Fiction therapy
There’s a section in Craig Silvey’s Jasper Jones that has stayed with me ever since I read it. The main character, Charlie, uses a racial slur at the dinner table. It’s clear he doesn’t know what the word means. To enlighten him, his father comes to him later “with a stack of books… It felt important, and it was clear to me that he thought it was significant too.” The books were by Southern writers: Welty, Faulkner, Harper Lee, Flannery O’Connor and a dozen or so by Mark Twain.
Those books changed young Charlie. He gained a different perspective on the world just through reading those books. That’s how powerful reading can be.
But that’s not the case for every young person. Charlie’s father was a schoolteacher, and probably a good, committed one too. But that’s not everyone’s experience of reading at school, and not mine either.
Too often we’re given books you’d never choose to read. That’s not a bad thing, as any book club member will tell you, but the books should be appropriate, or at least, their relevance should be clearly explained.
Disillusioned from the start
Instead, many young people books by people long dead who lived in worlds very different to our own, sometimes in a form of the language that is no longer recognisable to us. We are then asked to decipher what this author wanted to say. And somehow we’re supposed to think this guy (it’s often a guy) is great simply because we’re being taught about that book. Learn it, pass the exam, then you can forget about it if you want.
With the certainty of the adolescent mind, we decide (without necessarily weighing up the arguments in the way they’ve been trying to teach us) that these books and authors are most definitely not relevant. Our conclusion often is that books are boring, all of them.
There are certainly many wonderful teachers who inspire a long-lasting love of books and reading, but often, like Charlie, it comes from someone closer to home.
The mentor
For me, it was a neighbour, Peter Hainey. We lived in a social housing area in the west of Scotland, similar to the projects in the US. Peter was in his 60s at the time, close to retirement. All his kids except his youngest daughter had already moved away from home. The daughter was in her final year of high school when I had just started. She and Pete’s wife would make themselves scarce on a Sunday evening when I visited, coming in occasionally with tea or sodas or to retrieve something they’d forgotten, and always for a quick chat as well.
Peter taught me chess too, and, between moves, we discussed the books he’d leant me the week before. They were mostly nature books, some beautifully illustrated, but all infused with a love for the natural world that Pete and I already shared. Others were war books. Pete had been a POW in World War Two and he told me some of his experiences, leaving out a lot of detail – detail that my young teenage self was desperate to know – but always with a strong sense of the absurdity of war.
And then there were the novels, of course, many of them along the same lines […]
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Some years ago, maybe almost 20 years ago, I was running a series of workshops for young writers, and we organized a trip to a dance troupe. We thought this would offer some entertainment and a way to explore other creative activities. But the dancers got us involved too. All of us. Including me.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” I protested.
“That’s OK,” said one of the dancers. “Just listen to the music and listen to you body, try to feel if the music touches you somewhere.”
I tried. I wanted to be open to this.
I felt the music in my thumb, so I started tapping out the beat. That then became more of a slap as the rest of my hand got involved. Then my shoulders joined in. Arms. Legs. Before I knew it, I was dancing. Really dancing. It was fantastic. I loved it.
I was reminded of this experience recently when I read the following line from David Abram’s book The Spell of the Sensuous:
“A story must be judged according to whether it makes sense. And ‘making sense’ must be here understood in its most direct meaning: to make sense is to enliven the senses.”
Sensational
The idea that you can feel as well as hear music is something I think we can all recognize, but we can also experience other sounds as a sensation. The classic example is the squeak of chalk on a board. But try it with other noises, maybe a birdsong or even a passing car, and see if you can feel that sound in your body, maybe a specific spot. Don’t think about it too much, just try to sense it. What does it feel like?
It’s easy to make the connection between smell and taste too, as you can get an idea of how something will taste from its smell. And both taste and smell have the power to invoke a memory – your ex’s after shave or perfume, that first vacation by the sea.
But can you imagine the taste a sound might have? That’s more difficult, but it’s worth trying. What would that chalkboard squeak taste like? Think about it for a moment. I’m getting something sharp and metallic.
And this is something you can use in your writing, to add richness and to, as David Abram says, have your story make sense.
