Judicious: having, exercising, or characterized by good or discriminating judgment; wise, sensible, or well-advised

Well, having touted the strength of a book, I now need to add a qualifier.  Use it judiciously.  Self-Editing for Fiction Writers actually promotes judiciousness.  Quite simply it supports:

“Judicious omission is preferable to correct superfluity.” Walter Kidde

It dedicates a chapter to dialogue mechanics.  Simple yet brilliant stuff.  Don’t write, “she asked” if the dialogue is clearly a question.  Don’t say “he repeated” when it is evident that the man has already said the words.  Don’t say that they yelled it, ensure the dialogue makes it clear that they have done so.  Do not say they laughed, sighed, barked, snapped, whined, simpered, or a myriad of other qualifiers; make sure your dialogue is strong enough, quick enough, deep enough, clever enough to convey those things.  It should need no help. 

Working through Raven’s Path, I have kept this in mind.  I have worked to eliminate the superfluous qualifiers.  But it gets hard.  Sometimes, I can’t write dialogue that conveys a whisper, a sigh, gruffness or a moan and yet it is essential to set the tone or to a mood shift.   I can’t convey that a man has a loud booming voice regardless of what he says unless I tell reader that he boomed, he barked, he shouted. Unless, of course I use multiple exclamation points, which would become quickly tiresome to a reader.  Avidly following the advice, I have stripped the last fifty pages, leaving some important dialogue scenes flopping futilely, fish upon the shore.

What to do when the self-help books aren’t helping you anymore?  Go to the experts—the well-respected, well-loved and well-selling novelists.  I took out Diana Gabaldon’s latest, Written in My Own Heart’s Blood.  Have I mentioned I adore her writing?  A random flip brought me:

(Pages 404/405)

“What shall we do, Papa?” Germain whispered.

“No,” he said, firmly but with some regret (My goodness is that an adverb and telling?)

“Come,” he said more gently, (Yes, yes!  Another adverb!)

“They, who?” he’d said sharply (Again!  Be still my creative writing teacher’s heart!)

“With whom?” he asked, curious.

I am on the floor at this point, kicking my feet in glee—in that last one, the question mark clearly says it’s a question, and we should be shown he’s curious, not told he is.  Besides, does not a question in and of itself imply curiosity?  Yet, Diana does it explicitly.  And, you know what.  I like it.  It works for me.  Never once have I stumbled in her writing trying to figure out what is going on.  Oh, she also smoothly intersperses lots of beats, but she has no problem making sure that we know something was asked, repeated, whispered or said softly or quietly.  It is expedient and keeps the dialogue flowing.

The word judicious rolled through my mind again.  I stand by my assertion that Self-Editing for Fiction Writers is a great book to have in hand at the revision stage.  I agree that I need to weed out too many qualifiers and adverbs.  But, they do have their place.  And other experts have proven that.

 So, in light of this latest revelation, in homage to the writers who illuminate the way, here is my preferred judicious quote:

“Originality is nothing but judicious imitation. The most original writers borrowed one from another. The instruction we find in books is like fire. We fetch it from our neighbor's, kindle it at home, communicate it to others, and it becomes the property of all.”  Voltaire

If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Frederick Douglass

I am enjoying revisiting Raven’s Path.  It seems I still like the story and I am thrilled to be back in the company of Brandan and Ana, not to mention some of the secondary characters who have hosted them at Fort Oswego.

Still, at times, it is difficult not to feel defeated during this third revision.  It’s not the hours involved in the rewrites or the other hours spent on reading editing books to help develop a critical lens.  It is in recognizing how inept I was in the beginning, and how I still have so much to learn.   It is not that I thought I was born a perfect writer, it’s just that I thought I was better than that! 

And, yet, I continue.  And will continue.  As I have done throughout my life—as a performer or in my many-faceted career moves.  I will persevere. 

After a particularly discouraging day of writing, I was surfing the net while my husband watched Ellen.  Jason Segel was a guest on the show.   He was speaking about his varied talents, singing, dancing and writing, but I swear he was talking directly to me.

“It’s not that I’m gifted at all these things.  It’s that I’m not afraid to be bad at them until I’m good at them.”

It’s my new mantra.

