Writers in the Storm

I chose this month's first page to explain writing tight. I am a 'spare writer', meaning that I cut every unnecessary word, so the read is fast and easy. If a word doesn't tell the reader something they don't know in a compelling way, out it goes. I'm not saying that you have to cut as close to the bone as I, but I hope the following example convinces you to trim some unneeded adjectives and 'filter words' from your prose. They litter the read - they're over the top - like the author saying, 'I really, really mean this'. Your reader trusts that if you say it once, you mean it. 

I learn best by seeing transformations in examples, So let's dig in.

Thank you, brave soul, for trusting me with your work. I hope you find this helpful.

Here's the original:

Sane people don't do these types of things. The words screamed loudly in my brain, yet they could not drown out the utterly irrational and ridiculous action I was about to take.

Freezing drizzle pelted my cheeks and slapped me back to reality. With the high winds whipping rapidly under and over the canvas canopy at the facility’s entrance, the black awning fringe forcefully ushered me in. A pounding chill went down the back of my coat, and I shivered uncontrollably as it made its way throughout my body. It was a well-timed irony that the bitter and icy November weather reflected the mood I had been in ever since reading the documents that were never meant for my eyes.

It was accidentally discovering that mind-numbing, career-ending information that sent me on my preemptive path to Deer Ridge Psychiatric Hospital. Plus, I needed a place to hide out for the time being while I thought about how best to halt my pending termination. And, to plot my revenge against David Wolfe, my duplicitous boss who has also been my friends with benefits lover for as many years as I have been with Ashford Industries.

I paused at the front door for a moment to try to tamp down my conflicting emotions over what I was about to do. I once again began to question my sanity. I did really need to be here, didn’t I? I’ve heard it been said that there is a little bit of craziness in all of us. I guess it was the appropriate time for my crazy to have emerged—a fortunate coincidence in a most unfortunate situation.

Fighting against the high winds to open the heavy, oversized ornate wooden door, I was within inches from entering when a strong gust opened the door for me, which quickly propelled me against the side of the building. A loud banging sound reverberated through the air as my entire backside knocked against the large glass window. Catching myself just in time on the window ledge, I narrowly escaped falling face down in the already dead Forsythia bushes in which I had landed. As I brushed the frozen leaves off my jacket, I stepped forward only to see that the high heel of my boot was caught onto a small branch. Balancing on one leg to try and untangle myself, I ended up face, hands, and knees soaked with slushy mud. It was then that I heard a rustling in the bushes. Looking over my shoulder a young woman hovered over me. She put her hand in mine to pull me up, and said with a smile, “You must be Ms. Barnett. We’ve been expecting you.”

My edits:

Black = original

Red = my thoughts/comments

Purple = text I added/altered

Sane people don’t do these types of things. The words screamed loudly in my brain, yet they could not drown out the utterly irrational and ridiculous action I was about to take. Three adjectives and two adverbs in the second sentence of the story are way too many. See how this says, 'I really, really, mean it'? The first line is a thought. We know that because you used italics. So you don't need 'in my brain' - that's where thoughts happen. But even more, you're telling us about something that hasn't happened yet, which can be confusing to the reader, and keeps them at a distant POV. Show us that the action is ridiculous, instead of telling us it is.  I'd cut the entire second line. Trust your reader to get it!

  Freezing drizzle pelted my cheeks, slapping and slapped me back to reality. I like this sentence, but it raises a question; where has the character been that was away from reality? We've only had one thought, which takes a nanosecond to think, so unless you show us, or mention what she (I'm assuming it's a she) has been doing - that she's wet to the skin and shivering from standing out in the cold so long, the 'back to reality' doesn't make a lot of sense to us - see what I mean?

With the high winds whipping rapidly under and over the canvas canopy at the facility’s entrance, the black awning fringe forcefully ushered me in. A pounding chill went down the back of my coat, and I shivered uncontrollably as it made its way throughout my body. It was a well-timed irony that the bitter and icy November weather reflected the mood I had been in ever since reading the documents that were never meant for my eyes.

I know it's considered okay now to start a sentence with a preposition, but I'd only use it for impact. Since we're so early in the read, it doesn't help here. Your instincts are right; you needed to set the scene a bit, to show the reader where they are. But more compelling than just showing us the scene - show us what it means to your CHARACTER. Does she dread walking in? Why? As it is, we're just seeing a 'facility' (as school? A government building? See how we don't know?  Also, the paragraph is slowed with adverbs and unncessesay adjectives. We all know how that a shiver is uncontrollable, and how it works - you don't need to explain. The ending is a perfect example of raising good questions in the reader's mind that will lure them into the read to find out more. Well done!

Let me try to rewrite to illustrate what I mean. I know the details won't be right - but see if this is more compelling - raising even more questions in the reader's mind:

The black canopy over the entrance flapped in the fitful wind, the fringe beckoning me closer. A shiver rattled down my spine. I hadn't been looking for a new career path, but that was before the seismic shift, when I read the documents never meant for my eyes.

It was accidentally discovering that mind-numbing, career-ending information that sent me on my preemptive path to Deer Ridge Psychiatric Hospital. Plus, I needed a place to hide out for the time being while I thought about how best to halt my pending termination. And, to plot my revenge against David Wolfe, my duplicitous boss who has also been my friends with benefits lover for as many years as I have been with Ashford Industries.

The above is all backstory, shoehorned in. You raised a question at the end of the last paragraph, then immediately answered it - see how that isn't incentive for the reader to read on? Instead, I'd just drop another hint:

The Deer Ridge Psychiatric hospital loomed over me, more like a portent of doom than the beacon of my future. But David, my lover and boss at Ashford Industries, made staying impossible. I took the few steps to the front door.

I paused at the front door for a moment to try to tamp down my conflicting emotions over what I was about to do. I once again began to question my sanity. I did really need to be here, didn’t I? I’ve heard it been said that there is a little bit of craziness in all of us. I guess it was the appropriate time for my crazy to have emerged—a fortunate coincidence in a most unfortunate situation.

See how the above is all a repeat? Saying something twice doesn't convince your reader you mean it; instead, they come away with the impression that you think they're too dumb to get it! If you feel like you need to repeat, I'd make the case that it's because you're not happy with the paragraph where you said it the first time. Go back and fix that line, instead. Also, read the thought out loud. See how we don't think in past tense? If you feel you need it, the correct line would be: I do need to be here, don't I?

But I'd cut the entire paragraph - it slows the read, and doesn't tell us anything new.

Fighting against the high winds to open the heavy, oversized ornate wooden door, I was within inches from entering when a strong gust opened the door for me, which quickly propelled me against the side of the building. A loud banging sound reverberated through the air as my entire backside knocked against the large glass window. Catching myself just in time on the window ledge, I narrowly escaped falling face down in the already dead Forsythia bushes in which I had landed. As I brushed the frozen leaves off my jacket, I stepped forward only to see that the high heel of my boot was caught onto a small branch. Balancing on one leg to try and untangle myself, I ended up face, hands, and knees soaked with slushy mud. It was then that I heard a rustling in the bushes. Looking over my shoulder a young woman hovered over me. She put her hand in mine to pull me up, and said with a smile, “You must be Ms. Barnett. We’ve been expecting you.”

You spent a long time explaining something that happened very fast. If something happens fast, to convey that to the reader, you need short, simple, staccato sentences. I'm still a bit unsure of the physicality of what happened. The wind pulled the door from her hand, and she falls (I'm not clear how or why), then you mention glass windows, which I hadn't pictured there, because you didn't mention them before. You say she narrowly escaped falling in the bushes where she landed....Did she fall in them, or not? See how this is conflicting? She's looking over her shoulder at the rustling bushes, then you mention the woman, so we assume the woman was IN the bushes. Is she? 

To describe a scene well, I find it's best to 'act it out' - I often find what works well in my mind, is impossible in reality. Try it - it might help with this.

This has the potential to be a riveting beginning - if you cut, cut, cut.  

What say you, WITS readers? Do you have a hard time 'writing tight'?

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ABOUT LAURA:

Did you know that Laura does craft podcasts? They're short, dorky fun, shot in different locations, and usually include a rant. You can check them out on her website: HERE

 

Most novels are written on the premise of "what if." Our What-if muscles help us figure out what needs to come next in the story. Sometimes we're lucky and we just know. More often (at least for me) we often have no clue what needs to happen next.

When I write non-fiction for awhile, my fiction “What-if” muscle gets seriously out of shape. Thankfully, other writers who know more than I do share their tools. 

Here are several ways to get unstuck if your What-if muscle is feeling flabby.

Change creative mediums

• Make a collage for your book. Jennifer Crusie does this.
• Different textures and different mediums can stimulate your brain to be creative. Debbie Macomber and Christie Ridgway knit (so do I!); Linda Lael Miller paints.
• Choose a soundtrack for your book. Spotify, YouTube, Pandora and Amazon Music will all work.
• Julia Cameron composes music.

Something that always helps is to brainstorm with different types of people. I recommend a writer friend, a non-writer friend, a newbie writer and someone who writes in a different genre. One of my favorite gals for brainstorming is Leanne Banks.  Below are some of her top tricks for getting “unstuck.”

Write an autobiography of your characters and ask them provocative questions like:

• What are you most proud of?
• What was your most embarrassing moment?
• What is your biggest fear?
• What did your parents teach you about sex?
• What did they teach you about love?
• What is your biggest shame?
• What is your secret wish?

Brainstorming Techniques

Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird is a classic must-read for writers. Not only does she give you “permission to write crap,” she also gives stellar brainstorming advice such as:

• “Keep a one inch picture frame on your desk to remind yourself that for each moment, you only have to write as much as you can see through a one-inch picture frame.”
• In other words, when a whole project is overwhelming, break it into little pieces or as she says, “don’t try to eat the elephant in one sitting.”

Leanne Banks also offers these tips:

• If you’re stuck, be random. (I love this!)
• Brainstorm what everyone else would do, then do the opposite.
• Reconsider what you did that got you into this corner and determine if a small change can get you out of it.

Leanne's Creative “What-if” Techniques

• Role-storming: How would you handle a problem if you were someone else?
• Iconic figures: How would you approach it if you were an iconic figure from the past?
• Brainwriting: Gather several people and give one person a piece of paper. Each person writes for 10 minutes, then passes the paper. Keep going until everyone has written on the page. Read the entire story out loud.
• The old reliable List of 20 – You must write down twenty possibilities, as fast as you can think of them, no editing allowed. The only engraved rule is that you must write all twenty! It’s the “old reliable” because it works.

Other great brainstorming articles and tools:

• 12 Surefire Brainstorming Techniques from Brian Westover
• The Emotion Thesaurus (and it's fellow books) by Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi
• 8 Brainstorming Strategies for Generating New Writing Ideas (this is awesome)
• Mind Mapping: A Pantser's Path to the Perfect Story

And finally, if you are having trouble with your book, there is one other impediment to consider: YOU.  Cindy Dees said something in a workshop I went to last week that stuck in the minds of everyone there: "The three reasons why most of the writers I mentor are unpublished are personal, emotional or psychological. It has nothing to do with their writing."

Don't let your own fears and angst keep you from your story. You have the talent to write an amazing book. I know it. I hope you know it too.

Are you ready to stagger over to your work in progress and bring forth brainstorming magnificence? What techniques help you when your “what-if” muscle needs a workout?

About Jenny Hansen

By day, Jenny provides training and social media marketing for an accounting firm. By night she writes humor, memoir, women’s fiction and short stories. After 18+ years as a corporate software trainer, she’s delighted to sit down while she works.

When she’s not at her personal blog, More Cowbell, Jenny can be found on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, or here at Writers In The Storm.

Kathryn Craft

Turning Whine Into Gold

In high school, I was the type of high achiever that had my teachers taking me under their wings. Turns out, that wasn’t always such a good thing.

My fifth-year Russian teacher, thinking I’d follow in his footsteps, challenged me to write a research paper on a Russian ballerina—in Russian. My biology teacher got permission for a small group of us budding doctors to watch two surgeries at Johns Hopkins Hospital (where my best friend fainted dead away). I loved math, and attacked my homework problems the second I got home each day. I’m sure my math teachers wouldn’t have been surprised at all if I’d become an engineer, although that was at a time when girls weren’t encouraged to think such things.

I benefitted from my teachers’ interest in ways I will never be able to fathom. But one thing they did was particularly damaging to a girl whose self-esteem was already wobbly: they whispered to my parents about my “potential.”

If you believe in the power of words, then know this: “potential” is a cruel mistress. Such talk set up a syndrome in which I was always comparing my performance to a future standard I had no clue how to define—and without fail, I found my performance lacking.

A person who strives to fulfill her potential can be a person who is never done preparing to live her life.

“Potential is a concept that can bind us to personal powerlessness,” wrote Marianne Williamson in her book, A Return to Love. That held true for me at the start of my writing journey. Wondering if I had the “potential for brilliance” made it all the harder to take those first, bumbling baby steps toward story without the handrails of an MFA or PhD to guide my steps.

How could it be, I wondered, that many successful novelists never even graduated from high school? My guess is, they didn’t waste time focusing on their potential. They just wrote.

Instead of potential, Williamson suggests we think of our “capacity for brilliance.” Capacity is available to us right now. Our memories, curiosity, imagination, and desire to learn can open the gates to unused brain space and open our hearts. As a novelist, I already have the capacity to be a Russian translator, a doctor, and an engineer—all in one story.

Instead of thinking, “I have the potential to be a novelist,” try telling yourself, “I already have the capacity of a novelist.”

By celebrating our capacity to write, we no longer need to worry about our potential—we’ll be accumulating the words that will line a path straight toward it. Extend your efforts into the fullness of your capacity. Show up powerfully on the page and apply the brilliance that exists within you, today. As Williamson says, “how will we ever get to tomorrow’s promise without making some sort of move today?”

The story that is growing within you is yours to tell.

We’re waiting.

Have you ever been paralyzed by worrying about your potential? What unlived lives are within your capacity, that you would like to manifest through your characters

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About Kathryn

Kathryn Craft  is the award-winning author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy, and a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com, specializing in storytelling structure and writing craft. Her chapter “A Drop of Imitation: Learn from the Masters” was included in the writing guide Author in Progress, from Writers Digest Books. Janice Gable Bashman’s interview with her, “How Structure Supports Meaning,” originally published in the 2017 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market, has been reprinted in The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing, both from Writer’s Digest Books.