well as advice on the Dos and Don’ts of craft and trade. Unlike most other sites, though, WU also lightens the load and amuses—thank you, Tom Bentley, Keith Cronin, Bill Ferris, et al. With few exceptions, the posts at WU are useful to both made writers, and to those working toward becoming made.
I’m using “made” in the Mafia sense. To be a made man in the mob is to be formally accepted into a crime family (“goodfellas” and “wiseguys” also refer to fully fledged gangsters). To achieve made status usually requires the wannabe gangster to carry out a contract killing.
If someone gets whacked for just annoying an unmade gangster (the way so many annoy Joe Pesci’s character in Goodfellas and Casino), that doesn’t count toward becoming a made man. Murders and maimings that aren’t contracted by higher-ups are viewed as simple fits of pique, and aren’t related to “business.” Case in point? The man living across the street from me. He has a compulsive need to use his leaf blower after dark, a blower powered by an F-16 jet engine. So often at such times I’ve wished Joe Pesci could be with me here on my patio, sharing a glass of wine after dinner…
Sorry, I lost the thread.
How does any of this apply to third rails, and to a conflict between becoming a made writer, and literary freedom?
The third rail is the electrified power rail that runs between subway tracks. Step on it, and you stop being a problem to anyone outside the Sanitation Department. But what are the third rails to be avoided by anyone who wants to be a made writer?
Two are politics, and writing outside your gender.
Yes, you can write about politics—but only if you safely cast your novel in the (preferably dystopian) future, or the past. Or in a galaxy far, far away. If the Mother of Dragons frees slaves (Game of Thrones), or a snowy-haired sadist president played by Donald Sutherland forces spunky teenagers to hunt down and kill each other (The Hunger Games)—fine. You can do that.
Except we’re all […]
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