Rich flavors
Food, for example, can invoke all five senses. You can imagine the taste just by looking at food, then, as I mentioned, the smell is so important. Then there is the actual taste, which comes with a texture and maybe even a crunch.
And think about noisy eating. That can invoke a feeling, an emotion even, and a very strong one in some cases, especially those who have misophonia.
There is also synesthesia. I had a colleague who could hear colors to the point where her neighbor’s drapes would give her a severe headache.
But we can all try to experience this mix of senses and add that to our writing to add another dimension and shift away from obvious connections and even cliches. The warm sweetness of a sunset; the blue feel of cold steel; the soft, pale sheet of wind covering your skin.
Again, you don’t have to think too much about the sense a particular […]
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My mother loved cozy romance novels. Stacks of them were piled up around her house, and it was rare to find her at home without one by her side. Not being familiar with the genre myself, I asked her once why she liked these books so much. She said, “I love reading them because no matter what happens in the story, I know there will always be a happy ending.”
This got me thinking about readers’ expectations and authors’ obligations to fulfill them. The storylines in most genre fiction tend to follow trajectories that provide fans with a particular experience. In the case of cozy romance novels, this often means feelings of reassurance and contentment, especially when it comes to their endings.
But what about other types of fiction? What is the best way for writers to strike a balance between telling a story that’s meaningful to them that will also be meaningful to readers and give them sense of satisfaction at the story’s conclusion?
I think part of the answer might lie in our collective definition of what a “happy” ending is.
In my experience as a reader and as a novelist, an ending that feels satisfying and positive doesn’t always have to be one where everyone gets married and rides off into the sunset. For me, the most important thing is that a story ends with a sense of hopefulness.
If at the end of a novel a character has grown as a person and has learned something valuable as a result of their experiences, I almost always feel that reading it was worthwhile. This is especially true if I can relate to the character and his or her journey in a personal way.
One of my favorite novels is Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. While most people wouldn’t consider the ending of this book to be happy (one of the main characters gets beheaded by the Guillotine), it’s satisfying and hopeful in that it depicts human nature at its most selfless and noble during one of the bloodiest eras in Europe’s history, the Reign of Terror that led up to the French Revolution.
In fact, the stories that have held the most meaning for me have often been those that delve into the darkest places, that force their characters (and their readers) to take a hard look at realities they’d rather ignore. Margaret Atwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale comes to mind as does Paul Harding’s Enon and Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See.
One thing these books have in common is the feeling of hope they leave readers with at their conclusions. In the midst of the worst imaginable circumstances, the strength and resilience of the human spirt manages to prevail. These books and others like them are beacons that can light our way forward during the worst of times. And I believe that feeling hopeful, that there is something better just over the horizon if we can manage to keep going, is what human beings need most, especially in the unsettled times in which we’re living.
Of course, all of this is not to say that a good old-fashioned happy ending isn’t sometimes […]
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From the Flickr of briantvogt, INFphoto.com.Ref: infusmi-20/21|sp
My last article, in March, addressed the process of finding and hiring a professional editor for a novel manuscript, comparing the insecurity this sparked as akin to entering one’s dolled-up toddler in a baby beauty contest. There might be harsh criticism and unflattering light. My metaphor was similar to one I’ve used to describe the sensation of having a novel launch into the world: It’s like pushing one’s naked toddler out into traffic to cross a busy intersection alone, while one can only watch what happens from the curb (and one is also naked). So, yeah. Anxiety is involved.
I promised an update in this installation, and I know that millions of you have been on the edge of your seats waiting to hear how it’s going.
It’s going well. Thanks for asking.
As I mentioned last time, there are many ways to find a professional editor. I’ve heard recommendations from writing bloggers, and there are many options available through reputable sources, such as Poets & Writers magazine and The Author’s Guild (if you’re a member). HERE are some great articles and advice from the WU archives.
