There Are No Rules - Guest Post

The Battle of Resistance

Jane — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:15:02 GMT

This is a guest post from monthly contributor and storytelling genius Darrelyn Saloom. Follow her on Twitter. The photo above shows Darrelyn's youngest son, Jesse, emerging from battle to hand his mommy a pink crayon and a gardenia on his first birthday on May 28, 1987. (For more great stories from Darrelyn, click on "Guest Post" in the categories column to the left.)

Miserable, this past September, I perused Twitter in search of relief. And found it. Steven Pressfield was guest author for a literary chat called LitChat. Wow! Steven Pressfield, author of The Legend of Bagger Vance, Last of the Amazons, Tides of War, Gates of Fire, The Virtues of War, but also a jewel of a book I’d not yet discovered, The War of Art.

Writers on Twitter questioned Pressfield for an hour. I managed to contribute a tweet or two, but awestruck, I froze up. Fortunately, other writers had their wits about them and asked excellent questions. And the author’s answers cut to the core of my suffering. A former Marine, he said his service “taught him to be miserable—a crucial skill for a writer. Seriously, not to complain but to keep doing it.”

I’d been complaining to my husband for weeks. Maybe I better just shut up and get back to work. Good advice. And wouldn’t that make my husband happy. And then Pressfield explained Resistance, the subject of The War of Art: “Resistance is that negative force that tries to stop us from doing what we know we should—write, work out, etc.” Bingo! My problem exactly.

In misery, I’d found so many excuses not to write: I’m out of ideas; I don’t feel well (four rounds of antibiotics, two cortisone shots, and I was still sick). I’m in menopause and about to turn 54. Yikes! My pity pot was endless. Okay, so I’m not in the Marines. I’m not sitting in a foxhole, in the rain, dodging bullets. I have a chronic sinus infection for goodness sakes. I’m running out of hormones.

But illness was not the enemy. Resistance was the enemy and had found a petri dish to blossom in my neurotic thinking. As soon as LitChat concluded, I ordered The War of Art. Overnight delivery, please. This was an emergency. By the next day, I was armed with a Pressfield paperback and found more on the subject of art and misery and even the Marines. Pressfield writes:

The artist committing himself to his calling has volunteered for hell, whether he knows it or not. He will be dining for the duration on a diet of isolation, rejection, self-doubt, despair, ridicule, contempt, and humiliation.

The artist must be like that Marine. He has to know how to be miserable. He has to love being miserable. He has to take pride in being more miserable than any other soldier or swabbie or jet jockey. Because this is war, baby. And war is hell.

Hell, indeed. But so far so good, I had the misery part covered. Reading further, Pressfield named my enemy: Resistance. But he did more than name it. He defined its insidious personality, its wily disguises, its teaching abilities. That’s right, teaching abilities. Because the news here is not all bad, the infallible enemy is also a teacher:

Like a magnetized needle floating on a surface of oil, Resistance will unfailingly point to true North—meaning that calling or action it most wants to stop us from doing.

We can use this. We can use it as a compass. We can navigate by Resistance, letting it guide us to that calling or action that we must follow before all others.

Rule of thumb: The more important a call or action is to our soul’s evolution, the more Resistance we will feel toward pursuing it.

Well, my current memoir collaboration must be aligned with the stars. Never in my life have I battled such Resistance. And for anyone who’s in the midst of her own battle, who struggles to get down to work, doubts she is good enough, blows her nose a lot and stares blankly at a computer screen, wonders why she bothered to wake up, this is for you:

Resistance is directly proportional to love. If you’re feeling massive Resistance, the good news is, it means there’s tremendous love there too. If you didn’t love the project that is terrifying you, you wouldn’t feel anything. The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference.

The more Resistance you experience, the more important your unmanifested art/project/enterprise is to you—and the more gratification you will feel when you finally do it.

So take comfort in knowing you’re on the right track. But don’t let your guard down. Not for a minute. Arm yourself with a copy of Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art; don your camouflaged helmet, your flak jacket and weapons. Battle Resistance every day, in spite of excuses, no matter what, by giving birth to the work you are meant to do.

The Much Maligned Adverb

Jane — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 17:22:24 GMT

Today's guest post is by Jim Adam, who wrote a wonderful 3-part series on protagonists & goals. Read the part 3 here (which includes links to parts 1 & 2). Visit Jim at his site or follow him on Twitter.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nobel Laureate, went on record several years ago saying that he no longer uses adverbs. If he encounters one in his writing, he removes it. And he's not alone. A lot of writers, editors, agents, publishers, and academics these days seem to have joined the crowd, insisting that adverbs should be avoided altogether.

Do some of these folks remove adverbs from their dialogue too? Not from dialogue tags, but from the dialogue itself? I'm guessing some of them do. Oops!

Sure, adverbs can be overused. But if one extreme is bad, the opposite extreme is just as bad. Balance in all things. Extremism comes in many forms, and it flows just as easily from a word processor as from an Uzi submachine gun.

Doing something the same way every time doesn't require a great artist. It doesn't require a brain. It doesn't even require something as sophisticated as a computer. A mechanism of gears and springs, a clockwork automaton, a machine in the 1800s sense of the word: that's all it takes to do something the same way every time.

Consider the title of this article. I could easily have entitled this piece, "The Maligned Adverb," and the result would have been little different. However, "The Much Maligned Adverb" works. There is nothing inherently offensive or distracting about it. And the point of this article isn't that adverbs have been criticized, because some of the criticism is warranted. Rather, the point is that adverbs have been overly criticized.

A title like "The Overly Maligned Adverb" would be weaker, in my way of thinking, because it loses the alliteration of "much maligned." In any case, calling this article "The Adverb" (avoiding any sort of modifier at all), "The Maligned Adverb," "The Much Maligned Adverb," or "The Overly Maligned Adverb," should be a result of the writer actively deciding which title suits them and their subject the best, not the result of a mindless bigotry toward modifiers in general, and adverbs in particular.

Adverbs can, in fact, make for more compact writing. Consider:

"With a reluctant grin" vs. "Grinning reluctantly"

In the Strunk and White sense, the adverbial version is tighter and, therefore, better. It uses two words compared to the adjectival version's four, a saving of 50%.

Naturally, a fanatic would claim that the previous example is meaningless since both reluctant and reluctantly should be cut.

But consider a sentence slipped in earlier: "It flows just as easily from a word processor as from an Uzi." Would a Nobel Prize winner spend time rewriting that sentence so as to eliminate the need for "easily"? Apparently he would. Feel free to give it a go yourself. Personally, I find such endeavors to be not only pointless, but downright silly.

Adverbs are like the writer's version of vibrato. Once upon a time, a guest conductor at a philharmonic orchestra asked the lead violin player for a tuning tone, got back a note with vibrato on it, and had to be carted out of the practice hall in a straitjacket. Even then, I'm not sure the violin player understood her mistake. Most likely, she wasn't even consciously aware of using vibrato.

When overused, any technique becomes a tick, a mannerism. It ceases to be a skill wielded artistically, like adding icing to a cake, and instead becomes a cake buried in a blob of icing. This is true of vibrato in music as well as Tom Swifties and other adverbial abuses in writing. But this doesn't mean that either vibrato or adverbs should be discarded altogether.

In religion, people do pointless, silly things and then claim that makes them more moral. In writing, people do pointless, silly things and claim they're better writers for it:

Don't end a sentence in a preposition.
Don't split your infinitives.
Don't use adverbs.

These are the sorts of rules that people embrace not because the rules make sense, but because the rules are absolute. Absolutist rules eliminate that insecurity we feel when we rely on our conscience (in the realm of morality) or our discernment (in the realm of art). Though absolute rules sometimes cause us to behave like we have obsessive-compulsive disorder (or worse), we continue to embrace them, and the world is a less happy place because of it.

Sure, writers need to keep an eye on their adjectives and adverbs, to not let them get out of hand. Overuse of modifiers is every bit as bad as cutting modifiers out altogether. And vice versa. The sweet spot is somewhere between those two extremes, and where you find your personal sweet spot helps distinguish you as a unique writer.

Let all right-thinking people take a stand now against fanaticism of all kinds, including the current bigotry toward the humble adverb.

The First Writer's Digest Editor's Intensive (And a Boy's First Snowman)

Jane — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 10:55:32 GMT

Today's guest post is by the generous Darrelyn Saloom, who has brought numerous new readers to my blog. I thank her and I thank you. Follow Darrelyn on Twitter.

Imagine writing a book (any genre, fiction or nonfiction), typing away for ages and then opening an e-mail that says Writer’s Digest (a magazine you’ve enjoyed for years) is having an event (their first) called the Writer’s Digest Editor's Intensive. And, if you attend, an editor will read fifty pages of your manuscript—fifty pages!—to be read by a professional, not your mother, or sister who stopped answering her phone.

Excited to receive such an e-mail, I wanted to go. But did I want to fly to Ohio in December? It gets cold in Ohio, and I live in the South. So far south it only snows once every five years—at the most. And rarely sticks to the ground. The cold sort of scared me. And the name of the event scared me, too: An Editor's Intensive. I imagined a group of editors, squinting at manuscripts, lines etched between brows, faces frozen in frowns.

But fifty pages of manuscript! For the past two years I’d been working with boxing champion, Deirdre Gogarty, on her memoir. And in those (inevitable?) moments of doubt, we had questions: Are we headed in the right direction? Or wasting our time? We wanted answers. And if Deirdre and I both signed up, we could submit a hundred pages!

So we signed up online. And the first thing I did was buy a Michelin-Man coat. Down-filled and puffy. And warm—make that hot, worn indoors made me sweat—a lot. I bought gloves and socks, a scarf and wool cap, while Deirdre (who packed a light jacket) found someone to feed her two cats.

