Writers in the Storm

Julie Glover

I recently passed my 10-year anniversary of Writing In Earnest. I began the novel that became my first full manuscript after I evacuated to my in-laws’ house to escape Hurricane Ike, which hit the Texas Gulf Coast in September 2008. When I returned home, I committed to writing one full hour each day, which quickly turned into two to four hours of writing until, finally, I had a complete book.

It’s been a long road since then.

The road included seven manuscripts and multiple short stories; pitches, submissions, and rejections; finaling in various contests, including RWA’s Golden Heart; classes, conferences, and craft books; landing my dream agent; more submissions and rejections; co-writing three novellas; self-publishing that trilogy; and much, much more.

Although every writing journey has unique aspects, a 10-year anniversary demands that I share some of the lessons I’ve learned along the way.

1. Nothing else matters if you don’t finish the book.

A great story idea and a wonderful cast of characters, a perfectly structured plot, well-crafted scenes, etc. equal a Big Fat Zero if you don’t finish the book. And I don’t mean the first draft, though that’s very important.

To me, a finished book is one that’s ready to go to your beta readers or critique partner or be submitted to an agent/editor or even published. Dig deep, write, edit, and finish the book.

2. Know why you’re writing.

At first, I wrote for me—just to see if I could write a whole novel. Then I wanted people to read it. And now I want to also make money so I can pay my bills and keep writing. As my goals have changed, I've needed to shift which aspects of writing I'm focusing on.

If you’re a hobbyist in the writing world or crafting a single family memoir, some of the intense write-or-die advice doesn’t really apply to you. But if you need to eat on the money you make writing, you might focus less on the sweeping epic you dream of writing and more on rapid release shorter works.

It all depends. Be clear about why you’re writing so you know which advice to take and which to take with a grain of salt.

3.  Learn your craft.

Too many writers think they already know how to write, since they read a lot. Funny, because I never once thought that visiting my massage therapist once a month qualified me to get a therapy table, charge customers, and start rubbing backs. Substitute your own analogy, and you understand what I'm saying.

There are authors, good authors, and great authors. Do everything you can, within your resource limitations, to become a great author. If you write fantastic books, readers will keep buying what you write.

4. Story beats prose.

However, don’t focus so much on crafting words and phrases that you lose sight of being a wonderful storyteller. Our brains are wired for story (see Lisa Cron), and that’s what people ultimately want. It’s why novels that aren’t all that well-told still sell when a great story underlies the less-than-spectacular prose.

Of course, putting together a wonderful story and well-crafted prose makes for a standout combination. Don't forget: Story beats prose.

5. Find a writing community.

We say it all the time on Writers in the Storm, and we promote it by bringing writers together for conversation, but it’s important to be in community. Not only will you feel a sense of belonging and experience encouragement, you learn from other authors. I’ve learned as much from conversations with other writers as I have from classes, conferences, and craft books.

Join a chapter in your genre, connect online, and/or form your own group. But find a writing community.

6. Put your work in others’ hands.

This is one of the hardest things to do at first! You’ve spent hours and hours and hours on your novel, and now you’re going to share it with a beta reader, a critique partner or group, contest judges, an agent or editor, or your own family member.

What if they hate it? What if they red-pen it everywhere? What if they just don’t get you?

It’s tough, but if you want readers who pay, you have to be willing to start with readers who don’t pay who will give you honest feedback.

7. Don’t listen to everybody who critiques your work.

That said, not everyone who critiques your pages has the same quality of feedback. Be choosy about who you send to, consider their viewpoint, and then make your own decisions. At the end of the day, it’s your book.

You need to be very, very open to critique, but also willing to stand your ground when your story’s integrity is at risk.

8. Be an entrepreneur.

If you’re like me, you’re thinking: But I don’t want to be an entrepreneur, I just want to be a writer!

Sorry to break it to you, but I fought this for far too long. I’m saving you the years of grief I experienced, resisting the inevitable. If you’re writing in the 21^st century, you’re a business.