I asked some fellow historical novelists about their experiences with editors-for-hire. Denny S. Bryce’s next novel, THE OTHER PRINCESS: A NOVEL OF QUEEN VICTORIA’S GODDAUGHTER, comes out in October from Harper Collins. Denny had this to say: “For my first novel, I hired a developmental editor. I wanted to work with someone who had been an editor at a traditional house and could help me with character arcs, turning points, and conflict. I considered the decision an investment in my writing career, and working with her one-on-one definitely contributed to my growth as a writer and the success of my first novel: WILD WOMEN AND THE BLUES.” (Kensington, 2021).
For me, a conversation with a fellow historical novelist led me to an introduction. Have you ever “met” a fellow writer on social media, and instantly liked their vibe, and then loved their book, and struck up some sort of friendship? That happened with me and Tori Whitaker, author of MILLICENT GLENN’S LAST WISH (Lake Union, 2020) and A MATTER OF HAPPINESS (Lake Union, 2022) when we bonded over launching books during a pandemic. Tori is a bourbon aficionado and perhaps something of an expert on the subject. I asked her to contribute a cocktail recipe to my annual series of December Instagram posts called “The Twelve Cocktails of Christmas”. (Tori’s Holiday Old Fashioned recipe was excellent, BTW).
Tori had this to say about her choice to hire an editor: “I retained a trusted developmental editor whose work I admired and who brought 20+ years’ experience teaching writing. That decision was indispensable in finally landing a deal for my debut novel—rather than having another book stuck in a drawer.”
Since Tori writes historical novels, I trusted her personal recommendation and contacted her editor, Jenna Blum. Jenna requested five pages of my manuscript and […]
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Like many of you here, I wanted to be a writer from a very young age. I wrote stories as a kid and, in my 20s, I persisted and became a journalist and wrote radio dramas. I was being paid to be a writer. Ambition achieved!
Except journalism, and even scripted dramas, is not the same as creating your own story from conception to completion. So I did that. I wrote a novel and sent it out there.
Within two weeks, an agent asked for the full book. I was so excited. I was such a great writer! My next piece of writing would be my resignation letter. Then the rejection slip came. I collected about 120 in total. I still have them.
I clearly had more to learn. So I did. I read all the books on writing: Anne Dillard, Stephen King, Natalie Goldberg, John Truby and many, many more.
I took courses, got a master’s degree in creative writing, joined a writers’ group, then another, subscribed to blogs, newsletters, forums. All of it. And I wrote another three novels. All of them were rejected, many, many times.
Camaraderie
Perhaps the most valuable aspect of all of this was meeting other writers and exchanging experiences and, of course, writing. The other authors appreciated my feedback. Often, as the writers’ group/workshop/course would break up, someone would stop me and ask if I wanted to read more of their work. Sure, I’ll read it. Quite a few went on to have their short stories published and even their novels accepted.
Although I was still revising those four novels, I was spending more and more time on other people’s writing. I loved it. I loved reading those stories, picking out what didn’t quite work and then managing to pinpoint exactly what that thing was and why it didn’t work.
I was finally putting all that effort and study to good use. And it was helping people. They were getting published. And I was thrilled about it. I forgot about my old manuscripts and the pages of ideas I had.
I’ve found what I’m good at, and it’s not writing novels, it’s editing them.
But that means I haven’t achieved my long-held ambition.
I still write though – as you can see. Just not novels. I’ve found something that I love doing, and I get a lot of satisfaction from my work. There’s still a lot of creativity, and it feels like I’m helping people (my second career choice was some kind of health care professional).
So I’m fine with not reaching my goal.
It’s fine to fail
That’s not always the case though. I still set myself goals that I don’t achieve. I failed to write my WU articles for the past two months. I feel bad about it because these monthly ramblings are important to me.
And there I have to stop myself.
I didn’t “fail.” Life got in the way and I had to make choices, and I benefited from those areas where I did put my attention. And I’m grateful to the WU team for being so supportive and understanding. And these aren’t “ramblings”; these articles are thoughts and suggestions that I hope will help others.
It’s difficult in those moments where we feel like we have “failed” to be kind to ourselves, to be grateful […]
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Following a 4-year hiatus, the in-person Writer Unboxed UnConference is back!
Go ALL IN on the craft of fiction with our intimate and immersive event.