And then we flew to Cincinnati (actually to Kentucky but on the state line). Into a taxi to Hannaford Suites, no need to rent a car. Okay, we needed a car. But managed just fine (thank you Sharon Pielemeier and Barbara Weibel for the rides!). After the first day, Chuck, Jane, and Alice left us wiser than wise (and their faces were not frozen in frowns or squinting lines!).

We learned about Facebook and Twitter, WordPress and blogging, platform and publishing. And made the kind of friends you keep for life: Other writers from around the country who were as nervous as Deirdre and I. For the next day was Sunday, the day of our appointed critique. So Saturday night, a group of us went out to eat.

And then we searched for bookstores, which closed by nine. So we pressed our noses to the windows and visualized: the books of Barbara Weibel, Sean Miller, Kent Ostby, Caitlin O’Sullivan, Amber Gardner, Mark Benedict, Deirdre Gogarty, and mine. It was magical, really. Bonded by a desire to publish stories we write. And by doubts, questions, and obstacles that plague a writer’s life.

On Sunday, we huddled together and waited our turn. We discussed our manuscripts and scanned faces of fellow writers as they emerged. And every one I talked to went in nervous but left satisfied. Some were sobered by reality, others floated on cloud-nine. But questions were answered, and manuscripts were marked with professional advice: Valuable information that defied any price.

Never wore the down-filled coat at the conference. Turned out Deirdre was right to pack only a light jacket (though I brought one of those, too). I’ve only worn my Michelin-Man coat once since I bought it last year. A short time later, the magic I found in Cincinnati seemed to follow me home—and it snowed. So I bundled up and played outside. And my grandson, Milas, built the first real snowman of his life.

How to Succeed in Today's Publishing Industry (Takeaways from Conference)

Jane — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 21:33:06 GMT

By noon on Saturday, attendees were commenting that they'd already gotten their money's worth. I consider that a big win!

If you missed the event, you can still get some valuable takeaways:

Meryl Evans has compiled Tweets from the event, which I've made available for printing and download on Scribd.
You can also read this fabulous recap from an attendee: 8 Gatejumper Tips Heard at the Writer's Digest Conference.

And most remarkably, Meryl Evans sent me a note to help attendees make sense of what to do next! See below. My big thanks to her generosity.

—

So You Went to the Writer's Digest Conference. What Are You Going to Do Now?
by Meryl Evans

In the Writer's Digest Conference blog, Robert Lee Brewer reported on something he overheard:

So, earlier today, in the hallway, I overheard one writer speaking to another. She said, "I don't have the time to handle all this."

I was not surprised to hear this kind of statement at a conference on publishing and marketing and communicating and podcasting and basically everything we've been going over since Friday. But, of course, I started thinking about how successful writers should be, at least, trying.

Well, after a long pause, she continued speaking to the other (very good listener) writer, "But I have to make the time if I'm serious about making this work."

The writer caught on. Not all of us think about how we're going to make the most of a conference. Or we feel overwhelmed that it paralyzes us preventing us from taking action. We bring home all the notes we took filing them away only to never see them again. Then the least we can hope for is that our brains remembered a few key points while we wrote or typed them and apply them.

Review Your Notes
Take five or ten minutes to look over your notes. You can handle that, right? As you review your notes, pick one to three things you want to use. Post them in your to do list or whatever you use on a regular basis so you can remember and practice. Give yourself a deadline—you're a writer, you can handle it. Check off each item as you do them.

Got 'em all done? Great. Now, go back to your notes to cross them off. Pick one to three more things to try. Repeat.

That wasn't so bad, was it? Turning loads of notes into a couple of doable tasks makes a difference.

Write One Article
You probably walked away from the conference with a few article ideas. Rather than trying to do it all, I pick one topic and write the article within a couple of days after returning home. You can make it a blog entry, an article for your publication, whatever. In writing the article, those ideas will stick with you. Plus, you gain a bonus of sharing that with others.

When you finish the article, revisit the other article ideas and what you can do with them. Rather than feeling spread thin with all your article ideas, you focus on one article at a time while putting the rest away for later. You've captured the ideas on paper or on your laptop. They won't disappear. Well, unless you delete them, lose them or trash them.

Key Points from WD Conference
You can find great tweets from the conference by searching Twitter for WDC09. Here are some highlights worth remembering, captured from tweets and the blog so you don't have to read it all:

Christina Katz: Platform is everything you do with your expertise. So many tools are available; must prioritize, maximize your time. Do you see yourself as the producer of your writing career and take 100% responsibility for your success?
Jane Friedman: Platform comes first! Book second. Without a strong platform and topic—creating demand—your book will have a difficult time finding its place in the market. Any changes publishers want to make to the book is what they believe will help increase book sales. They basically want what's economically best for your book—and that's ultimately a good thing.
Scott Sigler and Seth Harwood: Once you show you can move (sell) books, publishers will take notice. That's why giving away your first book online for free and building up an audience is essential to getting publishers—who have ignored you for years—to wake up and realize your talent and value. "You are the best person to sell your book," says Hardwood.
Alice Rosengard: Sees organization as a common problem with nonfiction proposals.
David Mathison (Be the Media) keys: Have a direct relationship with your audience. Control your rights. Repurpose your content.
Chris Brogan: The best way to get a book published is to not try to get a book published. The whole trick about promoting is to not talk about yourself. Learn to talk about other people. Twitter is not about talking; it's about listening.
Agent Miriam Kriss: A lot of "overnight successes" are 10 years in the making.
Agent Panel (Jessica Sinsheimer, Regina Brooks and Michelle Humphrey): Difference between freelanced editing and traditional editor is the latter cares, has a vested interest in the book. Professionally edited, professionally typeset, professionally designed are critical for success via POD.

Just One More Blogging Benefit for Aspiring Writers

Jane — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 19:15:47 GMT

As I catch up from being away at the Writer's Digest Conference (read more than 100 posts with info here!), guest blogger Jane Koenen Bretl is filling in with some more advice on the benefits of blogging!

When I started my blog jane, candid in January 2009, it was my starting point to create visibility and web presence for my work, and explore a whole new avenue of writing. Inspired by the December 2008 Writer’s Digest Editor’s Intensive, through blogging I found a voice that can be the start of my author platform; it took me in a new, unexpected direction that I may not have pursued, at least at this point in my writing career.

The benefits of blogging to an aspiring writer are numerous, but a most unexpected, helpful and frankly delightful outcome has been the relationships I have developed with other writers.

I actively seek out writing blogs, and by participating in author blog tours, networking through thoughtful commenting, and trolling through the blogrolls of other writers, I have met many other writers who have provided useful advice and much encouragement.

As a result, I’ve hosted an oft-published author at my home while he was on a 20-state book signing tour. I’ve hosted guest-blogging authors who brought both a new audience and increased credibility to my site. I’ve been a guest blogger on other wonderful blogs (like this one!) that provide a new, exciting forum for my work. And I’ve developed friendships with many writers who share selflessly of their experience.

It is a curious concept to me, this idea of meeting others online. At first I had preconceived (mostly negative) notions about online relationships, a prejudice lodged somewhere between online dating, ranting chat rooms, and all-night Dungeons and Dragon-esque gaming sessions. (Not that there is anything inherently wrong with those activities, they are just not my scene.)

I thought real people made real friendships face-to-face, not sitting alone in a computer chair with fingers tapping at the keys. Preconceived notions can and do close doors.

Blogging has instead opened doors for me to meet other writers from around the world, kindred spirits surely not on my life’s path otherwise. It has opened windows through which I can watch the progress of other writers, and see both the pitfalls they have faced and the successes they have earned through hard work and great talent. There is a collective sense of celebration when a blogger-friend reaches a writing milestone. It inspires me.

This summer, I had the opportunity to take a fond blogger relationship to a new place— face-to-face. Judy Clement Wall wrote one of the first comments I ever received on my blog, offering kind words right when I was nervously venturing into unfamiliar territory.

I in turn visited her site and her words struck a cord with me immediately. I have been an avid reader of her blog zebra sounds ever since. Like many bloggers, she kept the personal details of her home address and her family private; it just feels safer that way. However, as I prepared for a long-planned summer vacation to the West Coast (yes, I was reading Judy’s blog instead of packing), I realized through one of her off-handed references that this blog-buddy might live in the very area we were to visit! After some off-line emails, we learned it was indeed the same town. Serendipity strikes again. We made plans to meet at a coffee shop during my trip, since we already knew we shared an addiction to coffee as well as a love of writing.

Ironically, me, the online relationship snob, was as nervous to actually meet her as I might have been on a first date: Would I recognize her from her photo? Would she be as friendly as she seemed? It felt surreal, this crossing of worlds (maybe I had already drank too much coffee that day???).

Of course, the meeting was delightful. We shared blogging advice (how did you add that cool widget?), warm mutual admiration, and encouragement for next steps in our writing careers, all right along with our hot caffeinated beverages. It felt like a reunion, not a first meeting.

Ironically, the act of blogging can be much more personal than the typical conversations between new acquaintances, what some describe as the nakedness of putting it out there for all to see, sharing these words that come from some deep place inside. This has been my biggest revelation about blogging.

So as I strive to build my author platform, increase my online visibility, create a potential audience for my work, and generally make waves out there in the social media world of the publishing industry, I can also reap the benefits of my blogging community and all that they share.

Considering it? Give it a try.

--

[Editor's note: Be sure to read Judy Clement Wall's companion blog post to this, "(Sometimes it's not) All About Me"]

Zen in the Art of a Kiss and a Dream

Jane — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 14:24:14 GMT

Today's guest post is from everyone's favorite regular contributor, Darrelyn Saloom. Follow her on Twitter.

Nineteen years ago, I read the nine essays of Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing and dreamed I met the legendary author. In the dream, Bradbury and I discussed a story I’d written called “The Last Housewife on Earth.” I’d not written such a story (only in the dream). But I knew the bored and restless housewife, because she was me.