You can be self-published or traditionally published, agented or unagented, and still you are a small business responsible for your own career, marketing, and finances. Learn what you can about running your business well.

9. Embrace your own writing process.

Writing advice based on a particular writer’s process abounds. Write every single day. Write first thing in the morning. Plot first, then write. Don’t plot, just write. And on and on and on.

Reality check: Successful authors run the gamut on how they actually manage to go from story idea to book-on-shelf.

Go read about various authors’ processes and try things out, but don’t feel like any one particular approach is the be-all-end-all. The only thing they all have in common is they finish books (see Point #1).

10. Remember, writing is a journey.

As I write this post, I’m in Knoxville, Tennessee, a destination that took over 13 driving hours to reach. My journey involved some great roads and scenery and some not so great moments where I wanted to pull to the side of the road and give up.

Most journeys are like that, with ups and downs. So is writing. I’ve learned that I will have super-highs and dispiriting lows, but neither represents the whole journey. Don’t get too caught up in the mountaintops or the valleys. Most of the way is a steady drive, and you’ll get where you want by focusing on the destination.

What have you learned in your writing journey?

About Julie

Julie Glover usually writes cozy mysteries and young adult fiction. But she recently branched out to co-author the Muse Island Series with Kris Faryn, which begins with Mark of the Gods, under the pen name Jules Lynn. You can visit the series website here, follow the Facebook page here, or head to her Jules Lynn website to learn more.

by Becca Puglisi

As I’m sure you’ve heard roughly a gajillion times, your story’s first pages are very important. Editors and agents typically request just a portion of your story’s opening, and potential buyers read only a sampling when they’re looking for books to buy. So whichever publishing route you take, those first pages are the only chance you get to win over the gatekeepers—to introduce your story in a way that sucks them in and makes them realize they simply have to have it. 

There are a lot of elements you want to include in your story opening, but I’d like to focus on the one that plays a huge part in winning over readers: emotion. If you’ve hung around Writers Helping Writers at all over the past ten years, you’ve heard Angela and I nattering on about the importance of character emotion in our stories. That’s because we believe it’s the key to triggering the reader’s emotion. The character is the one readers will relate to, the one who will make the reader feelsomething as they’re turning pages. So we have to convey the character’s emotions as early as possible, in a way that will engage readers. Otherwise, that first sampling is all they’re going to see.

Thanks to the Critiques 4 U contest that we run monthly at the blog, I’ve read quite a few first pages, and I see the same emotion-related problems cropping up over and over. I’d like to address those today.

Not Enough Emotion

It’s not uncommon for me to get all the way through someone’s first page and realize that I have felt…nothing. My emotions haven’t been stirred at all. And when I look back over the sample, I realize it’s because the character hasn’t felt anything, either. If the reader can’t tell what the character is feeling, how are they supposed to know how to feel themselves? And if a scene event doesn’t affect the character’s emotions, why does it matter?

The key here is that the author needs to make sure something impactful is happening. Maybe this comes in the form of a conversation, where the protagonist is reacting to the information being shared or the character who’s sharing it. It could be a moment between friends that shows how important the BFF is to the protagonist. Maybe it’s an actual event or occurrence that has meaning, such as a wedding, a job interview, or the cat yucking on the carpet when the character’s running late for work. 

Once you’ve ensured that meaningful things are going on, the character will need to respond appropriately to what’s happening, even in a small way. Which leads us to problem #2.

Emotion that Has Been Told

While it’s important to get the character’s emotional state across to readers, that’s unfortunately not enough. We have to do it in a way that engages their emotions. Engagement rarely results from telling, because telling doesn’t pull readers in. It takes them out of the active role of a participant in the character’s story and puts them at a distance, just sitting back and listening to events being told to them.

On the other hand, when we show that emotion, it seems more real to readers. They feel like they’re involved in the character’s experience. Their own feelings are stimulated and a bond begins to form, one that will pull the reader further into the story. For instance, here’s an example of emotion that has been told:

He was afraid.