The 2023 UnConference, Unboxed
Part symposium. Part interactive workshop. Part networking affair. Part retreat.
Unlike other conferences, our hybrid event will not include sessions on the business of writing. Instead, we’ll spend that time advancing your craft, strengthening your resolve, and helping you make meaningful connections with other writers. In other words, we’ll lean on the qualities that have made Writer Unboxed a strong online community and website for novelists—one of the best for 17 years straight, according to Writer’s Digest. We’re going to empower you, but this time we’re going to empower you in person.
The Writer Unboxed UnConference will kick off on Monday, November 6th in Salem, Massachusetts and span the week with in-depth, interactive conversations and workshops led by trusted WU contributors, craft gurus, professional editors, and bestselling authors.
As has been the case in the past, this is a limited-space event. Capping tickets at ~130 helps us to maintain the intimate feel of the UnConference and foster connections between attendees.
A Week With an Arc of Its Own
This year’s UnConference, ALL IN, was built to drive divergent thinking from day one. (Read about the development of and inspiration for its theme and unique structure HERE.)
Expect to develop fresh ideas and solutions for your specific craft challenges throughout the week and to emerge with a clear path forward.
The Cadence of Our Days
MORNINGS:
If you love quiet writing time as part of a group, join your fellow attendees beginning as early as 6 a.m. (T-F) for Morning Pages in the ballroom at the Salem Waterfront Hotel.
Planned programming will begin between 8:30-9 a.m. in the same location and is meant for all attendees.
AFTERNOONS:
Afternoon sessions will be offered along two general tracks: Track 1 caters more to first-draft issues while Track 2 sessions consider challenges that often emerge in later drafts.
You’re welcome to move between these tracks, which will be held either at the Salem Waterfront Hotel or the meeting space in the historic House of the Seven Gables, a brief walk from the hotel. Time to move between afternoon sessions has been built into the schedule.
EVENINGS:
In the evenings, connect with other writers during more relaxed “UnConference” programming—guided discussions on the writing life, the process of writing, storytelling problems, and more.
A Summary of Our Sessions and Schedule
Note: A more robust view of sessions, including descriptions and scheduling, is available in the AGENDA section on Eventbrite.
MONDAY:
TUESDAY:
WEDNESDAY:
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I probably shouldn’t reveal this as it’s something close to me and my partner, but since it’s Valentine’s day, so maybe the spirit of romance will forgive me. It’s nothing very intimate anyway, and I mentioned to her that I was writing this article and she seemed OK about it. So I guess it’s all right if I tell you. Just you.
So, here goes: I write letters to her.
Not a huge revelation, I know, but no one else knew about this until now. And now you know too.
They’re not really what you’d describe as love letters. I don’t think I’ve ever used the L word in them (I’m sticking to that “show don’t tell” advice). Without giving you too many details, the letters are more about how I felt in specific moments we shared (a walk along the beach, a sunset) or, when I have to travel, what I miss about her.
And I usually write these letters when she’s not around, when I have a quiet contemplative moment to myself. Sure, I could tell her all these things. And I do. But, as I’m sure you will appreciate, there’s something just that little bit more special about putting your thoughts into words.
Here though, for the purposes of this article, it’s not the content that’s important but the process.
I traveled recently, on a trip where unfortunately she couldn’t join me, and it was when I was writing my letter to her that I noticed the process.
I realized that I usually write a first draft on my phone, in a memo app. I almost always have my phone with me, so it’s more convenient than a computer. Plus, when I have my laptop open, I’m usually busy with work and emails. I can have my phone with me when I’m in the plane, on a train or having a coffee or eating lunch on my own.
A thought arises, something I want to tell her and, before I know it, that leads to another thought and another until I’ve written a couple of pages.
But I find the phone a poor writing tool, and, being an editor, I can’t help but tinker. So I send that text to myself as an email and then open it on my laptop and go over the text once more. Draft number two.
That special touch
The first time I wrote one of these letters, I wanted it to be a little different. I wasn’t going to email it to her and have my email lost among all her work stuff. And I wasn’t going to print it off and hand it over. This letter had to be more special than that. So I bought a pad of nice paper, colored envelopes and even a pen that would write nicely – this letter had to be handwritten, of course.