As I read the Preface to Zen in the Art of Writing, Bradbury’s words ignited an inner slapping (not unlike Poe’s raven’s tapping). Bradbury described his nine-year-old self tearing up what he loved (Buck Rogers comic strips) due to criticism from schoolmates. But where did he find the strength a month later to “judge all of his friends idiots and rush back to collecting?” Bradbury writes:

So I collected comics, fell in love with carnivals and World’s Fairs and began to write. And what, you ask, does writing teach us?

First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has been awarded us. Life asks for rewards back because it has favored us with animation.

So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

Secondly, writing is survival. Any art, any good work, of course, is that.

Not to write for many of us, is to die

And instantly, I knew what to do. I’d go back to school and learn to write (no more amateur scribbling). But first I’d drive to Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, Louisiana, because Ray Bradbury was scheduled to speak. I learned of the lecture the day after I dreamed of our meeting. So, naturally, I had to go.

On a stage, Bradbury read from his Zen book; he spoke of his childhood, but what resonated for me was that he never went to college. Yet, impassioned, he expressed his desire to learn and to write, a yearning so intense he spent countless hours—years!—in libraries, educating himself.

After his lecture, an authority figure announced the author would not be signing books (apparently, the man in charge knew nothing of my dream) so I, and a score of others, sneaked behind thick curtains, where Bradbury was seated—and waiting.

And he did sign our books and answer our questions. Though I barely remember anything he said as I floated backstage in a state of awe (I’d just had this dream!) and here he was with his shock of white hair, his black-framed glasses.

When it was my turn to hand over my copy, his eyes met mine. And all I could utter was (oh, God, this is so embarrassing to admit) but all I could say was, “I love you.” There, I said it. I told him I loved him. And he signed my book (smiling), stood up, and kissed me on the cheek.

I didn’t tell him about my dream; I barely managed those three simple words. But he seemed to appreciate my declaration, because he only stood for one, mine remained the lone kissed cheek. Or, I made a total ass of myself—but it was worth it.

For after his lecture, I went to college and camped in libraries. In literature classes, I read the enormous books from cover to cover, not just the few assigned poems and stories. And I spent hours and hours in my car and studied (because my three children in the house were so noisy).

Worth it because my signed copy of Zen in the Art of Writing is one of my most treasured possessions. Peek inside the Preface and Bradbury reminds to “dive head first into your typewriter.” And then he ends his opening with a gift:

And now:

I have come up with a new simile to describe myself lately. It can be yours.

Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me.

After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together.

Now, it’s your turn. Jump!

So much inspiration! It’s why “I love you” rose and sprung from my lips. And I’m grateful for not squandering the opportunity. Because Ray Bradbury—more than anyone—inspired me to make that leap into my own “deep well” and onto my keyboard.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I’ve never washed that Bradbury-kissed cheek. (Okay, I exaggerate; it’s the writer in me. But I did resist for nearly a week.)

And the kiss—still lives—in memories and dreams.

--

Read more from Darrelyn:

The Voice of Truth and Lies
Twitter: Food for the Muse
Better Than Brad Pitt? (Why You Should Go to Book Events)
Stay on Premise, Please!
The Song of Writing

"Thought Virus" Protection for Writers

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 19:49:46 GMT

Jane kindly invited me to guest blog here on There Are No Rules while she's enjoying some R&R this week, and I happily agreed. You may recall that the last time I posted as a guest here, my stay was unexpectedly extended when Jane became stranded in Thailand -- so let's hope for her sake that she returns as scheduled on Monday!

What better way to kick off a week of guest blogging than to give a shout out to another guest blogger? After all, we fill-in writers have to stick together. I always enjoy a good dose of Zen Habits, and today's post from Steven Aitchison really struck a chord with me--especially because I'm in the planning stages of the February issue of WD, which will focus on creativity.

If you haven't already seen it, check out "Virus Protection for the Mind" here. Go ahead. I'll wait.

This post immediately got me thinking about how these "thought viruses" can infect the writing life. How often do you get excited about a new idea, only to have doubt creep in the minute you face the blank page? Writers always talk about the struggle of trying to silence our inner critics, our inner editors. Back when I was working as an editor of books both by and for visual artists, they'd often discuss similar challenges. One of my artist/authors called this her inner gremlin, and would draw him in an attempt to put him out of her head.

But Aitchison points out that these "thought viruses" aren't separate entities from our creative minds--and recognizing this can be empowering, because it means this: They're something we have the power to control. Why not arm ourselves with strategies for harnessing those viruses before they take hold of our thought processes?

What are some of your ways of putting those thoughts on the shelf, as Aitchison suggests, so you can move forward? I welcome your comments here!

Happy Monday,
Jessica
--
Jessica Strawser
Editor, WD

The Voice of Truth and Lies

Jane — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 05:42:44 GMT

Today's guest post is from regular contributor Darrelyn Saloom. Follow this most lovely writer on Twitter. The photo above is of Darrelyn's grandmother Ara Coleman Wilkerson (1900-1929).

I’ve written about feeding The Muse (who craves poetry and art in a quest to inspire). But once inspiration has sprung forth and the bones have been written, it’s time to listen to Intuition while you edit and revise. For a writer’s life is an inward journey that must tell truth from lies.

Many writers balk at this part of the writing process, but it can be a pleasurable mine: to confer with your sixth-sense (though she can nag at times), but only because she lives in the subconscious and is indefatigable and wise.

Intuition is the voice you can’t hear because it’s a hunch, an inkling you feel as you rewrite. It questions word usage. And pesters that something’s not right: an awkward sentence, a paragraph, or (at worst) every line. And she can be better than spell check at times.

One way to recognize Intuition is to recall moments when compelled to act in the midst of strife. Perhaps an impromptu visit to a friend, you encountered a future wife; or you didn’t go when the light turned green, which may have saved your life.

You can also identify Intuition by evoking occasions you scoffed her advice. Remember that test you took, knew you had the wrong answer, refused to change it, and failed to get it right; or sped through an intersection as yellow blinked to red, and then saw flashing blue lights.

Can you hear it now? Don’t be so sure. It may be the voice of language: the loud one that encourages more pie “With ice cream this time!” The one that has had too much to drink and says, “It’s okay to drive!” And it’s a familiar voice. But do you know her name?

As a writer, it’s imperative to discern the difference. Listen. Can you hear it? Is it the voice that uses words? That tries to convince editing is not your job, but the job of a publisher’s sprite. “Don’t they have an entire staff to do this stuff?” it cries.

Did you hear it? That’s the voice of Sabotage, and it’s the voice of lies.
So now that you know the difference, be still and quiet when time to rewrite. Summon an instance when a hunch or inkling proved to be right. Listen to the soundless voice of Intuition. And take her advice.

* * *

When I first sat down to write about Intuition, I wrote a story about my grandmother, Ara, who died of tuberculosis when my father was seven. She left three young sons behind. I had never met my uncles until my father was about to die. An emotional few days, I felt the presence of my grandmother the entire time.

The day my uncles flew home, my sister Jeanne and I escorted our father to his radiation appointment. I drove the car and was compelled not to go when the light turned green, which may have saved our lives. Because a delivery truck ran its red light and barreled through the intersection. And the truck had a sign. In bold letters we watched ARA SERVICES go by.

That day I named Intuition for my grandmother Ara. And when it came time to edit and revise this piece, every line but the one about the green light was deleted and out poured The Voice of Truth and Lies. So this is for my grandmother Ara, who sits with me when I rewrite.

Your Protagonist Must Have a Goal (Plot-Protagonist Secret #3)

Jane — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 14:53:03 GMT

Today's guest post is the final installment of a three parter, and comes from the experienced Jim Adam, who I met at a recent Writer's Digest Editors' Intensive. Visit his homepage, or follow him on Twitter.

Warning: Harry Potter spoilers ahead
To illustrate the importance of protagonist goal, let's look at an example (again from the Harry Potter series) of a character who abandons the role of protagonist while remaining the sole POV character.

At the end of Book 5, The Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore tells Harry the Chosen One Prophecy. According to this prophecy, Harry is the only person able to destroy the genocidal Voldemort. Dumbledore says that he should have told Harry the prophecy sooner, but held back because of his desire to keep Harry safe and free from additional burdens and worries.

We aren't done yet, but note that warning flags have already gone up. By protecting Harry, Dumbledore has minimized exactly those things that keep readers immersed in a story! Safety and freedom from worry for the protagonist? Since when was that a good idea in a work of fiction? There's a reason why The Left Behind series chronicles the tribulations on Earth, not the big party in Heaven.

What the end of Book 5 shows us is that Dumbledore isn't the right Dumbledore for the Potter series. Whether his "mistake" indicates soft-heartedness or a desire for personal glory, it doesn't matter. Dumbledore has made life easier for Harry, and thus has undercut the full potential of the story.

Continuing on, the very end of Book 5 shows Harry returning to his aunt and uncle's house where, for three months, he'll be safe and free from additional burdens and worries. [Insert the sound of screeching tires here.] Wait a minute! Dumbledore just said this was a mistake, and now he repeats that same mistake? Worse, Harry lets him get away with it?

What we have here is a plot outline forcing our Hero to become a passive little lamb. Harry goes where the plot outline tells him to go, he sits on his hands when the plot outline requires him to, and he takes decisive action only when the plot outline authorizes him to.

According to Dumbledore, Harry has the ability to stop Voldemort from committing genocide on the human race. (At this point, Voldemort is back and is operating in the open.) Exactly what kind of protagonist would go off and waste three months' time under such circumstances? A goalless protagonist, that's who.

The goal of destroying Voldemort has now become Dumbledore's, and the old codger pursues his goal relentlessly. Unfortunately, he also pursues the goal mostly off screen, leaving readers to watch Harry pursue various subplots: Quidditch, romance, and questions like, "What is Draco up to?" and "Who is the Half-Blood Prince?"

