Writers in the Storm

by James R. Preston

Let’s take a ride, shall we? We’ll drive south down Beach Boulevard in Huntington Beach, and turn right on Pacific Coast Highway. We’ll use some artistic license and stop in at a bar that’s not there anymore, and we’ll connect all of these dots to assign some meaning for your writing. And we’ll try to have some fun along the way.

So hop in! Buckle up! Here we go. 

In this installment of Writers in the Storm we’ll look at maps, geography, and factual details, those little things that can really help your work, but that can also hurt your work when you get it wrong.

Kids Today

So, my godson, his brother and I turned onto Beach Boulevard on our way back from a movie when the subject of the moon came up. I said, “It’s about a quarter of a million miles from the earth.“ My godson had his phone in his hand (of course he did — that’s where it lives) and, quicker than I can type these words, he said, “238 million miles.”

That’s how fast readers can fact check your novel, the 100,000 words that you labored on for a year or more, sitting up late at night thinking about motivation and plot points.

And they will fact check. And they will find mistakes — or changes you have made to details, which brings us to geography, and which will get us to that bar.

Bumps in the Road

A mistake can — just for a moment — jolt readers out of the story and cause them to, well, to pay attention to the man behind the screen.

Even if readers forgive you (and most will), you have distracted them for a moment, caused them to step back out of your fictional world. And it is so, so easy.

A few years ago, “How far is the moon?” would have required an encyclopedia or a trip to the library. Now it doesn’t even require keystrokes.

“Hey, Siri, how far is the moon?”

It’s important to watch out for slips, aka those potential bumps. I’ll provide some examples and just to be fair I’ll describe some of my mistakes, and I’ll throw in one geographic change that I did on purpose.

Wetsuit/Drysuit

There are two classes of factual errors in fiction: intentional and flat-out mistakes. 

First, let’s get to a pet peeve of mine. The secret agent dons his scuba gear and swims in through an underwater connection to the party he needs to infiltrate, where he slips out of the water and in a secluded corner, unzips the wetsuit and reveals a tuxedo, complete with carnation in the lapel.

Wetsuits don’t work like that.

Wetsuits allow a thin layer of water in between your skin and the suit and the water keeps you warm. That’s how they get their name. That tux would be soaked.

Your secret agent could use a drysuit except they don’t look anything like a wetsuit and a little water gets in no matter what. You see that in movies all the time; in books it’s mostly glossed over. But for any reader or viewer who knows, it’s a problem, a “bump.”

More Examples of Bumps

Once upon a time my wife and I were sitting up late at night reading when all at once she started laughing. When I asked what was so funny she explained that the heroine’s significant other worked for the U. S. Space agency — Nassau in the Bahamas. Now that’s careless! 

Ok, this one’s on me. I’ve told this story before but it’s applicable here.

I wrote Leave A Good-Looking Corpse and very quickly got my first fan letter. A fan letter! After I quit dancing around, I read it carefully, to find that my Faithful Reader (he still reads my work) went on to say that I had a character peel the paper label off a bottle of Corona, and that’s impossible because the label is painted on.

Oh, well. He still liked the book a lot. 

For blending truth and fiction nobody’s better than Michael Crichton. Read the Introduction to Jurassic Park and watch for the spot where he deftly moves from science to fiction. It’s really smooth. No bumps there.

Some Good Rules on “Bumps”

Does it matter? Does your story suffer because the heroine rides her pony from Pasadena down to the beach? And yes, that’s in another of my wife’s books.) Well, yes . . . and no.  It depends on the mistake.

Errors of geography are not critical but if the reader knows, they are thrown out of the story.

Rule #1

If you are going to change geography, be ready to admit it. In the Introduction to his monumental Noble House, James Clavell apologizes for altering the geography of Hong Kong. 

Meanwhile, on our drive we have turned north on Pacific Coast Highway. Let’s stop in at a bar that used to be there but now only exists in my stories. Cagney’s was one of my favorites, a small place on PCH at Main Street. It was great — you could lean your surfboard against the wall and go in for a brew.

I’ll never forget one afternoon walking in, blinking to adjust to the dark, noticing that the woman tending bar was wearing a stole over her shoulders. At least, that’s what I thought it was until it raised its head and looked at me. Yeah, she had a medium-sized boa constrictor draped over her tank top.

So, if you have favorite spots, by all means keep them, but be prepared to admit it.

Rule #2

Do your homework! Make friends with the Internet and spend time looking up details. Remember, some of your readers live there. If possible, visit the place you are writing about.

My suggestion is do this last.

We’re in this to tell stories and for me at least there is no better feeling in the world than the moment when it clicks into gear and the characters become people and talk to you and more than anything you want to know what happens next. I say never interrupt that moment to look up some obscure fact. Save that for later. 

Some of you may be thinking that you are writing about a world of your own creation and are therefore immune from fact checking. Well, in a sense you are — the roads run however you want them to. However, your readers will pay attention and if in Volume 1 the heroine is allergic to shellfish you better not forget and have her eating lobster stew in Volume 2.

TV shows create a document called a “Bible” that lists all these details. Below are a few tips from Writers in the Storm with excellent techniques for creating your own.

• Creating a Bible for Characters and Screenwriting by Ellen Buikema
• How To Organize Your Story Details Into a Story Bible by Lynette Burrows

Rule #3

Finally, always remember that it’s the story that counts. James Bond can unzip his wetsuit to a tux and it’s still a good story. In the afterward to the Edgar-nominated Joyland, Stephen King says, “That’s why they call it fiction.”

Final Thought

We’ve made it to Cagney’s. I’m disappointed because the woman with the boa is not working today, but it’s still a fine place to settle in to talk about writing, and to end with one final thought.

Never forget that your audience is on your side – it’s called Willing suspension of disbelief for a reason. They want to like your tale, and they will always, always clap for Tinkerbell.

Thanks for coming along on the ride, and now it’s your turn. Got a pet peeve you want to share? Or a goof that you made and can laugh about now that it’s over? C’mon, we’re all in this together. 

About James

James R. Preston is the author of the multiple-award-winning Surf City Mysteries. He is currently at work on the sixth, called Remains To Be Seen. His most recent works are Crashpad and Buzzkill, two historical novellas set in the 1960’s at Cal State Long Beach. Kirkus Reviews called Buzzkill “A historical thriller enriched by characters who sparkle and refuse to be forgotten.” His books are collected as part of the California Detective Fiction collection at the University of California Berkeley. 

Find out more about James at his website.

by Laura Drake

Compellingly showing thoughts is a topic I don’t see addressed often, but it’s done wrong so much that it’s become a pet peeve of mine. It’s like a cheese grater on the nerves. Once you see the difference between smooth, essential thoughts and "throw away" thoughts, you won’t be able to unsee them. And that’s a good thing for your writing.

Thoughts in exposition can be wonderful – they help your reader get to know your characters and have empathy for them. They can be a great way to reveal backstory in a pow kind of way. They can also be a great way to explode a secret on the page.

Some not-so-compelling ways...

Done wrong, thoughts on the page invite skimming and that’s the LAST thing you want. There are several ways to do it wrong. Below are a few.

Italics

Yes, I know there is no rule against putting thoughts in italics. But to me, it’s distracting. Since we use italics to show emphasis, for texts, news articles, etc., that can be a lot of drawing attention. Don’t use them for thoughts, too.

Too Many Thoughts

If you’re a fan of Margie Lawson (and if you’re not, you should be), you know she suggests highlighting thoughts in yellow. Choose any one chapter in the middle of your book and highlight the thoughts.

You will be shocked at how much is yellow. Too many thoughts tend to make a reader feel trapped in your character’s head. They slow the read, which is never a good thing. I believe it’s why many readers have an aversion to first person – too many thoughts! 

Unneeded Thoughts

As authors, we have a hard time judging when enough is enough. We tend to think the reader needs more information than they do.

Most importantly: This is the kind of thing that makes a reader ‘skim’ to get to the good parts.

How do you avoid this pitfall?

Example #1

          We’re in the hurricane’s path. It’s a solid Category 2 now, and it could get stronger.”

          I didn’t like the sound of that. “Do we need to evacuate?”

Who would like the sound of that? It’s a freakin’ hurricane! Doubly bad if you’re trying to increase tension in the scene. To increase tension—not a spare word!

Instead, tell us what we don’t know!

Example #2

          This guy is a legend in his own mind. I’ve seen some crap in my days, but he dishes it by the shovelful. “I’m so impressed with your body of work, Sir.”

          I’m good with diplomacy. My thoughts? Another thing entirely.

See how that last thought told you the obvious?

Done better:

          “I’m so impressed with your body of work, Sir.”

          And I’m even more impressed with my hyperbole super-power.

Backstory Thoughts

Backstory dumps are never good. They’re even worse in thoughts. Why? Think about it – how often do you go to bad memories in your thoughts? No more often than you have to, right? So does this sound like a legitimate thought?

      He remembered the blast of an IED, during his tour of duty in Iraq. He hadn’t wanted to enlist, but the judge said it was that or jail time. Didn’t seem fair. He’d only been driving the car, and he didn’t know his drunk buds meant to rob the gas station. But there he was, sweating under a fifty-pound pack, when the blast hit, throwing him in the air.

Dump-city, right? Sure the information tells us about the character, but not in a compelling way.

Backstory revised:

          Crouched behind the car, he rubbed the pain in his leg—a reminder of the IED that was the last time he’d come this close to death.

See how the above hints there IS backstory, without dumping backstory? The rest may be important about the character, but you can find places to slip in details down the road in this same compelling way.

Final Thought

Take the time to think about your character’s thoughts. I promise your writing will be better for it!

What do you think (pun not intended...)? Have you read writers who do great "thoughts on the page?" We invite you to share stellar thoughts you've written in the comments!

About Laura

Laura Drake is a hybrid author of 15 Romance and Women's Fiction. Her debut, The Sweet Spot, the 2014 Romance Writers of America® RITA® award. A city girl turned Texan, she's currently working on her accent. She's a wife, grandmother, and motorcycle chick in the remaining waking hours.

Her most recent novel, For Roger, is a Jodi Picoult-esque look at the right to die. 4.8 Stars on Amazon!

Photo Credits:

• Top photo and bio pic from Laura Drake
• "Too Many Thoughts" purchased from Depositphotos

by Gale Leach

Months ago, Ellen Buikema invited me to submit a post for Writers in the Storm. Honored, I agreed and began thinking about a suitable topic. Because I lack a history with this group, each time an idea surfaced, I’d search the WITS website and find it—posts on this site are very comprehensive—leaving me hunting for something else. Later, I reneged on my commitment. Ellen said she’d ask again.

The second time I fell short after committing to a blog post on WITS, I felt terrible, but I still hadn’t found a subject that hadn’t been covered. Also, this would be my first article, so I needed it to be good, to be worthy. As a newbie to the group, I felt somewhat intimidated. What made Ellen think I had valuable information to share, anyway?

Time went by, and she asked again. Feeling the trepidation of stepping into the limelight, I vowed once more to do it. I had a lot going on, but I knew the reason I hadn’t produced an article was something else. In the past, I’d always been reliable and could be counted on to come through on time with something extra.

What was wrong now?

1. Fear of the blank page? No. Give me a cursor, and I can write volumes.
2. Fear of failure? Possibly. My New England-ish upbringing’s strong work ethic drives me to be the best at whatever I do. When I fall short, I shame myself. 
3. The need to succeed/be respected? Also possibly. See #2, above.

Several approaches later, I settled on sharing what I’ve done while trying to conquer my problem—what stood in the way of producing this article. I believed others must share this issue, so solving it should be helpful.

After some self-psychoanalysis, I realized I have the same problem with other things I say I want to do but don’t: playing piano and hammered dulcimer, writing a new book, singing. I could go on. It’s a long list.

Yearning for Acclaim

For each of these pursuits, I discovered that I have in mind a target or goal that includes some element of acclaim. When I was young, I wanted to write the “great American novel”—a plain American novel wouldn’t do. I yearned to sing on stage to roaring applause and standing-room-only ovations—yet each time I sat to practice, my musicianship didn’t meet my expectations. I couldn’t get past not being perfect.

Then I thought back to a time when I once queried others in my writing critique group about why they wrote. A recent post on WITS by Jenny Hansen also examined this topic, and, like that post, the answers I received varied from “because I must” to “I want to headline the New York Times bestseller list.” My reasons fell between those camps: I’ve always needed to tell a story, and I wanted readers to love what I wrote. 

Sneaking Up on Myself

Yet I couldn’t embrace the notion that my early drafts, like musical practice, are not designed to be perfect but rather a means to that end. Ernest Hemingway wrote, “The first draft of anything is shit”—a reminder that writing is a process, not perfection—but I couldn’t embrace the notion that creating bad drafts was okay. Nevertheless, I began writing and continued reading.

(Let me note that sneaking up on myself has gotten me this far. Many sources say free writing loosens creativity, but it may have more to do with loosening the joints, preparing and following the ritual, so that muscle memory can take over and ideas begin to flow. In any case, I believe this blog post is shaping up.)

Caught in Our Own Headlights

In her wonderful book Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott says “Perfection … will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the chief obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of other people … are going to do a better job than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

Many of us seem to be caught in our own headlights. As a younger person, I had faith in my capacity to accomplish almost anything with determination and effort, and others had recognized my innate abilities. The concept of settling for less than my best was unfamiliar to me, as I’d been taught to strive for excellence. When could I be sure my work was good enough?

Cosmic Insignificance

As I struggled with this post, a newsletter arrived in my inbox. Oliver Burkeman describes his twice-monthly email, “The Imperfectionist,” as being about “productivity, mortality, the power of limits, and building a meaningful life in an age of bewilderment.”

His book, 4,000 Weeks, is also worth every penny and every moment. I highly recommend his work if you struggle with perfectionism, or if you yearn to be more present in the moment.

This particular newsletter was titled “No big deal: why your cosmic insignificance is a wonderful thing,” and it describes several principles that converged to liberate my thinking:

We matter little in the cosmic scheme. [This realization] is really relaxing, because it's a reminder that … nothing I do or fail to do matters much at all—a realisation with its roots in Stoic philosophy, and other wisdom traditions.

Later in the newsletter, he says:

The (conscious or subconscious) belief that what you do is incredibly consequential has the effect of making the stakes too high to enjoy life … To be reminded of your cosmic insignificance therefore isn’t just relaxing, but actively empowering … It recalibrates the yardstick with which you measure what’s important from your perspective.

Recalibrating Our Yardsticks

I believe Burkeman and Lamott are right, and others have written similarly. Voltaire quoted an Italian sage: “le mieux est l’ennemi du bien” (the best is the enemy of the good) Questions sur l'Encyclopédie [fr], 1770: "Il meglio è l'inimico del bene".^[1] The quote subsequently appeared in his moral poem, La Bégueule. And Winston Churchill said, “Perfection is the enemy of progress.” Widely attributed to Churchill, source unknown.

My reading and now my personal experience say that letting go of the need to be perfect—recalibrating your yardstick—will liberate your writing process. Since none of us can achieve perfection—at least, not in this lifetime—accept that your writing will improve with practice and with editing. Embrace imperfection, and just keep writing.

(Thank you, Ellen, for your gentle nudges that helped me cross this hurdle. This blog post isn’t perfect, but it’s done!)

* * * * * *

About Gale

Writing The Art of Pickleball in 2005 launched Gale Leach’s career as an award-winning author. From 2011 to 2020, she also created her own company, Two Cats Press, which published the works of six Arizona authors, including seven of her own fantasy adventure novels for children and teens. Currently, she’s at work on a fantasy series that involves technology and magic, multiple worlds, and creatures you only thought were mythological.

Gale and her husband recently relocated to Texas, accompanied by a rescue dog, two rescue kittens, and a bearded dragon. Her interests outside of writing include singing, playing music, genealogy, reading, crafting, and many types of puzzles and games.

You can connect with Gale on social media or her website.

Author headshot by Kenneth Johnson of Kenneth Johnson Photography, Surprise, AZ

Top Image: Gemini_Generated_Image_xplacxplacxplacx.jpeg (using prompt: “Image of bright car headlights coming straight toward you on a foggy road”) subsequently modified using Adobe Photoshop Elements 2022.