Throw Out Everything You’ve Learned At School

I have been working my way through another revision of my first novel, Raven’s Path.  It has sat on the shelf for over a year, so I am able to view it through a clearer lens now.  I have learned so much in the last few years and I cringe at many of my obvious amateurish passages.  I still like everything about the story but it needs a sweep for clutter.

In between writing, revising, researching, this blog, and life in general, I have been working my way through self-help books for writers.  My most recent, Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, is a straight-forward how to manual that crystalizes the differences between the writer wannabe and the writer on her way to becoming, well, a writer.

Bottom line, throw out everything you learned in your creative writing classes throughout your years in both elementary and high school.  Get rid of those adverbs so proudly promoted by teachers.  Oh, you can throw them in during the creation stage, but hunt them down during revision and editing.  Say what you mean with concise, strong verbs.  As the authors state “...when you self-edit, you can root out these verb-adverb combinations like the weeds they are.”  They provide a simple example (and simple works very well for me J) “Angrily she set the cup…” vs “She slammed the cup…”

That’s a small glimpse of what I need to watch out for as I wander through my 400 plus pages.  I will share more of the simple yet oh-so-obvious pitfalls of the inexperienced writer in the weeks to come.  After a week of enjoying some R & R with my husband and friends, it is time to return to my garden of writing.  I’ll be busy.  It has a lot of weeds.

Plotter or Panster?

This question comes up frequently on writers’ forums and most explore the pros and cons of both approaches.  For those of you not familiar with the terms, basically plotters are those who map out their stories in advance, pansters begin with a kernel of an idea and fly by the seat of their pants, letting the story go where it may.

I’m not sure I fall neatly into either category and I suspect many writers feel the same.  In last week’s post, I shared how the arcs of two stories “showed up”.   I get a general sense of where the story is going far in advance.  This usually consists of a single page of point form notes and random thoughts, although one of the plots last week basically fell on the page in the form of a full synopsis.

So, I do begin with the end in mind.  That makes me a plotter.  But, when I sit in front of the computer, the journey from point A to Z is not mapped.  I let my fingers, my mind, my heart dictate the direction.  When I began working on my first novel, Raven’s Path, my characters arrived at Fort Oswego.  In my plotter’s mind, their visit was to be a few pages long.  Well, weeks and many chapters later, they remained at Oswego.  So much happened there that exposed deepening layers of my characters.  I would have lost out on those revelations had I forced myself to adhere to my timeline.   So, in that, I am a panster.

I’m not sure I could ever truly be a full panster—I am a bit of a control freak and would find that a little too intimidating.  Nor could I ever be strictly a plotter.  I like surprises.  It is exciting to veer from the plotter’s path and discover what is around the next corner or hidden beneath the imagination’s foliage. 

Perhaps we can coin a new phrase for those of us who cannot commit to one approach or the other.  A plotster?  Planster?  Who’s with me here? J

Free Your Mind

I don’t sleep well.  I haven’t since my mid-twenties—half my lifetime ago.  If I could unscrew my head and put it on the side table, I have no doubt I would sleep like the dead.  Or a discreet off switch.  That would work too.  Unfortunately, unable to access either of these methods, my brain continues to turn, the little gerbil on the wheel running full tilt when I least want it.

I actually like this state when I am in creation mode.  I used to keep sticky notes and a pencil at my bedside, in my car, on my desk.   Thanks to my ever-supportive husband, I now have a digital recorder which is much easier to access when groping around in the dark.  No less disruptive to my husband’s sleep but certainly more efficient.

I have struggled with the synopsis and query for Love Denied.  Writing the novel pales in comparison to these two tasks.  My already busy brain becomes jumbled and the resulting incoherency is quite painful…and discouraging.  If you’re familiar with the fast forward sound of a cassette tape, you’ll have a sense of what happens in there.

Through many walks around the lake, daily Zumba and the help of online friends, I finally managed to sweep the brain litter aside enough to get a semblance of both the query and synopsis completed. 

I rewarded myself with a day off.  No writing, no researching, no online hunt and pecking.  Nothing except lying in the sun.  Diet coke in reach, Diana Krall’s soothing voice lulling me into a stupor, I stretched out to let the sun work its magic, warming my body and emptying my mind.

And BOOM!  The entire plot arc for the next novel revealed itself.  Did I grab my recorder?  No I ran into the house and typed up a storm.  An hour later, I felt amazing.  And, there was still time left to go back to that R & R I so looked forward to.

Fifteen minutes into my next session, BAM!  The subsequent novel teased me.  My husband just shook his head as I headed back into the office.

It seems I should have just taken in some sun while struggling through the query and synopsis.  Who knew that En Vogue had it right?  Free your mind and the rest will follow.

Oh, I do believe I have seriously dated myself in this entry. J 

Ro Bought Me A Pen

I have never owned a pen beyond the standard mass produced lying side-by-side in a box ball point BIC type.  Not that there is anything wrong with those.  They have a purpose and they serve it well.  This one is different.  It is a MONT BLANC.  It lies nesting cozily, wrapped in satin, waiting.

We gathered as friends, celebrating a momentous change in my life.  I was leaving the sphere of our friendship, venturing away from the safety net of a career that connected the four of us.  I thought I might get a bottle of wine to toast the occasion.  My incredibly generous friends did not disappoint—gifts of wine and picking up the tab.  

There are people in this world that draw others to them.  Ro is one of them.  She is gregarious, generous and funny.  But it is Ro’s depth, hidden behind the light-hearted façade that is the true magnet.  She recognizes my dream and honours it.

Ro bought me a pen.  To sign my first book.  Thank you Ro, for believing.

The Scourge of the Synopsis

I write this from the depths of hell.  I have been banging against the sides of this particular pit for days.  I am battered and bruised but determined I will climb out, a glorious light shining on the finished parchment clutched tightly in my grasp.  Dear Lord, is that an adverb I used?  Let me strike that before the hounds of writers’ville wrest it from my psyche! 

Only a fellow sentence parser, one striving to make their writing the best they can based on the myriad of wise advice, will find that last sentence remotely amusing.  That line actually belongs in a musing on purgatory—the revision stage—where you look at the same words over and over, hoping that some day you get it right and will be released.  That’s the stage directly before you slide into hell. 

Synopsis.  Simple right?  It is your story.  You know it inside out.  Just sum it up.  But there are hidden traps.  How much is enough?  How much is too much?  What is the perfect balance between plot and characterization?  And, oy, the compendium of advice!  Who to follow?

I checked out some of my favourites. 

Janet Reid, gives thorough concrete advice on a regular basis.  She states:  A synopsis is like a recitation of facts in a lawsuit. It doesn't have much verve or style. The purpose of a synopsis is NOT to entice someone to read on (which IS the purpose of a query). 

Okay.  She’s a successful agent.  I need to take her seriously despite the fact that I know she is an anomaly, an agent who dislikes a synopsis.  At least I can deal with this approach.  Dry but doable.

Diana Gabaldon—if you did not pick it up from my previous post is one of my heroes in the writing world—suggests:  If approaching an unknown agent who doesn't know you from a hole in the ground, then you probably want to keep it fairly short and punchy--because the point isn't to explicate the whole plot or demonstrate your skill at world-building; it's to demonstrate a) that you can write, b) that you have a decent premise and characters, and c) that you probably know what a story looks like, at least ("knowing what a story looks like" implies that you understand the use of conflict (change/growth/whatever) and theme, btw).  So you'd go for the 1-2-3 pages type, because really, it's just bait to make them ask for more.

Okay, I can marry these two.  Similar except that Diana says to pump it up a notch.  Got it.  Then I read Diana’s synopsis for A Breath of Snow on Ashes.  The earth that was slowly solidifying beneath my feet crumbled.  I can’t write like that!  Back into the pit for me.

 Jo Bourne, who weaves a great tale and generously shares her pearls of wisdoms on a regular basis, shone a flashlight over the edge.  A synopsis is you sitting down and telling the story to a friend.  She breaks down components and gives a simple list of do’s and don’t’s.  It’s not a how-to manual but an amicable guide. 

I’m still in the pit, groping at the sides.  But the light shines from above and I am moving toward it.  I will emerge one day, synopsis bloodied by torn fingernails in one hand and Jo’s advice clutched tightly in the other.  And, yes, I think I’ll keep that adverb there this time.