So, with my corrected text on the computer screen in front of me, I take my pad of nice paper and that beautiful ballpoint pen that writes so smoothly, and copy out the letter by hand.
This last time though, I realized that I don’t copy the letter exactly. I make changes as I go, and these have to be careful changes because I don’t want to scrub out words or strike through […]
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Everyone wants their writing to be successful in some way, but what is a successful novel?
That starts with your definition of success.
If you measure success by the amount of books you finally sell, then you’re probably setting yourself up for some disappointment. Exact figures are hard to come by and are complicated by whether you count ebooks and audiobooks along with print books.
It’s estimated that 15% of new books published by the top 10 publishers in the US will sell fewer than 12 copies in a year; only 0.04% will sell more than 100,000. It’s generally considered that a book needs to sell 5,000 copies to break even; 85% of books don’t achieve that.* Reports suggest that self-published books sell five copies on average, but that seems on the low side to me.
Acknowledgement
Maybe it’s enough to get a publishing deal from a traditional publisher, to get that kind of industry recognition. That’s a fair aim, but so many of us in the WU community know how difficult that can be as the rejections pile up.
The decision by a publisher or agent to take on a book is such a subjective process. One book might resonate strongly with one reader because they relate positively to the content, but another reader’s own personal experiences and biases might set them dead against the idea of publishing the same story.
I see this in my own work with Arkbound publishing. We have a committee to decide on the proposals we receive precisely because of how subjective such decisions can be. Our opinions very rarely vary too much – great or poor writing will always be recognized – but it’s interesting to see where opinions diverge, and so we go with a majority decision, meaning no one person has the responsibility for rejecting a work.
With the odds seemingly against you, why bother spending all that time and immense effort to write a book?
There are, of course, many benefits to writing.
Research has shown that it can help you organize your thoughts. Dr M Cecil Smith of West Virginia University suggests that writing ‘requires focusing of attention, planning and forethought, organization of one’s thinking, and reflective thought, among other abilities – thereby sharpening these skills through practice and reinforcement.’ Walter Ong, a professor of English literature and philosophy, stated that writing is necessary to help the human mind achieve its full potential.
Cognitive psychologist James Pennebaker has researched how writing can help people overcome trauma, even with short writing exercises, and found that people feel happier, or at least less negative, and experienced fewer symptoms of depression and anxiety after a series of writing exercises. Other research suggests that people can be healthier as a result of writing as it is likely to boost the immune system, and writing has been shown to improve chronic conditions such as asthma and arthritis.
Aims
But I don’t think many people sit down to write a novel with the specific aim of improving their health, unless you’re writing about a specific trauma or experience. But writing so you can have fewer visits to the doctor is rarely the main motivation.
Most writers are looking for something more. And if becoming a bestselling author or landing a lucrative publishing deal are out […]
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In August 2021, my husband and I hugged our son goodbye and left him at a small college in Ohio, 2033 miles away from our home in Seattle.
Minutes before the drop-off, my husband realized he had never shown our late blooming son how to shave with a good, old fashioned razor. And as we flew back to Seattle, I panic-realized that I had never taught him how to manage a high fever. How to wrap a scarf to prevent frostbite. How to buy used textbooks. How to shop for groceries. How to get the best price on groceries. How to cook the groceries in a dorm-size microwave. How to date. How to weather a broken heart.
I had dropped my boy in the middle of Ohio with nary a survival skill.
This coming August, my husband and I will be hugging our daughter goodbye and leaving her at The University of TBD. Depending on the generosity of financial aid packages, she will be at one of ten schools, all of them between 311 and 2831 miles from home.
Last week, at the school that’s 1945 miles away, thermometers recorded a high of two degrees. At the university that’s 2669 miles away, blizzards dumped six feet of snow and people froze in their cars. The city with the school that’s 2294 miles away has had a record number of homicides for the past two years.
I know I have not yet prepared her to dress for high-of-two-degrees weather. I haven’t told her about the importance of steering clear of people with homicidal tendencies, of wearing shower shoes, of eating and hydrating before going to parties. I don’t think she knows the difference between Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen. That with the proper doohickey, she can make ramen in a microwave. That she must never walk alone at night. I cannot forget to tell her she can never walk alone at night. Never ever. She has absolutely no idea how life-threatening life can be.
And then there are the lapses in etiquette! Just the other day, after returning from dinner with her boyfriend and his family, she announced, “I didn’t know I was supposed to put my napkin in my lap. But they all did, so I realized I should too!”
OMG. How could I have been so lax? So inattentive? I have left her so ill-prepared, unpolished, naïve. And even if I buy her a ramen doohickey and remember to tell her about parties and walking alone and shower shoes, I know there are a thousand other bits of wisdom I will forget to impart.
At some point in late 2024, my first novel, one that is even older than my children, will be sent off into the world. How nice it will be if a copy lives 2831 miles away. How nice it will be if there are copies on friends’ and strangers’ bookshelves. How nice it will be if people want to hang out with my book and the characters that populate it. It’s so nice to think about these nice things.
But just before Thanksgiving, when my amazing editor returned her […]
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Every year, more than 400,000 people participate in NaNoWriMo to write 50,000 words of a novel over the 30 days of November. Phew! December gives you time to breathe now, right? No, I know it doesn’t. You’ve got other stuff now.
NaNoWriMo, though, and other initiatives like it, can be good to get you really put some words on the page. They provide a community feel, and social media feeds are full of encouragement over the month from fellow participants. It helps to make writing fun – well, that’s the intention – and it works on a psychological level too when you see others struggling but persisting (or not).
It’s also a strong motivational tool to declare to others your commitment to do something; it’s a common technique for helping anyone stick to a behavior they’d otherwise find difficult, and that could be giving up an addiction or finally achieving a long desired goal.
Of course, not everyone makes it to the end or has the 50,000 words they set out to write. Others will have more than that or are still adding to their word count to make it to “The end.” Many might have found some inspiration in what they wrote and will be rewriting and reworking the rough draft they developed over the month.
No time to wait
That inspiration doesn’t have to come from a NaNoWriMo effort and you can, of course, at any time, apply the same techniques of writing with a daily word count, telling others of your commitment and getting support from fellow authors.
Even then, you might not reach that goal you set out to achieve. But there are many benefits to writing in general and more specifically by setting yourself writing goals, whether you achieve them or not.
To be a writer, you have to write. That seems obvious, but many people wait for inspiration, for their muse to appear, but it really helps to force yourself to write sometimes, and initiatives like NaNoWriMo and the many others can help. These can show you that you don’t need to wait for some divine intervention to be able to get words on the page.
It takes some determination. It takes hard work – especially to get started – but it is possible to get a significant chunk of writing done even if you don’t really feel like it. It doesn’t have to be every day and you don’t have to hit a specific word count; sometimes it’s enough to make the time to get a paragraph or two done to show that you can do it even when you’re not in the mood.
Throw nothing away
It might be that you look back at those paragraphs or whatever you’ve written in the month, week or whatever and find that you just don’t like what you’ve written. Still, the practice of writing will help make you a better writer anyway. And the fact that you can look at something you’ve written and judge that it’s not up to standard means you’ve already progressed as a critic of your own work – as long as you don’t go too far with that.
And maybe you’ll find those first draft chapters at some later date and be inspired then. Maybe this was not the […]
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This morning, while walking my dog, I was reminded of a snippet about writing that is simultaneously the best advice and yet also the worst. I cannot remember where I heard it or where is saw it (if you know, please put the source in the comments), but it is something that has stuck with me and often comes back to me. It goes like this (and I’m probably paraphrasing here):
The best thing about being a writer is never having to say, ‘You should’ve been there.’
It’s such a great piece of advice because it is something to which every writer could want to aspire to, to tell a story in such a way that the reader can feel like they were in that moment too. Surely, that’s what all writers want to achieve, to let their readers experience the story rather than just read a description of events.
It’s also a little like the advice to write every day. I mentioned this in my earlier article on writing advice, and yes, it would be great to write every day, but sometimes life has other plans. This advice above similarly sets a very high bar. It’s almost setting you up to fail before you even start.
Portrait of a landscape
I was reminded of this quote on my dog walk because I often take a picture of the same scene. Every time I go there, it’s different. Different colors, different sounds and smells. Every time, I try to capture that moment. Then I look at the picture and I always feel a sense of disappointment. It doesn’t matter how many shots I take, I can never get close to replicating the landscape as it is when I look at it.
My first thought when I saw the photos this morning was that I wished I could paint. I think if I could paint, I could recreate the splendor as my eye saw it.
But clearly there is more to the moment that only the scenery. As I mentioned, there are the sounds and smells: the shrill whistle of the curlew, the woosh of wings as a squadron of cormorants swoop overhead; the slight sting of pine in the nose, the lung-clearing scent of eucalyptus. Then there’s the sensation of my feet crunching on that dirt road and the chill of the early morning autumn air on my face and hands. Plus the delight of seeing how much Dexter, my mongrel dog, seemed to enjoy being there.
And so I wondered if a truly great writer could capture the experience of such a scene. Could a writer portray the beauty of the landscape without resorting to an overly ornate description? Could any wordsmith accurately recount the sensations and emotions of the moment?
It’s already quite a feat to be able to fully appreciate such a moment without being preoccupied with the day ahead or with days gone by: reliving that argument, all the things you should have said, or what you’re planning to say at that meeting later today or even just wondering what you’re going to have for dinner tonight. All those things that you should, would or could have done.
Meditation and mindfulness training helped me to appreciate these moments, and there are many other methods […]
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My mother gave me a manuscript to read recently. She’d been raving about it for months. It was a gripping read, she said, a real page-turner. “It’s brilliant,” she told me as she handed me the typewritten (not computer-printed) pages. “You’re going to love it.”
It was a gruesome whodunnit with a police lieutenant as the main character who gets thrillingly closer and closer to the killer, but the bad guy always stays that one suspenseful step ahead.
But the language was stilted, the story veered off at random tangents, the police procedures were unrealistic and there were many major plot holes. The ending was rushed and entirely unsatisfying: on the final page, the lieutenant’s partner gave a sudden and completely impromptu confession. He was sorry and he shouldn’t have done it.
The thing is, he couldn’t have done it. He’d been with the lieutenant when at least two of the murders were committed. But after the confession, that was it, case closed. The end.
It’s not that my mother doesn’t know a good story when she sees it. She loves reading, and she will happily give up on a book if she doesn’t find it engaging within the first 50 or so pages. She was just a little closer to this particular story than most.
She had gotten the manuscript from her friend whose husband had written it many years ago, but he had since died. It was certainly a huge achievement for him to type out a whole novel on an old electric typewriter in his spare time. It had taken him years, and his widow was immensely proud of him, as she should be.
But she also wanted an honest answer from me: was it any good?
Cognitive bias
We all know that being too close to a subject can cloud your objectivity. This is why family members are not always the best people to critique your writing. Even professionals can be blinded by their closeness to a project. I’ve known editors who have worked with their partners all the way from developing the story idea through the rewrites until the final version. They then gush about how this is a modern classic and a guaranteed bestseller, but change their tune when the rejections roll in.
This doesn’t mean that publishers and agents are always calmly objective. And they shouldn’t be. You don’t want someone to accept your book just because they think it’s objectively good. You want an agent and publisher who is passionate about your book and who will defend it and promote it as if you were a close family member.
This is where the difficulty comes in. You want your agent and publisher to be biased in favor of your book but you need honest feedback to make your story so good that an agent or publisher will take it on and promote it.
How do you do that? How do you know if your book is any good, if it’s ready to send to an agent or sell well if it’s self-published?
Strong support
We’ve already established that close family are unlikely to be reliable. They want you to do well, and if they don’t, then their judgement will be clouded by those other issues they have. That’s not to say that you should ignore […]
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It seems obvious that writers would write about writing. Elizabeth Gilbert, Patricia Highsmith, Ray Bradbury, Stephen King, Annie Dillard are among the many well known authors who have written about writing. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott is my personal favorite. They seem to take that old adage of “write what you know” quite literally (more on that later).
I see it as a sign of generosity; people who have achieved a level of success sharing their knowledge in that hope that it helps someone else.
And we’ve all sign snippets of their advice in our social media feeds. That profound sounding sentence or two (sometimes taken out of context), pasted onto an attractive background and dispensed into the world for others to make of it what they will.
I’ve done it. My favorite is from Mark Twain:
“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very;’ your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.”
But, yes, as an editor, I suppose I would pick something like that.
Inspirational stuff
And I’m not saying we shouldn’t post these fragments of guidance. They truly can be inspiring, especially if you just happen to get the right one at exactly the right time, the one that really speaks to you in the moment.
But they can’t all be right, can they?
Twain, for example, is credited with first saying, “Write what you know.” To which Gore Vidal said:
“‘Write what you know’ will always be excellent advice for those who ought not to write at all.”
That is (not uncharacteristically) harsh. The “write what you know” maxim has since been rubbished by more than Mr. Vidal, but it is perhaps more misunderstood than incorrect. It doesn’t mean that everything you write has to be biographical. I’m sure Mark Twain intended it to be taken more that you should write something that only you could write. Neil Gaiman explains it perfectly:
“The one thing you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.”
Edit what you have
Another common piece of writing advice is to write every day. I’m not sure who said that first, but the author Jodi Picoult has this to say:
“You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.”
Note that she’s not specifically advocating writing every day, but she does have a point that writing something is better than nothing.. However, having a goal to write every day doesn’t work for everyone. You might miss one day, then promise to catch up tomorrow. Life gets in the way and you don’t, so you resolve to write three days’ worth the next day. Something else comes up and you can’t complete your goal. For some people, that can invoke a sense of failure or even stress to write so many words in a single day to catch up.
For other writers, they have to give themselves that aim of writing every day, maybe at a set time every morning, otherwise they never manage to get any writing done at all.
Personally, I like Lauren Tarshis’s point on this:
“Writing is a craft that you can learn […]
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We have two reminders and exciting new details to share with you about WU’s OnConference!
August 31st
First, August 31st is the last day you’ll be able to purchase Early Bird tickets–which comes with early access to the writers’ lounge on our event platform. Tickets can be purchased on Eventbrite, HERE.
August 31st is also the last day to apply for a WU scholarship. Learn more about that and how to apply, HERE.
Tiffany Yates Martin
We’re thrilled to share with you that multi-published author and professional editor Tiffany Yates Martin has joined the WU OnConference, and will lead a session called, “Seamlessly Weaving in Backstory: How to Incorporate Context, Memory, and Flashback.”
Learn more about that via our Infographic-style schedule at the end of this post, or on Eventbrite.
Closed-Captioning
We’ve added closed-captioning to our live sessions, to help you capture every word.
Our 18 sessions are accessible in other ways, too. They trickle out over the course of 18 days at times designed to sync with your life-in-progress. If you miss one of them, you can watch it in our conference library through the end of October, and from your own living room.
Preview Video
The Writer Unboxed OnConference was carefully planned to offer you a wide array of deep craft and writing-life topics. Below, find a video preview of our session leaders describing their sessions, why they’re important, and what they hope you’ll take from them.
(Email subscribers, please visit YouTube directly, HERE.)
Our Dress Rehearsal, Take Two
There’s an additional preview for you from our own Kathryn Craft just below. Kathryn will lead two sessions for us at the OnConference, including “Get that Story Moving!” We tried to run through this during a dress rehearsal on Friday for a group of UnConference alums, but were stopped short by a technical issue. Kathryn kindly agreed to try, try again to Get that PowerPoint Moving!
Turns out rehearsing for an OnConference can be like revising a draft. We’re keen to work out the kinks before we “publish,” and we’re beyond grateful for our “early readers.”
(Email subscribers, you can access Kathryn’s video directly on YouTube, HERE.)
The Infographic That Tried to Kill Therese
Finally, please enjoy this Infographic-style view of our schedule.
Learn more about the OnConference and purchase your Early Bird pass on Eventbrite. We hope to see you in September! Write on.
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