And here’s the same emotion being shown:

His skin felt like it was trying to glide to the back of his body. (Tad Williams, Otherworld series)

Both of these descriptions express the same emotion. But the second one gives you an impression of what that character might physically be experiencing in that moment. We’ve all had that “crawling flesh” sensation; when we see the character going through it, it triggers our own emotional memories and helps us to associate better with the character, inviting us into his experience.

Here’s another example of emotion that has been shown, from Gennifer Choldenko’s Al Capone Does My Shirts:

My face burns. My ears heat up like two heaters attached to my face.

The author doesn’t need to say that the boy is embarrassed; the physical indicators do that for her. We’ve experienced that feeling before, and we get a hint of it through the use of the bodily cues associated with that emotion.

It’s important to keep in mind that emotional responses don’t have to be big to be effective. Maybe a vocal cuecan be used, such as the volume of the voice increasing or decreasing. The character’s hands may start to fidget, or their body posture may shift. Even something as minor as a sigh or an eyebrow being raised can indicate a stirring of emotion. Use the character’s voice, body language, or even their thought process to help you show their emotional state in small ways, which can help you sidestep another emotion-related problem.

Too Much Emotion

Just as too little emotion is problematic, so is an overabundance of it. Melodrama happens when a character’s emotional responses are over the top and don’t make sense for the situation. This is a problem because it’s not authentic, and anything inauthentic is going to create distance for the reader as they realize something is “off” and subconsciously pull back. 

The best way to avoid melodrama is to know your character’s emotional range. Each person has a unique range of emotions, meaning, you can have two people in the same situation and they’ll express themselves differently. Knowing what this looks like for your character will enable you to write their responses in the way that best fits their personality.

So think of that range as a spectrum—a straight line with demonstrativeon one end and reservedon the other. Ask yourself: Under normal circumstances, where will my character fall on this spectrum? If you can figure this out in advance, you’ll have a snapshot of how they’re likely to respond to everyday scenarios, and you can write their reactions consistently.

It’s also good to remember that emotions don’t bounce all over the place; they follow a continuum. So, if your character starts the scene contented but will become angry at some point, you’ll need to move him gradually toward that end emotion. Maybe you start by adding something that causes him to become irritated. Then he moves to frustration. And finally…anger. A character shouldn’t jump from contentment to rage unless there’s a psychological reason for doing so. Knowing the natural progression of emotions will enable you to write your character’s responses logically and keep you from falling into the melodrama trap.

Listen, I understand the pressure to get our first pages right. There’s a lot riding on them, but the emotion piece can definitely contribute to success. With these tips, you should be on your way toward strengthening your opening and encouraging readers to become more fully invested in the character and the story. For more information on how to write character emotion well, you can also reference the newly released second edition of The Emotion Thesaurus.

Do you have a question about getting the emotion right in your WIP? Want to share a tip about writing emotion?

ABOUT BECCA

 A Conversation About Pushing the Envelope Of First Person

“There are some men who enter a woman’s life and screw it up forever. Joseph Morelli did this to me—not forever, but periodically.”

One for the Money by Janet Evanovich

“Got a walk-in client today. Named Fitch. Guess it’s what I get for being the only psychic detective agency in town.”

The Scargill Cove Case Files by Jayne Ann Krentz

Got your attention didn’t I?

“You talkin’ to me?”

Well, yes, as a matter or fact, I am. So let’s have a chat about one of the more technical aspects of our craft. We’ll review Point of View in general and the zero in on ways to stretch first person.

So let’s talk about first person. 

“But it’s so limiting! The reader only sees what the narrator sees, knows what she knows. It’s stifling!”

Valid point.  However, there are ways to stretch the boundaries of the first person Point Of View, aka, POV.

Don’t quit reading! These examples will help articulate your thinking about POV. 

“So, tell me, it’s been a while since I studied this stuff What exactly is point of view? Why is it important?

 How many different kinds are there?

Okay, let’s start with a brief review of Point of View. This will help when we get to ways to stretch first person. 

What Point of View Is

Simply put, Point Of View is the answer to who’s telling the tale, or, the narrator.

One way to identify the point of view is the pronouns used: in a  first person story you will see “I,” in second person “You,” and in third “She/He.” 

“Wait a minute. The author tells the story.”

Hmmm. Yes, but . . . The author puts on a mask before setting pen to paper. In third person it may be neutral, reciting events, but it’s there. Remember those pronouns. 

Types of Point of View

Third Person

Third person seems like it’s simple to describe— you (the writer) just tells the story. “Valerie opened the door, not knowing that it would lead to horror, narrow escapes, and the love of her life, though not in that order.”

Third person comes in two flavors: limited and omniscient. 

Third Person Limited

We can get inside Valerie’s head, but Oswald is only revealed through his actions. We don’t know why he’s smiling. This is important. The author is not allowed to get inside his head. If Oswald’s happy to see the head cheerleader at the reunion you have to show it. Maybe he says,“Valerie? I remember your pom poms.”

Third Person Omniscient 

            This POV is really powerful. You (the writer) can get inside anybody’s head. However, you need to watch out for head-hopping. 

"Head hopping?’ Now you’re making up terms.”

Nope. In the above example if I’d said, “Valerie thought, ‘Can this hunk really be Oswald Thorogill, class nerd?’” and followed it with, “Oswald thought, ‘Perfect. I drag myself to this stupid reunion and the first person I see is that snotty cheerleader.’” That would be head-hopping, and following that with, “Across the room, Bethany thought, ‘That skank Valerie’s done it again. Who is that guy and why does she get to talk to him? And that skirt is totallyinappropriate.’” That would be major head-hopping. The problem is it can confuse the reader. Who are we supposed to care about?

For details about this writing sin, look at other essays on this site: Lisa Hall-Wilson's Writing Deep Point of View Like a Pro, or her How to Use Deep Point of View without Tying an Anchor to the Pace of Your Novel, or her Emotional Layers: The Gateway to Deep Point of View or Janice Hardy's How Filtering the Point of View Affects Show Don't Tell.

Second Person

“You need to exercise caution when inserting the circuit card to avoid bending any of the pins.”

I’ve never used this for fiction and frankly don’t see how I could, but for nonfiction it turns up all the time, particularly in user manuals. Unless you are some kind of mutant genius you probably won’t use this. 

Which brings us to . . . 

First Person

“I still think it’s stifling and nothing you’ve said makes me think different.”

Stay tuned. That’s about to change. 

First person is easy to understand — the narrator simply tells her story. In the first example, Stephanie tells the story.

When a story is written in first person POV the narrator is telling the story, not the writer. 

In a first person story the reader is dropped into the mind of the narrator. (Notice I don’t say “Main character.” More on that later.) 

With this POV, right off the bat you have an idea what the narrator is like. See the above examples. Those are two different women, aren’t they?

“I see that, but isn’t that voice?”

That’s different, though there’re both filters through which the reader experiences the story. Voice, if you’re lucky and do your job well, is delivered not only via the person you choose, but through everything in the story. Maybe another essay . . . 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it. Third person limited, third person omniscient, second person, first person. But, first person, geez, the readers only see what the main character sees, only know what she knows.”

Good point. But there are ways to stretch that limitation. 

Your protagonist can tell the story after it’s over. 

“Wait, almost all stories are told in past tense. Doesn’t that mean it’s over?”

Ooh, now that’s a good one. Yes, but to the reader — if you’re doing your job right — it’s happening now. In straight first person Valerie doesn’t have time to reflect that she should have worn a more appropriate skirt, whereas if she’s telling the story to her grandchildren she does. Stephen King does this in Joyland, his Edgar-nominated thriller. The narrator talks about events that happened forty years in the past. This allows him to make observations that he could not when the events took place. First person, but expanded a little. This reflective tone colors the story. It’s about a lost love. (Don’t worry; that’s not a spoiler. King’s hero tells you that on page one.) It lifts the novel out of the realm of pulp,thrillers. Robert A. Heinlein does it in The Puppet Masters, though it’s less important to the story.

You can add in documents. In our text, tweet, email-driven world this is acceptable, but it’s nothing new. Bram Stoker’s Dracula is composed of diaries and recordings and is really epistolary but still with that first person narrator. For that matter, the Jayne Ann Krentz tale is first person, and was delivered via postings on her web site, sort of a diary. Definitely pushing the envelope.

You can make your narrator unreliable. You’re immediately thinking of “The Telltale Heart,” but I’ll give you Gone Girl and (Is it fact? Fiction? Is it a floor wax or a dessert topping?) Hunter Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I sure hope it’s fictionalized; the narrator isn’t unreliable — he’s drug-addled and proud of it. 

Have a sidekick tell the story. 

“Sure. Watson and Holmes.”

Right. One big advantage of this technique is the main character —think Holmes — can be less likeable than if he told the story.

“Sure I get it. I can hear Holmes saying, ‘Watson sees but doesn’t observe.’”

Here’s some writing trivia for your next cocktail party. The wonderful Travis McGee novels are all first-person, told by McGee. Rumors have floated around for years that there was one more story, called A Black Border for McGee where Travis dies and his sidekick Meyer tells the story. So far to my knowledge it has not surfaced.

“You reallythink I’ll tell that story at my next party?”

And, finally, you can just blow it off when it suits you. Yep, just chuck the whole thing. This one should probably be one with a warning label, but it can work. In King’s novel, Christine, the first third is first person, Dennis Guilder tells the story of the killer car, very straightforward, then the middle is third person with no transition or explanation and then Dennis comes back and narrates the last third. And it works. In Crimson Joy,Rhobert B. Parker‘s Spenser tells the story, except when the killer takes over at a few well-chosen intervals to tell his story. Use at your own risk; this writer assumes no responsibility for bad reviews.

“So after all this you’re telling me the rules, there ain’t no rules?”

No! Yes! I’m saying if you stretch your “Person” it needs to be deliberate. On purpose.

“So what now? I mean, you’ve talked about a lot of well, points of view, but what should I do next?“

Right. To review — third person limited, third person omniscient, second person, first person.

”Yeah, right, I needed that. But what do I do? What do I do now?”

You need to see which point of view you’re most comfortable with, internalize these different approaches, and then let all of that go so that when you write you just let it flow. Side note: if you’re new here, welcome, and — trust me on this — there’s no better feeling in the world than when the story takes over and starts to flow out of your fingertips as if you were merely a conduit for your muse.

Practice. Writing in many ways is like playing the piano. (That, along with voice, is the subject of another essay.) From experience I can attest that if you don’t practice, you don’t get better. 

            I suggest an exercise: write a paragraph in each of the four. For second-person I suggest skipping a story and writing the steps of a procedure. Making coffee, washing the cat (Step One: put on rhinoceros-hide gloves.), turning on your computer and navigating to your WIP. You get the idea. 

Read. Thanks to the marvels of technology it’s easy. Use iBooks or Kindle, and download samples of some of the books we’ve talked about. Jayne Ann Krentz, Janet Evanovich, Stephen King. Remember in Christine he doesn’t switch to third person until a third of the way through, so I suggest Joyland for the wistful, reflective opening. 

For more ways to stretch first-person, see “Out of Her Head” by James Scott Bell inWriter’s Digest, June 2004. 

On the WITS Home page, search on first person or point of view.

And in the end . . . 

            The story you make is the story you take. Yeah, it’s yours, folks. And nobody else’s.

Thanks lot; I’ve enjoyed our chat and I hope to hear from you. Now get back to the keyboard. Type faster! Your readers are waiting.

“You see, I had this space suit. How it happened was this way . . . . ”

            — Robert A. Heinlein, Have Space Suit - Will Travel

Do you have questions about POV? Do you have answers? How has POV affected something you've written?

About James