To see how insidious lack of goal (or in this case, the wrong goal) can be, let's look briefly at Book 6 of the Potter series, Half-Blood Prince. Near the beginning of that book, when Harry learns that he's to be captain of the Quidditch team, Hermione asks him, "What about the Defense Association?" [DA is a student group, led by Harry, designed to prepare students to fight against Voldemort.] Harry replies, "We'll just disband it."

Oops. Although Voldemort is already killing people left and right, Harry's goal is to be Quidditch team captain. The Defense Association is a distraction from that goal, and so it must go.

The plot outline has won and, as far as the main sequence of events is concerned, Harry has become goalless. The price for this isn't that some arbitrary rule of writing has been broken. The price is that Harry becomes a heartless wretch. People are dying, and if he applied himself, Harry might be able to stop at least some of that, but he can't be distracted from his extra-curricular activities even for such a lofty goal. This is the Hero of seven books?

A goalless central character can easily lead to a mushy story, one lacking in conflict and clear direction. (Imagine a goalless Dorothy wandering about Oz, without even the Wicked Witch chasing after her.) In the Potter series, however, the disturbance in Harry's world is both real and impactful. Events move forward inexorably, and the books continue to resemble stories. Only on closer inspection do we discover that Harry is an inhuman widget.

As writers of commercial fiction, we need to make sure that:

Our story has a protagonist.
Our protagonist has a driving goal.
Our protagonist has the right goal (prepare to fight Voldemort, not prepare to win the Quidditch trophy).
Our protagonist is the right protagonist—one who would accept wise advice when given (follow the Yellow Brick Road), but one who doesn't just get led around by parents, wise mentors, angels, friendly locals, etc.

The Overshadowed Protagonist
Speaking of getting led around by the hand, the overshadowed protagonist seems to be another common mistake we writers make. Consider our Wizard of Oz example. Suppose that when Glinda arrives, instead of giving Dorothy some sage advice, Glinda accompanies Dorothy to the Emerald City. The result would be that Dorothy gets overshadowed, the dangers to her get minimized, and—quite likely—the story gets bogged down in backstory and exposition, as Glinda kindly fills in the poor girl on the history of Oz, the habits of the Munchkins, the magical processes used in creating the Tin Man, etc.

Although the real Dorothy is joined and aided by other characters, although she remains ignorant of much of what is going on about her, although she never becomes a witch or a Kung Fu master, still Dorothy retains her goal and is able to pursue that goal relentlessly. Her goal-driven behavior keeps the trip to the Emerald City from being a travelogue, and it keeps the trip to the Wicked Witch's castle from being an arbitrary sidetrack.

Despite Dorothy's general ignorance, she always has enough information to pursue her goal under her own impetus. This is the difference between a protagonist and a widget:

If a protagonist has no clue how to pursue their goal, they might as well not have a goal.

This is another key point that seems to trip us up as writers. For most readers, "pursing a goal" means more than a protagonist waiting patiently or wandering blindly, hoping for inspiration.

In the last book of the Potter series, The Deathly Hallows, Harry is trapped in that sad state of wanting to destroy Voldemort but not having a clue how to proceed. He moves one step at a time, following a trail of breadcrumbs, never fully comprehending what it is he's doing, or why. It seems an ignominious state for a Hero to be in.

However: Ms. Rowling apparently realized that Dumbledore was too powerful to keep around, and so killed him off. Unfortunately, she then allowed him to manipulate events from beyond the grave, thus turning poor Harry into a pair of granny glasses scuttling about in the woods. Ms. Rowling got away with it, and maybe you can too, but why take the chance?

If we give our main characters goals, make their achieving those goals as difficult as we can, and then let them pursue their goals under their own impetus, the result will be a more engaging story. And after all, isn't that our goal?

Photo credit: TRAFFIK

Does Your Novel Fall Victim to the Protagonist/Goal Switcheroo? (Plot-Protagonist Secret #2)

Jane — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 21:13:10 GMT

Today's guest post is the second installment of a three parter (ending Friday), and comes from the wise Jim Adam, who I met at a recent Writer's Digest Editors' Intensive. Visit his homepage, or follow him on Twitter.

Read Part I (How to Prevent Reader Boredom in Your Novel) here.

Some of us can't quite decide who we want our protagonist to be. Sometimes this results in a story that contains a lot of POV characters, but that isn't always the case.

In my novel, I had one primary POV character for the first 250 pages. Then I switched to another POV character for the middle 250 pages. And then I switched to yet another POV character for the final 250 pages. As a result, no single character was strong enough to tie the book together into a cohesive unit. A master writer (or somebody with a body of fans already in place) might have been able to get away with this sort of thing. Unfortunately, I don't fit into either camp.

POV switching is harder to pull off than professional writers like Stephen King or George R.R. Martin make it look. Each POV character brings a different goal with them, or at least a different slant on a goal, and as a result, readers can easily find themselves several chapters into a book, still unable to decide what the story is really about.

If your story features a lot of POV characters, or if it switches around between several protagonists along the way, make sure the story truly requires it. For many of us, POV switching is a sign that we haven't quite figured out what story we're trying to tell.

Goal Substitution
In some stories, the protagonist stays the same but their goal changes. If not handled carefully, this can make a story feel like it's gotten sidetracked, with the plot suddenly chasing after a will-o-the-wisp.

Sure, plots don't have to be linear, but readers are liable to get confused (or miffed) if we change either the protagonist or the protagonist's goal without sufficient justification. In the movie The Matrix, Neo's original goal is to find out what the matrix is. Partway through the movie, Neo gets his answer. This forces him to adopt a new goal: "Figure out how to fit into this new reality." Neo's goal change works because it's integral to the flow of events, and thus it makes sense to the audience.

For a protagonist to change goals on a whim, however, or in response to some ancillary or trivial event: that's going to be hard for many readers to swallow. Maybe it's a sign that we're conflict averse, or maybe we think we're perpetrating a "surprise twist." But whatever the explanation, the result may be the same: a disappointed reader.

The flip side: if something happens (as with Neo) to invalidate a protagonist's first goal (such as they achieve that goal), the story needs to quickly provide the protagonist with a new goal. Using our Wizard of Oz example, imagine Dorothy showing up in Oz without any burning desire to get back home. Not only does she wind up wandering around endlessly, now she doesn't even have a meaningful goal.

One sign of a goalless protagonist is that they get pushed about by events. Instead of acting, they react.

Even if we throw life-threatening challenges at them, the challenges still begin to seem disconnected and arbitrary. The result is generally that the story looses its zip and, possibly, many of its readers.

A goalless protagonist seems to be especially common in "translation" stories where the main character is pulled out of a mundane life and is suddenly transported into an amazing Other World. The Wizard of Oz and The Matrix both show how to make such a premise work.

Many of us who attempt translation stories, however, try to carry the story with clever, amazing, and humorous interludes. The Munchkins, Scarecrow, the sentient trees, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion, Emerald City: we expect these elements to hold the reader's interest by themselves. Maybe they will, maybe they won't, but certainly Dorothy's story loses something if she's wandering about goalless, just enjoying the scenery.

The protagonist's goal is the glue that holds a story together, giving events heightened purpose and interest.

In tomorrow's final installment, we'll look at examples that illustrate the importance of goal, as well as what happens in the case of an overshadowed protagonist.

Photo credit: nasebear

How to Prevent Reader Boredom in Your Novel (Plot-Protagonist Secret #1)

Jane — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 14:00:16 GMT

Today's guest post is a three parter (ending Friday), and comes from the inimitable Jim Adam, who I met at a recent Writer's Digest Editors' Intensive. Visit his homepage, or follow him on Twitter. Warning: For any Harry Potter readers and/or movie fans who do not know the outcomes of Books 6 and 7, spoilers lie near the end.

Most people define plot as "the events that make up a story," and that's a fine definition. Except that for writers, it's a shortcut to the hot place. I've been burned by it, and as I read unpublished works by other struggling writers, I see them getting burned by it too.

Here's a better definition:

Plot is the set of actions that protagonists take to achieve their goal.

Wait, don't leave yet! I know you've seen this definition before and are bored by it. Maybe you have every right to be bored, but for many writers, the simplicity of this definition is misleading. We look at it and think, "Yeah, yeah, I learned that twelve years ago." But however simple the rule seems, many of us still haven't mastered it. We continue to churn out stories that are collections of disconnected events, stories that lack drive and intensity, and stories that wander off course.

What ties a series of scenes together, so that they feel truly connected?

A common cast of characters?
A common central conundrum?
A common setting?
Cause-and-effect relationships?

Even taken together, all of these elements aren't enough. Only by giving goals to key characters, and letting those characters drive the story, can we make a sequence of events hang together as an integral plotline.

Maybe it sounds easy, but I continue to struggle with this concept in my own writing, and based on what I'm seeing in various workshops, I'm not alone.

The One Sentence Plot Description
My editor tells me that I should be able to describe any novel in a single sentence of the form:

Protagonist must do X or else Y will happen.

Does that sound reductive? Too linear? Maybe it is. But for those of us struggling to get our act together, simpler is better. Sadly, for many of us, our one-sentence plot statement would be something like, "Gretta must do what she's told when she's told until I reach the desired word count."

Characters without strong goals become widgets, pushed about by our word processors. They meekly subvert their personality to the predefined plot outline. As a result, they come across as passive, unreliable, dull.

The Right Protagonist for the Job
Consider The Wizard of Oz. When Dorothy steps into the Land of Oz, her eyeballs bulge. Goodness, they certainly don't have flowers like these in Kansas! As she wanders about, a soap bubble lands and out steps Glinda, the Good Witch of the North. Glinda tells Dorothy, "To get back home, follow the Yellow Brick Road. That'll take you to the Wizard, and he'll be able to help you."

Dorothy straightens her back and stomps her foot. "I most certainly will not! Go visit a Wizard? Ha. What do you take me for?" And so Dorothy tramps off into the wilderness, carefully avoiding the Yellow Brick Road whenever it comes into sight. A thousand pages later, she's still at it, no closer to getting home than when she started.

The problem here isn't that our shadow Dorothy lacks a goal, but that the author has selected the wrong Dorothy for the story. This alternate Dorothy's hard-headedness makes her look like a dolt, someone that readers will have a hard time identifying with, sympathizing with, or caring about.

The more cynical reader, of course, sees this alternate Dorothy for what she really is: a convenience for the author, who wants to write an epic story but can't be bothered to come up with a true plot, and so makes do with an episodic travelogue.

If a protagonist (or villain) has the path to victory laid out for them, and then turns away from it for some arbitrary reason, the story loses intensity. Some readers may even lose their faith in the story's trustworthiness.

At the risk of being pelted with bludgers, I'm going to use Harry Potter to illustrate this point. In the Potter series, at the end of Book 6, Half-Blood Prince, the evil Voldemort has won. Voldemort's nemesis (Dumbledore) is dead, and Voldemort's Death Eaters are inside Hogwarts itself—locked in battle with Dumbledore's loyal followers.

Voldemort's path to victory is clear. He need only join the fight and he can carry the day. Instead, his Death Eaters flee Hogwarts, and for the next three months, Voldemort quietly sits on his hands so that Harry can have his traditional summer vacation at home.

In this case, the villain is forced to turn his brain off precisely because the protagonist of the story isn't the right protagonist. Harry is neither ready, willing, nor able to take up Dumbledore's mantle. If Voldemort played his cards, Book 6 would end with Harry Potter dead, and Book 7 of the series would vanish.

The arrangement here reminds me of a Warner Brothers cartoon: A wolf and a sheepdog walk up to a time-clock and punch in. "Morning, George," the sheepdog says. "Morning, Ralph," the wolf says. They move to their respective positions, the 8 a.m. whistle blows, and they begin feuding over the sheep. When the 5 p.m. whistle blows, they clock back out and walk home together amiably.

When a story manipulates key characters, forcing them out of character in order to achieve something the writer considers important, the result can become farcical. The best way we can avoid this fate is to:

Make sure our key characters have solid goals that they pursue vigorously.
Make sure our protagonist is well-matched (both in ability and in temperament) to the obstacles he's expected to overcome.

If the obstacles aren't great enough, reader boredom will likely set in. If the obstacles are too great, we'll be forced to cheat in order to reach a happy ending. Of course, both the first Oz book and the last Potter book cheat. The Wizard of Oz suddenly decides that witches melt if touched by even a drop of water; The Deathly Hallows introduces three godlike magical artifacts to get Harry across the finish line. What this shows, I think, is that if we have a strong story, nothing's going to stop us. However, for those of us with boxes full of rejection slips or an interest in producing the very best story possible, we need to carefully match our protagonists to the obstacles they face, and vice versa.

Photo credit: principia aesthetica

10 Steps to Put Social Networking Under Your Spell

Jane — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 13:23:46 GMT

Today's guest post is from content maven Meryl Evans. She helps businesses build and maintain relationships with clients and prospects through content. She’s also a long-time blogger who started blogging on June 1, 2000. Follow Meryl on Twitter.

Do you scream for help in removing the spell that social networking has cast over you? Do social network sites like Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube hypnotize you for hours, stealing your magical paid work time?

Social networking may affect more people in our industry because we know writing can be a lonely job, especially those doing it on a freelance basis from a home office. Even introverts desire to connect with someone and the Twitters of the Internet enchant us.

Here are some easy clues that signify you're bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by social networking:

You press "get new e-mail messages" constantly.
You're always looking for @yourname Twitter replies.
You check for wall updates on Facebook.
You watch the latest viral video on YouTube.

Many folks (me included) are guilty of these behaviors even though we have loads of work. Our work doesn't fulfill our human need for connection. Social networking can and does for many of us.

Look all you want, but you won't find a magical overnight cure. Instead, call upon common sense, organization, and getting things done (GTD) thinking. These strategies will help you dip into the social networking cauldron without double double, toil and trouble—or tracking down eye of newt and wool of bat.

Accept that you can't keep up with all of the social networking sites. You're not the only one struggling with this. It's OK not to join or use everything. (See #8.)
Post a profile on major social networking sites. You don't have to do it all at once. Notice I've said "major" sites.
Connect your accounts with other sites. For example, LinkedIn has an application that imports your blog entries into LinkedIn. Facebook has the same and can also import your Twitter feed (may not be a good idea, but that's not in this recipe). FriendFeed is a pro at integrating your account with others.
Pick a few sites to use on a regular basis. Remember writing and reading blogs count.
Schedule your participation. Twitter isn't about posting one tweet after another. You could start with five minutes in the morning, again at lunch time, and do a last check in the evening. Whatever works for you. Routine turns things into a habit.
Turn off e-mail notifications. For sites you don't use regularly, turn off your e-mail notifications so they don't drive you crazy. (See #7 for another option.)
Filter all social media e-mail into a single folder. If you still want to receive e-mails knowing when someone connects with you, then set up e-mail filters to send all messages from Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and so on into one folder. It's less bothersome than messages in your inbox and in your face.
Join other networks as you come across them. Your connections will invite you to yet another social network site. You never know who uses one site more than another, and you never know what the next big thing in social networking will be unless you have a crystal ball and an available medium. Be open.
Do social networking when stuck. Social networking is a marketing tool for writers, therefore it should be a no-guilt activity as long as you focus on building relationships and sharing knowledge.
Close the browser or application. Get off the social network site or related application. Don't leave it open. Douse whatever tempts you.

This 10-step recipe will put you in charge of stirring bubbles of your social networking time. And be vigilant: networks can still charm their way back and cause time management trouble.

Photo credit: Steph Gary Evie Jack and Thomas

Twitter: Food for the Muse

Jane — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 13:49:07 GMT

Today's guest post is from monthly contributor Darrelyn Saloom. Follow Darrelyn on Twitter. (That's her not-naked Twitter profile pic above.)

Are there more writers than social media marketing gurus, naked people, or insatiable sex addicts on Twitter? Well, marketing gurus may have us beat. But, at least, there are a few worth following for interesting tweets. But writers do seem to outnumber the naked, insatiable sex addicts, though I continue to marvel when opening an e-mail, and someone’s nipples stare back at me. So-and-so is now following you on Twitter. Really? Then put on some clothes!

My hometown friends are dressed and interesting and have a variety of careers. But for my friend Deirdre, a boxer, they don’t do cartwheels from the mailbox when the Southern Review or Glimmer Train arrives. Or shiver at news of an author’s interview or book signing. Too much talk of writing and my best girlfriends zone out on me. Even my beloved husband rolls his eyes. (He will accompany me to an out-of-town book event, though I’m usually dropped off, front of the bookstore, side of the street.)

So Twitter has become a refuge of sorts, a place to connect with enthusiastic readers and writers. And professionals who appreciate writers enough to post helpful articles and tips. Every week, Jane Friedman compiles Best Tweets for Writers. Every week! Daily, she and others post valuable advice about the business of writing and publishing, a treasure-trove of information.

Information that (before Twitter) was not available to me. I’m too busy scavenging time for my husband, my aged mother, running a household, caring for grown children and grandchildren, two cats and a dog, collaborating with the boxer, Deirdre Gogarty, on her remarkable life journey, editing a novel for a client, and then (if supper is cooked and the house is clean) squeezing out time for my own writing. So, yes—like you—I’m busy!

But as writers we must find ways to feed The Muse. And other than the boxer (she and I spend hours discussing writers and writing), Twitter cooks up The Muse food I need. So, what do I mean by Muse food? Well, let’s look at a sample menu: Poetry. Reading poetry is one of the best ways to stir inspiration. Read poetry and weep, laugh, marvel—and feed. Narrative Magazine floats by in a tweet. I click, I read, I’m inspired. Always. And there are poets aplenty on Twitter, posting astute lyrical treats (@TheDarkEngine).

Still hungry? Feast on comics artist @elizafrye, illustrator/author @CarinBerger, collaborating authors @deberryandgrant, photographer/filmmaker/physician @DocMacaStat, passionate blogger @CodyDaigle, travel writer @holeinthedonut, or bask in the intellect of @DaveWiner. And so many others who stream by, tweeting works of art, brilliant insights and observations, or posting links to their own inspirations, sated and sharing their food.

On Twitter, I’ve befriended published authors such as Andrea Gillies, a gifted writer, who lives on a remote peninsula in northern Scotland. Her memoir Keeper opened my eyes to the hardships and horrors of caring for a family member with Alzheimer’s. And she did so with such gut-wrenching honesty and beauty (and humor), it forever changed me. Made me hold my loved ones stronger; pet my cats and dog longer, and cease taking for granted my memory.

So, for the naysayers, who would argue that Twitter is too time-consuming; that the time spent reading and posting tweets is wasted; I understand your thinking. It’s what I thought at first. But I’m here to tell you that the opposite has proven true for me; because Twitter cooks up a daily banquet, which feeds The Muse, who lives in that inner world of cravings. For me it’s the world of shivers and cartwheels and tweets.

And like anything else in life, Twitter returns whatever you give. If you are positive and kind, that’s what you’ll find. For the life of me, I don’t understand why so many celebrities (and authors) only follow a few people, who are already their friends. In my opinion, they are missing out on a world of cuisine. After all, things didn’t work out so well for Narcissus who only peered into the pool at his own reflection.

If you’d like to share your Twitter experiences, leave a comment below. I’d love to read what impact Twitter has had on The Muse in you.

There Are 2 Types of Writers: Which Are You? (The Other Side of the Slush Pile)

Jane — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:44:53 GMT

Today's guest post is from the insightful Jim Adams (Migdalin.com). I met Jim at the June WD Editors' Intensive. He also contributed this piece about the benefit of hiring a professional editor.

The Fire in Fiction, by Donald Maass, informs us that there are two types of writers:

One type writes in order to write.
The other writes in order to be published, obtain fame, and receive impressively large royalty checks.

As with any dichotomy, this one has its problems, but recently I gained a better understanding of why Mr. Maass would come up with such a dichotomy in the first place.

Recently, I got a chance to sit on the Other Side of the Slush Pile.

Most writers' workshops qualify, in some sense, as slush piles, but the online community Authonomy, run by HarperCollins, takes things one step further. Authonomy lets authors post their books, or significant portions thereof, and then lets them vote for each other's work. Books get rated based on how many votes they have, and books at the top of the ratings get looked at by one or more purchasing editors at HarperCollins.

While you can only vote for five books at a time, you can comment on as many books as you like. Having posted a goodish portion of my own book, I set about providing comments to several individuals who had befriended me or who had suggested a bout of mutual mastication, so long as I went first …

So, I began to read, and I began to critique.

My efforts were unappreciated. I had failed, you see, to follow the prevailing custom, which was to write a critique thusly:

This book was so good, I was tempted to cut off my fingers, because compared to you, I don't deserve to write even a grocery list. Excuse me while I go change my underthings: that's how much your words moved me! I especially liked how you capitalized the first word in every sentence. Masterful!!

Let me reiterate that Authonomy is a slush pile. While I haven't been part of the community for long, the few books I've read and commented on so far are (in my inexpert opinion) not ready for publication, and I don't mean they're in need of a thorough proofreading. The problems I've seen have been fairly major. But, using Mr. Maass's dichotomy, most people on Authonomy appear to be Type 2 writers. They're looking for validation, not criticism. They're looking for publication and a paycheck, not insight into how they might improve their work.

Naturally, it's difficult to accept criticism on a book that took you a year or more to write. And who wants to hear that a book they believe is finished still has significant room for improvement? Move a few commas around? Be happy to! Revise a few sentences for clarity? Well, if you insist. Rewrite the book so it begins on page one, ends at a meaningful destination, and accomplishes something at regular intervals along the way? How dare you!

Of course, tact plays an important part in writing any critique, but having learned my critiquing skills at critters.org, I write tactful critiques as second nature. After all, my book is out there too, and if it's to be savaged, I prefer to have it savaged without unnecessary invective or rancor. But tactful or not, I get the impression that most of the writers on Authonomy aren't interested in meaningful feedback.

To be fair, another part of the equation here is: Who to believe?

Do you believe the fifty people who agree with you that, "Oh my God, this is going to be bigger than Harry Potter," or do you believe the one lone voice of dissent? In all likelihood, the voice of dissent is just a psycho-killer wannabe who fills his time between stalkings by pulling the wings off budding novelists. Your best bet is to quote the immortal Buzz Lightyear ("You are a sad, strange little man, and you have my pity."), and go on about your business.

Still, whatever the psychology, the end result is the same. Individuals stroke each other and promote books that are half-baked.

It's possible that over-eager writers are outnumbered by those who suffer from the opposite problem: the curse of endless revision. We can't know for sure, but it's worth mentioning. Balance in all things. Sooner or later you have to pull the cake out of the oven, put the icing on it, and let people cut themselves a slice. If someone then tells you the cake could have stayed in the oven just a bit longer, well ... who knows. Maybe they have a point, or maybe next time they don't get invited to tea.

Better Than Brad Pitt? (Why You Should Go to Book Events)

Jane — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 12:28:41 GMT

Today's guest post is from becoming-a-regular-and-fabulous-contributor Darrelyn Saloom. Above she is shown with Tim Gautreaux, the recipient of the 2009 Louisiana Writer Award and author of three novels and two story collections. The picture was taken at Garden District Book Shop in New Orleans. Follow Darrelyn on Twitter.

A book event! Authors read from their latest masterpiece, sign copies, and, if you’re lucky, share stories of their writing journey. Maybe an author will reveal how he/she found the plot (in a newspaper), the characters (popped into their head), or even the theme (a song on the radio).

It’s easy to project grandiosity on an admired author. Born to brilliance, for them it comes easy. Such a perfect sentence, and look at that verb. Oh the ease!—the ease from which he/she writes—larger than life, and so much smarter than me.

That’s what I tend to think of writers I admire. And that’s what I thought of Tim Gautreaux. My friends knew this about me. I drove around with his books in my car. Recommended his short story collections and novels to strangers in airports and on the streets (yeah, that was me). So I was thrilled when Garden District Book Shop in New Orleans sent me an e-mail to announce his scheduled book signing.

The day of the event, I checked into Hotel Monteleone and found my way to Prytania Street. The bookstore had a small coffee shop to the side of the building, and I spotted Gautreaux and his lovely wife, Winborne, sipping coffee in a window seat. And, yes, I was nervous. This was better than a French Quarter Brad Pitt sighting for me.

The Louisiana native did not disappoint. With Cajun accent he read from his latest novel The Missing. And then he talked about his writing process. The audience sipped wine, nibbled cheese, and asked questions. And his answers were generous.

Generous because his stories were often rejected by editors—yes—rejected! And he told us that red marks mapped the pages of his returned manuscripts! But here was the key (and what I believe separates a talented writer from becoming a published author—or not).

When Tim Gautreaux’s stories and manuscripts landed back in his mailbox, he read suggestions and criticisms with an open mind. He explained how he’d carefully tear apart a rejected story, rewrite and revise it, put it back together, and send it out again. And again. And again, if necessary. Until he got it right.

If you’ve read Gautreaux’s novels and stories, you know he’s a man obsessed with machines. His characters are camera repairmen, piano tuners, welders, train engineers, and a priest. Okay, so maybe a priest has nothing to do with machinery, but there’s an old Toronado in the story with a “huge eight-cylinder engine and no muffler.”

Tinkering is Tim Gautreaux’s lifelong hobby. He told us about the barn in his backyard in Hammond, Louisiana; and about his collection of antique steamboat whistles, lanterns, and gauges, an amusement that seeped into his novel, The Missing.

“Find what you love,” he said, “and write about it.” What Tim Gautreaux loves has served him well. Tinkering with machinery seems to have taught him the patience to be a writer. To construct something, to take it apart (piece by piece), and then to build it again is not easy. It’s hard work. And it’s akin to writing a poem, a story, a novel. It took him nearly five years to write The Missing.

There are other reasons to attend a book signing: to support a fellow writer, a favored bookstore, (did I mention they often serve wine and cheese?). But to connect to an admired author, and to share his/her struggles are valuable lessons for an aspiring author. And there really is no excuse not to go. Because—they are free.

(The day I completed this blog post, the June issue of The New Yorker arrived in my mailbox—bearing a stapled gift—a new story by Tim Gautreaux! “Idols” is about Julian Smith. And he is a typewriter repairman. So add typewriter repairman to my earlier list. Follow this link to read Julian’s comical and stubborn journey to defeat.)

How to Save Time and Money with Professional Editors

Jane — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 17:32:31 GMT

This post has been adapted from material by Jim Adams, at his site Migdalin.com. I met the talented Jim this past weekend at the WD Editors' Intensive, and we discussed his passion for editor George H. Scithers.

—

After 30 years of rejection, I finally got tired of not knowing why my writing wasn't working. Before trying to find a publisher or an agent, I sent the novel I'd just finished (or so I thought) off to a professional editor.

The year that followed was expensive (professional editors don't come cheap), but it also taught me things about plot, protagonist, pacing, and novel structure that I hadn't picked up from 15 credit hours of undergraduate creative writing courses, an M.A. in creative writing, and reading untold books on writing (some of them with titles like PLOT).

Professional editors are more efficient than how-to books. They give you feedback specific to your project. It's one thing to read a "rule" in a book, it's another thing to have an editor point to a spot in your opus and say, "Here's where you broke the rule, and here's how your writing was weakened as a result."

Professional editors can be more effective than a degree in creative writing, since half your time in getting that sort of degree will be in ancillary class work. Worse, unless you're careful and choosy, you could easily wind up (as I did) at a university where the creative writing teachers sneer at pedestrian concerns like plot. If you dream of getting an M.A. or M.F.A. in creative writing, you might consider finding a professional editor instead. Not only could you learn more in less time, the editorial route might even be less expensive (depending on the university you're applying to), especially if going back to school means giving up a decent-paying job.

As sold as I am on getting help from professional editors, though, when I started working on a new novel, I faced a real dilemma: an insufficiency of funds. Although I hope this new book will need less editorial hand-holding than the previous one, getting the full manuscript critiqued still represents a major expense.

Also, I never feel I've mastered something until I do it right three times in a row. As such, I still have doubts about my ability to spot major plot holes and plot sidetracks on my own.

My brilliant solution to this conundrum?

I sent my editor a detailed synopsis rather than a complete novel.

Getting a synopsis critiqued is not only less expensive, it can save you a lot of time. In my case, although I already had a complete draft of the novel written, revising generally takes me twice as long (at least) as writing the rough draft. Thus, by spotting major non sequiturs in the synopsis, my editor can save me from tweaking pages, chapters, or even (please God, not that again!) an entire book that needs to be tossed out and rewritten from scratch.

If you like to outline and plan books ahead of time, you could even save yourself time during the drafting stage by getting an editor to look at your story premise and outline straightaway.

While they might tell you things you don't want to hear (such as that your underlying story idea won't hold water), wouldn't you rather find that out before you've spent months or years of your life working on the thing?

Even getting a synopsis edited can cost $200 or more, but it's money well-spent, since this particular $200 could save me weeks, even months, of fruitless revision and polishing. Even better, it could save me several thousand dollars, compared to sending a full manuscript to my editor, only to find that my novel has major structural problems—problems that could have been fixed via a review of my story outline.

Wondering how to find a solid professional editor? Preditors and Editors is a good resource for checking out an editing service before you give them your money or your manuscript. I've been using The Editorial Department, and the editor they assigned me to (Peter Gelfan) is the greatest: cruel, insensitive, tactful, patient, and very insightful.

My first book is still making the rounds of agents and publishers, and may still wind up turning into a trunk novel. While I'm convinced it's technically solid, that isn't enough to make a book sell given the difficult publishing environment these days. But whether my first book makes it or not, I feel much better about what I'm doing. I no longer feel like I'm spinning my wheels fruitlessly, repeating the same mistakes over and over again without realizing it.

—

Have you used a professional editing service that you've had a good experience with? Recommend it in the comments!

You can also check out:

Writer's Mart, where editorial services advertise with Writer's Digest
Advanced Novel Writing Workshop at WritersOnlineWorkshops.com, a long-term course that offers critiques of your work by the instructor and peers
As always: the next Writer's Digest Editors' Intensive (upcoming in October and December)

Stay on Premise, PLEASE!

Jane — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 15:10:40 GMT

Today's guest post features once again the delightful Darrelyn Saloom. (You can read her first guest post here, "The Song of Writing.") I'm sure you've all experienced some variation of the story below, which illustrates a huge lesson that some writers never learn—how to leave out all the unnecessary details! (Below: a picture of Darrelyn and her husband.)

My first stay-on-premise lesson was in a freshman creative writing class, Wendall Mayo handed back my long short story and told me he liked it—all five of them!

Hmmm? I expected a Pulitzer Prize, not this. Okay, so maybe I wandered a bit here—oh, yes—and there. But I thought it would explain this, prepare the reader for that. So, maybe he had a point. But it’s a great story! I thought. But no epiphany.

Until Mardi Gras. My husband, Danny, and I stood in a noisy, inebriated crowd to watch the parade. A tacky float towered above us as we jumped and bumped and fought for beads. We were waiting for the next float when a woman (we barely knew) huddled next to us and started talking. She told us she almost missed her flight to get here. And even with all the noise, we grinned and bent towards her to listen to her story.

On the way to the airport she had stopped for coffee. She ran into an old friend, who was married to her ex-husband’s cousin. Oh, oh, oh, she almost forgot that the cousin had been taking a break from posting pictures of her lost dog, Muffin, that often ran away, but never for three days! … I mean, she had a dog once that …

Here came the next float, but the woman kept talking. She was not even to the airport yet. She had segued from Muffin the dog to her own dog to her ex-husband’s cousin’s marital history! Danny and I stuck up our arms to show her we wanted to scatter like children to catch beads. But she kept talking. I could hear a band in the distance—The Northside High School Band—my favorite! But she kept talking and talking and talking.

My husband’s grin slipped away. And then his eyes began to glaze. By the time his chin pointed skyward, I knew she had lost him. But now a relative had died! Tears pooled in her eyes! So I made Ooh sounds to confirm the relative’s sudden death was terrible. A tragedy! But what happened to the almost-missed-my-flight story?

The Northside High School Band marched closer. I started to dance a little, not knowing if this was appropriate (but not really caring at that point.) The band stopped about a block away to twirl batons, gyrate, and shake. These kids could really dance, and I longed to spin around to watch them. But the woman’s swollen tears had spilled to her cheeks!

Which Danny never saw because he continued to stare skyward. And then he began to roll his head. He rolled and rolled until he (brilliantly) swung his body on the last roll, broke the huddle, and slinked away. And left me with the talking (now crying) woman.

When the marching band finally parked in front of us, I threw my hands to my ears, mouthed that I could no longer hear her, and whirled and wiggled and bopped away. The whole time thinking of Wendall Mayo’s lesson on premise, a lesson now pounded into me with every glorious bass drum beat.

Never heard how the woman raced across the airport in the nick of time to catch her flight. And, by the time I abandoned her on the crowded street, I really didn’t care. Her storytelling bored and confused me. All I wanted to do was to flee.

So if you ever find yourself telling a story. And the listeners’ eyes start to glaze, or their heads start to roll, or (heaven forbid) they flee. Chances are pretty good you’ve gone off your premise. So next time—for story’s sake—stay on premise, PLEASE!

WORKING and NOT WORKING with regard to the WRITING of REAL-WRITING

Jane — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 14:25:16 GMT

Today's guest post is from writer Nath Jones. I've known Nath since 1992, when we both started attending a quirky high school on the campus of Ball State University in Muncie, Ind. She now lives in Chicago and has been attending Northwestern for a graduate degree in creative writing. You can find out more about her work here.

If I am sitting in my apartment on the couch, if I then tip over after a while and grab “The Journals of Lewis and Clark” up off the floor, if I pull the sea-foam blue, down-blanket over my shoulders, drop the book, and fall almost all the way asleep while listening to the cars go by outside on criss-crossing streets, it could be argued that I am not working.

But I’m a writer. A person devoted to her craft, sacrificing every other aspect of life to the fulfillment of this one dream. There is so much that goes in to becoming a “real writer.” Yet, most of the time, it’s still hard to take the whole thing seriously. Before getting very far in a writing life, one must find some professional bearings. One of the hardest things to figure out is deciding for oneself what constitutes “real writing” and “really working.”

Writing is a sort of exercise in futility. So writing, when one does not believe fully in oneself, has about it, an element of the absurd. It seems that one would have an easier time spinning straw into gold. And it is exceedingly difficult to believe oneself capable of spinning straw into gold—though it is much easier than believing oneself a “real writer.”

Where might one go to figure out how to spin straw into gold? There is only one place, into the mind. But what a journey! Is there any more daunting? No. But becoming a writer does not have to be a lonely and exhaustive survey of the psyche’s wild back country. Many writers have made this exact same foray into a world of what amounts to nonsense.

Nonsense? Sure, nonsense. The whole point of writing is to make sense, creating meaning. But the process of writing—the place where writing occurs if you will—is nebulous. Existence in such a place is disorienting, because it is riddled with ideas that do not yet adhere in ways that make sense.
Still, one does not need to reinvent every wheel and insist upon flailing around in the bush with a machete. (Yet I have had quite a bit of fun blazing my own trails my own way, and do, in fact, recommend it.)

But the question remains, am I working at all if I’m just bush-whacking my brain on the couch and not writing “real writing?” If I’m overcoming fears related to self-doubt, is that productive? Is it enough to practice, to go through the motions, to submit to the indulgence and pathology of a constant clattering at the keyboard, to inundate every single person I know with communiqué?

There is such a lack of tangibility in “really working”. It is so confusing. There are plenty of days when I am doing things that are absolutely necessary to becoming a “real writer” but don’t translate into pages of novels, short stories, or essays. This makes it very difficult to feel that one is “becoming a real writer.” When you are thinking, developing ideas to points of saturation, researching, reading, emailing, reading literary websites, it’s hard not to answer the phone when family members call. It’s hard not to drop everything if someone has free tickets to an afternoon ballgame. And it’s hard to take yourself seriously as a professional when even the “real work” you’re doing involves quite a bit of dithering, fiddling, and outright “dicking around online.”

It would seem that maybe—if I had a support system of individuals worth listening to—that I should be out finding respectable clothes, shopping for groceries, and toning my abs instead of allowing endless hours to disappear into the maw of self-doubt. But no. The writing is more important.

So. Couch. Book. Blanket. Dreams. And one is likely to confront various personal inadequacies in the discovery of this sense of professionalism. So a real writer will commit much of ones time to negotiating the strictures of paralysis and suffocation. Disbelief is daunting and constantly overcoming it takes a huge amount of time in a writing life. Of all the hours I devote to the productive development of my craft, I still must spend many more confronting inability. Yet, if you log those hours, and wait out the doubt, it almost always pays off.

Somehow, it always seems to happen, that suddenly I’m spinning straw into gold. Sometimes I still find myself stopping short, thinking. “What is straw?” “What is spinning?” “What is gold?” In context, they’re all abstractions. The meaning assigned to abstraction flexes, changes with the light. I’m constantly assigning meaning to these concepts. At any given moment “straw” can mean “life,” or “childhood,” or “grief.” Gold may mean, “a finely crafted piece of work,” or “income,” or “acceptance by a broad readership.”

Well, if that’s not confusing, I don’t know what is. It’s easy to see how a person can end up right back on the couch. Unless one has a very clear vision, writing can quickly become a mixed up jumble of cross-purposes. It’s like a cook trying to make soft caramels and chicken pot pie in the same bowl at the same time. It can’t happen. It won’t work. A writer simply cannot be trying to turn grief into income, while at the same time trying to turn childhood into a finely crafted piece of work.

Published or not, I’m a real writer, even on the couch under the blanket exercising avoidance on hundreds of fronts. And even on the couch, I’m really working. Benign catatonia is a significant percentage of what it means for me to exist as a writer. Why? Because nine times out of ten, I wake abruptly from somnolence and am compelled to record some newly discovered idea right then and there. For the next twenty minutes, or several hours on the really good days, no one could convince me that I am not working. I’m definitely working. It is undeniable. I’m busy. I’m writing. Don’t even think about interrupting me.

Just a Start (How a Writer Builds Confidence)

Jane — Fri, 29 May 2009 16:46:35 GMT

Today's guest post is from the lovely Jane Koenen Bretl—an aspiring author taking one day at a time, and writing about it. Her blog, jane, candid, is a sometimes funny, sometimes thoughtful, often irreverent account of one mom trying to start a writing career and make the kids catch the bus. Really, it’s just one jane’s look at life.

As someone just embarking on a new writing career, I am hard-pressed to offer hard-earned wisdom or sage writing advice. I have, oh, maybe 20 more years of rejection letters to look forward to before I will feel qualified to offer those nuggets of wisdom to the readers of this blog. What I can share is one jane's journey to become an Author, the kind I think of with a capital A.

Technically, I have no formal writing education. A business degree, ten years in the food industry, nearly a decade as a full-time mom, a children’s photography business of my own—none of these pursuits specifically qualify me to write more than newsletter cover articles and the Christmas card letter. Still, through career after career, one thought returns time and again—the desire to express myself through writing, and to ultimately be published. Sometimes it is better for me not to know how much I don’t know. The publishing industry might serve as a good example. However, a series of serendipitous events landed me in a writing course last June, where I finally found the courage to pursue my dream of becoming an author—to step off the ledge of comfort and face failure as a viable, admittedly probable, option … at least, I thought, until I figured out what I was doing.

Start by starting.

I worked on a few children’s book ideas, and threw myself into my new career the same way I did each one before it—by researching and reading and absorbing everything I could find about the topic. I had bookmarks of writing websites; the list was a mile long. I bought lots of books and writer's market guides and reference materials. The Elements of Style sat on my bedside table, as if the contents would continue to seep into my subconscious while I slept. All this research quickly led to lots of thinking about writing and reading about writing and planning for writing—without much actual writing about writing.

Did I mention start by starting?

I did submit one story to an anthology, because a writing instructor advised that anthologies were a good place to start building clips for a resume that had none. I wrote a second anthology piece but never bothered to send it in, since by then I hated the first submission and was seriously questioning the sanity of breaking into the publishing world in the first place. The more I read, the more intimidating the whole proposition seemed.

But I continued to read, read, read about writing until last December, when I signed up for the Writer’s Digest Editor’s Intensive event. How lucky that the F+W Media office is in my hometown! Serendipity strikes again! In my newbie enthusiasm, I glanced over one little detail: it is a really, really, REALLY good idea to have actually polished something before I sit down for 30 minutes with an editor.

Good thing we don’t know how much we don’t know or it would be hard to ever try something new.

So I showed up at the event, all bright eyed and shiny, ready to learn, learn, learn. It quickly became obvious (at least to me) that most everyone else in the room had several novels under their belt, had paid their dues, logged their hours, and were blogging or freelancing or had been writing full-time for years. I swear some attendees had tattoos with long-suffering potential book titles on their arms, and those were just the ones I could see. Oh, and they had actually written something great to discuss with the editor the next day.

Oops.

When I arrived for my 30-minute time slot, I wasn’t feeling so shiny. I did have a crackin’ query letter that received good feedback, but my chosen editor kindly and gently indicated the actual story needed a lot of work. Like the “start by starting over” kind of work. Not a surprise, really—after only a few months working on the story (in between all that reading), I already knew it was not ready for prime time. I did receive a wealth of helpful information and actionable advice from the editor. It was a great experience, even though I was secretly hoping the work contained a glimmer of brilliance somewhere deep down. Well, not this time. But the good news? I now had my first (albeit unofficial) "rejection" under my belt. Now I felt free to make more mistakes along the way. Rejection in any form, even the most kind, is painful yet still liberating. It was like that first scratch on a new car—it took away the need to worry about my mental bumpers.

So I listened, and I walked out the door with a new focus. Jane Friedman and the rest of the staff inspired me to join some social networks to build contacts and connections with other writers and potential readers. I could commit to writing (something) daily. I would start a blog (as soon as I figured out what a blog was) and use that as part of my daily writing practice, and as an idea incubator and network builder. I would start visiting lots of other blogs, leaving comments, and building up my own readership while creating more and more contacts along the way. Learning something new every day.

The fellow attendees of the conference? Several of them formed a Facebook discussion group, invited any attendee to join, and shared a heap of experience and information. And, of course, I learned that some of them shared my state of mind, the writer's blessing/curse to never think the words are quite right, yet. To keep revising and rewriting and wondering when. I wasn't alone with my doubts, or my over-active imagination. (I still wonder about the tattoos.)

That anthology piece? It was actually published this spring, and that gave me a shot in the arm. Actually it is still an IV drip of confidence as I keep the book next to my computer, there to remind me how I felt the day that book arrived in the mail. The book with my name in it. And my little story. Someday, my name could be on the cover, if I work hard.

Using Jane's advice to become more productive while becoming cyber-savvy, I started using (for the love of god) an RSS reader. Now I could satisfy my need to read voraciously about writing and still have time to write something. And, four months after its launch, I can say I truly enjoy the process of blogging and have, through that social media, found a new voice within myself. I just passed the 5,000 hit mark for jane, candid, a small number by many blog standards but a big milestone for me. I am not sure yet where this voice will take me. Actual income is a rational goal. I have to start by starting …

The Song of Writing

Jane — Fri, 22 May 2009 14:03:52 GMT

Today I am thrilled to present a guest post from
writer Darrelyn Saloom. I met Darrelyn at a
recent Writer's Digest Editor Intensive, along with Deirdre Gogarty. These two amazing women are collaborating on a memoir about Deirdre, who is the 1997 Women's International Boxing Federation champion. You can follow Darrelyn on Twitter. (Photo shows Darrelyn in Cincinnati, with writers Barbara and Sean on either side, after the first day of the WD intensive event.)

It took me a long time to believe I could write. I’ve always enjoyed biographies and have read numerous lives of authors who lauded an educator in adolescence as their source of inspiration—a flash of insight burst forth while reading lines of dead poets: Shakespeare, Emerson, Dickinson, Keats. But no such teacher manifested for me in my teens or twenties (that would come later). For me, the muse bloomed with poetical songwriters of my generation: Smokey Robinson, Johnny Rivers, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and Carol King.

But it was my father, an encyclopedia salesman, who first planted the melodic seed. Filled with wanderlust, he never stopped traveling. Life with Daddy was spent in the backseat of a book-laden car, absorbing adventurous yarns, chirping along to Peter, Paul, and Mary. My Kentucky-born father crooned Stanley Brothers’ tunes and recited “The Raven.” Poe blended into a folk song of enchantment. So it was in the backseat of Daddy’s Ford Thunderbird (where my sisters and I hid kittens and candy) that I fell in love with the imagery of words, the rhythms of poetry, the song of writing.

But falling in love was easy. Hard was to realize I wanted to write. Harder was to believe that I could. The writers I craved were distinguished professors of the humanities. Columbia University PhDs or graduates and teachers of MFA programs; I had no degrees. I dropped out of high school, hitchhiked from the Louisiana bayous to the Oregon coast, picked beans on a farm, married young (and often) and birthed a family. But I grew restless for something unknown to me.

So I went to college in my thirties. I never finished. But now I could lay claim to teachers of literature and writing who encouraged me. Into my forties I continued to read and to study: The Southern Review, The Gettysburg Review, Glimmer Train, and—yes—Writer’s Digest (long before I ever met Jane Friedman). Circled words, underlined phrases and sentences, lists of definitions littered the backs of my books and magazines. I studied libraries on writing and punctuation, even The Chicago Manual of Style.

When I began to write narrative, my restlessness ceased. But did I believe in my ability? The stories I wrote were printed and stuffed into folders and drawers. A few were lost on an old hard drive. Yes, I was still intimidated by the MFAs and PhDs and only wrote for friends and family. But even with their praise, I did not believe in my ability. Belief would have to wait. (And to make things worse, I was about to turn fifty.)

Unable to submit my stories, I printed business cards and worked as a freelance editor. I excelled at spotting clients’ errors, picking apart proposals and briefs. Red ink pen in hand changed me. It improved my writing by opening my eyes to writers’ mistakes. Taught me that writing is a place I can never be impatient or lazy. For a writer must never stop learning. As for intimidation, it has started to slip away. Because now I know it’s hard work that conjures words into music and not a degree.

Here are two verses my father would often sing. I’ve started to wonder if he knew that one day (years after his passing) the lyrics would serve to sustain me. I can still hear his voice.

    If I had the wings of an angel
    O’er these prison walls I would fly
    I would fly to the arms of my lover
    And there I would lie till I die

    Oh, meet me tonight in the moonlight
    Meet me tonight all alone
    For I have a sad story to tell you
    It’s a story that’s never been told

(Researching this old ballad, I found as many versions as strings on three guitars. So I stuck to the only two verses and lyrics my father taught me when I was only two or three. It took me nearly fifty years to grasp that as a writer “belief” is like an angel’s wings. If you, too, struggle to believe in your writing ability, I hope this will inspire you to grow some wings and tell your stories.)

Before You Decide to Pursue an MFA: 7 Essential Tips

Jane — Fri, 15 May 2009 17:27:54 GMT

Today we have a guest post from Writer's Digest author Tim Lemire (I'm an English Major, Now What).

Getting your MFA degree in creative writing sounds alluring, especially with the job market in the doldrums: “I think I’ll take a couple years off and work on the Craft.” But before you pack your bags with unfinished fiction or poems, clean underwear, and a whole lot o’ dreams, consider these caveats.

1. “Great writer” doesn’t necessarily translate to “great teacher.” You may fantasize about studying with your literary hero or heroine, but if meeting your heroes is disappointing (and it often is), being critiqued by them won’t be a joy ride either. Pick your MFA program based on something more than its star prof: e.g., location, course requirements, cost, length of program, diversity of student body.

2. “Professor” doesn’t necessarily translate to “mentor.” You may dream of your esteemed writer/professor taking you under her wing, introducing you to her contacts in publishing, getting you an agent, and inviting you to parties, but none of this is in her job description. Your teachers are there to read what you put in front of them and offer feedback -- period. You may end up getting special attention, but don’t expect it.

3. Talk and ask questions. As you consider programs, contact faculty and schedule time for a phone chat, to get to know them better. Also ask to be put in touch with current MFA students or recent alumni. