Today at Writers In The Storm we’re giving thanks for the “writerly” things that help us put words on the page. We're also opening the door for our readers! Share your gratitude for things large and small down in the comments.
I am grateful for learning how to effectively edit my writing—to fix pacing, character arcs, plot, and let the theme (which I didn't even know was there!) shine through. I highly recommend Michael Hauge's Writing Screenplays That Sell andSol Stein's Stein on Writingif you want your revisions to work in ways you never dreamed possible. I'm thankful that I'm working on a new book, after nine editorial passes of three completed books during the past eighteen months! To my personal cheerleader, Laura Drake, and Jenny Hansen, who sends me quick notes of awesomeness, thank you. And I'm so grateful to have an Immersion Class with Margie Lawson to look forward to, as well as RWA National in Denver this summer.
I am thankful for great writing instructors, particularly those at the 2017 Cruising Writers and Margie Lawson. I've been struggling with a novel I love, and just couldn't get right, and then I met with Lisa Cron (Wired for Story) at Cruising Writers. She listened to me and said,"This whole [Storyline B]? That's good, but that's not your story. This relationship with your two sisters? THAT'S your story." And then she guided me to the Origin Story and now my entire book is rolling out before me like a movie and it's so much easier! I read Story Genius, but it took that Q&A for me to be able to actually see how to apply the genius to all my stories. That is the beauty of meeting with a great teacher. How would I edit without Margie Lawson's EDITS? Or explore emotional wounds properly without Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi's Emotional Wound Thesaurus. Seriously, y'all, go sign up for some of this magic.
I’m thankful for the community of writers I’ve found. Because quite frankly, a few times this year, I’ve wanted to just throw in the towel and walk away. Yet my fellow writers – no, friends – kept me going. They comforted me, encouraged me, inspired me, and kept me accountable. They reminded me why I want to be a writer and that I really can write a great story. At conferences, retreats, and writing cruises, we learned, we laughed, we bitched about this business (let’s be honest), we wrote, and we even sang. Yeah, this is my tribe. And I feel incredibly blessed to have met some of the best people I know through the experience of writing. If we’re friends, know that I’m truly thankful for you.
But since I need more than that - I'm thankful for this blog, and proud of the four strong amazing women who began it. It's given me wisdom, made me think, and helped me remember that, though it seems we're alone on this crazy path, we're not. All we need do is reach out . . . many hands are there.
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What are you grateful for today? (You aren’t limited to one thing.) Is there a particular holiday custom you look forward to all year? What has been your biggest writing "surprise" this year?
Happy Thanksgiving to all our American friends!
Love and peace to you all this Holiday Season! with tremendous gratitude from Writers In The Storm…
I'll admit it. I can write a scene that only a mother can love. One so sappy you'll need to test your blood for sugar afterward. A sure cure for insomnia. (as boring as all these old saws).
And when the author knows it sucks, you can imagine the sheer volume of suckage I'm talking about.
We all fall in love with our words, and at times we get carried away. We all love our characters, and don't want to be mean to them.
So when you sense you've got a less than stellar scene, or when your critters (your critique group) tells you it needs work, here are some ideas that may help you salvage it from the scrap heap:
What's at stake? Every single scene needs tension, and must either move the character along their arc, or set them back. If they're noticing the weather, the flowers or the transcendental loveliness of their lives, there'd better be a train barreling at them (literal or figurative).
Are you in the right POV? I've done this. Get halfway into an important scene, and I'm telling, and using body language to try to up the tension. Even so, it's flat. Then I realize my problem. I should be in the other character's POV! How do you know who's head you should be in? I don't believe in many hard and fast rules of writing, but this is the exception. Be in the POV of the character who has the most to lose!
Are you being too nice? Don't. Would we respect Scarlett O'Hara as much, if the Civil War wasn't happening in the middle of her story? How bad would the separation be for Claire, if she weren't so madly in love with Jamie? Would we care as much about Catniss, if she entered the Hunger Games, just to get the prize? NO! Your reader should reach The End, panting and worried the character isn't going to get their happily ever after. That only happens if their goal is almost impossible. So feel free to drag them through the mud, blood and beer.
Surprise the reader Deepen the character by showing the reader a quirk, or something surprising they don't expect about your POV character. Raise questions about their backstory or their wound - But don't answer them!
Amp the emotion There's a reason you wanted that scene there. Ask yourself why it's essential. If the answer is, it's not - that's easy. Junk it. But if you have a good reason for it, maybe it's boring because you need to amp up the emotion. I'm not talking Die Hard, or soap opera level, but show the effect of the development on the character through real, visceral emotion.
Tighten, tighten, tighten Maybe your chapter should be only a scene, instead. Remember, less is often more, and your reader gets where you're going, waaaay before you think they do. How about combining two (or even three scenes)? Would that up the tension? The stakes? Pull those readers to the edge of their Lazy-boy? You can do this in two ways: Macro: cut paragraphs that don't serve enough purpose to belong there. Micro: tighten by slashing every sentence to it's essence. Especially in tense scenes, this can be the difference between meh, and oh, man!
Here's an example from the beginning a WIP (work in progress) of mine that shows not only how to tighten, but why.
I find knowing the exact time and place of my death exhilarating. It’s as if, all my life, in some primordial, subliminal part of my brain, I wondered: Is today the day? Is a lump growing, even now? Has the bus that will hit me, just left the station? Those questions are behind me now. Maybe that’s why I feel lighter today. Stronger.
Leading the pace line, I pump my way up the hill, breathing hard, but with no weakness or cramping. The sun burns through my thin jersey and sweat from my forehead drips onto the handlebars. I welcome it. Such a normal, everyday thing. Who knows if I’ll feel it again?
Will Jo and my daughter stay in touch after I’m gone? Reality chuckles in my ear. I have no doubt Jo will try. But Bee . . . is Bee. A protective momma-bear to those she loves, suspicious of all outside the circle. And she’s spent years guarding the gate, making sure Jo stayed outside. Some things can be mended, but some are irrevocably broken. Unfixable.
Bee wasn’t always that way, but losing her mother at such a young age scratched deep gouges in her psyche. She grips those she needs tightly, as if by sheer will she can snatch them back from disaster. She doesn’t realize that grip can be suffocating, and have an equal and opposite reaction in the one being squeezed. When the kids get to be teenagers, she’ll learn. I’m sorry I won’t get to see that. I think I’d enjoy it quite a bit.
Near the crest of the hill, Pete passes me, panting, but still smiling. “Thanks for the pull, Dude.”
I flip him the bird and pedal on.
Jo is somewhere in the pack behind-hopefully dropped and falling back. I still can’t imagine being anywhere that Jo isn’t, but death doesn’t care about that. This is going to be hell on Joan. She’s going to be angry with me, possibly for a long time. I snort a laugh. Who am I kidding? Jo will never forgive my treason. She’ll see my leaving her behind as the ultimate betrayal. We’d planned to die together in our sleep, at some unspecified, but very ancient age. Our friends call us ‘soul mates’. Such a flippant new age-y term to explain something there aren’t words for. My heart pinches, but not from exertion. For twenty years, Jo and I have existed in a self-contained bubble, thriving on simply breathing each other in, and out. She’ll have to learn to breathe on her own again.
Not that I have any doubt that she will. Jo is indomitable. A scrapper.
I’d very much like to see that, too, but I don’t believe I will. I leave theological certainty to Bee.
I crest the hill, the freehub ratchet clicking faster as I pick up speed. My heart rate kicks up as I realize how close I am. What have I forgotten? I’ve been over every detail, every policy, every eventuality. There’s nothing left to do.
I’m flying down, keeping pace with the cars, heart soaring, sucking in deep lungfuls of Austin morning fresh air.
Pete waits at the intersection, for the group to catch up.
Keeping my fingers off the brakes, I shoot past him, against the light.
I love you always Joa-
Not bad, right? The man shown appears to be thoughtful, educated – in keeping with his career.
Except for one thing, that Margie Lawson pointed out.
He’s riding to his DEATH!
If you know you’re going to die, you’re frightened, second-guessing, panicking. Your thoughts would be broken, and details would be a blur.
Duh. Man, did I feel stupid.
Here’s how it changed.
After
Today, death rides a bicycle. My bicycle.
Leading the Saturday morning ride, I pump my way up the hill, standing on the pedals, breathing hard. My legs are still working, still strong.
Sun burns through my jersey. Sweat drips onto the handlebars. Such everyday-taken-for-granted things, but not today. Knowing I have only minutes to live have made them precious. Glorious.
Will Jo and my daughter stay in touch after I’m gone? I have no doubt Jo will try. But Bee . . . is Bee. She’s spent years guarding the gate, keeping her stepmother out. Some things can be mended, but some are forever broken. Unfixable.
Near the crest of the hill, Pete passes me, panting, but still smiling. “Thanks for the pull, Professor Pud.”
I flip him the bird then kick it. In twenty yards I’ve gained a bike length on him. Reaching the top first is a very serious game we play. Played.
Jo is somewhere in the pack behind me-hopefully dropped and falling back. I still can’t imagine being anywhere that she isn’t, but death doesn’t care. I stand on the pedals to crank harder. Jo will never forgive me. My heart tugs, but not from the exertion. For twenty years, Jo and I have lived in a bubble, breathing each other in, and out.
She’ll have to learn to breathe on her own again.
Still in the lead, I crest the hill, my bike’s freehub ratchet clicking faster and faster. I’m close. My heart rate kicks up. What have I forgotten? Details I’ve been over and over. There’s nothing left to do, except . . . this.
We’re flying down, pacing the cars. Every Saturday, I have a second of sadness at the hill’s end. Freedom whistles past my ears. This time I don’t have to brake.
Pete does. He falls back. “Hey, Pud! Brake! Brake!” Then he’s gone, one more, left behind.
I flick a glance at the Garmin—thirty mph. It’s time. Fear roars. I lock my fingers on the bars, willing them not to move. “No brake, no brake, no brake!” The bike shimmies, on the edge of control. I slam my eyes shut. A gust of elation pushes me across the finish line. I shoot into the intersection, against the light.
I love you Joan. Forev-
Have any other tips for us to fix a boring scene?
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Laura started a video craft blog, to help writers. The latest is about pacing.
Before I was a novelist, I was a corporate litigator for 13+ years.
When I left corporate law in 2009, I didn’t leave to write novels. I left for what was supposed to be a one-year sabbatical intended to treat a bad case of professional burnout. With three small children under the age of five, and a demanding position at one of the top law firms in the country, I was anxious to shift gears for a year.
I wasn’t exactly sure how the year would end up but I had scheduled the next few steps.
On the day I commenced my sabbatical, some colleagues said they’d see me when I returned. Others said they knew I’d never be back again. I didn’t believe either side. I felt certain the path couldn’t be tooled out that close to the beginning.
By the end of the sabbatical year, I’d decided not to return to the practice of law. I’d taken a full-time position at a wonderful start-up that didn’t exist when I first left the law. And while writing non-fiction, I’d been inspired to start a fiction manuscript. which – four years later – became my debut novel.
I couldn’t have predicted any of these endings when I started out. And yet, none of them could have developed had I not taken the first steps. Followed by the next steps.
I’m currently working on my fourth novel, and while its premise and early chapters are promising, I found myself recently frustrated that I’m not quite sure how it ends yet.
My prior three novel ideas came to me as endings that I loved and needed to work toward. But this one has come to me differently. It’s come as a beginning that is still developing into its own story.
I almost gave up on it, convinced that was no way to write a story after all, until I remembered that moment walking out of my Times Square law office over eight year ago, and four books ago now. A moment that was only a beginning without a clear ending yet.
And so I wondered. What lessons could I take from that moment that might apply to my newest work in progress? Turns out there were many. Here are three.
Manage fear with productive goals and it won’t paralyze you.
Of course I was fearful that day I left my corporate law career in 2009. But I didn’t let it paralyze me. I managed the fear with productivity, lining up pro bono and advocacy work ahead of time so that I wouldn’t have the time to wallow in fear. Similarly, to manage the fear that’s developed surrounding my newest work in progress, I’ve developed clear weekly word count goals and chapter outlines for the next few chapters/ideas to keep my fear at bay. When you’re forcing yourself to write 5,000 words each week, fear doesn’t have a chance to paralyze you.
Take a break.
When I left the law over 8 years ago, I lined up plenty of work to fill in the gaps. But, I also lined up plenty of leisure activities. I took up combat. I started a book club and returned to my love of reading. I started traveling more with my family. And I found that all of these activities fed my productivity rather than detracted from it. It’s turned out that these are the same activities that feed and inspire my writing. I’ve had some of my best “aha” story ideas in combat class! Similarly, travel, reading, and discussing books with friends (albeit, mostly online these days in favorite reading groups, like Bloom), inspire my own storytelling.
Keep taking the next step.
I’ve realized that the most important thing I learned from starting my sabbatical over 8 years ago is that sometimes you don’t start with anything more than a beginning. And that’s ok.
I wasn’t exactly sure what my post-law life would look like beyond the first few good decisions I made for the year ahead. And it turned out the ending I could never have written at the beginning arrived in its own due time. And it was indeed a happy one.
As when I left the law, I’ll keep writing my new story, one chapter at a time. I won’t try to force the ending. I’ll be patient. I’ll see how it develops after the next few chapters.
I don’t need to know the end.
I just need to keep taking the next steps.
Have any other steps for us?
What helped you take that next one?
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Released October 16!
Will, a recovering heroin addict-turned-counselor for whom truth is a championed element to recovery, has a dark secret -- shared with no one outside of his anonymous support meetings. Over twenty years ago, after an ultimatum from his pregnant ex-wife, Will was forced to assume a new identity and to fake his own death to get out from under his dealer and user-friends once and for all.
Now Will is counseling Thea, a young woman who has been diagnosed with a pathological addiction to creating fake social media identities, and who founded a start-up company ("Alibis") that created false internet identities for clients, many with suspect pasts. Thea's addiction has landed her in rehab as a condition of her parole -- after a plea bargain cut short a court case that would have put both Thea and Alibis on trial for a very high-profile crime.
As Will works with Thea, the truth is put into motion on a collision course. Both Will's, and his young client's, secrets start to unravel ... and reveal, at long last, the truth about Thea.
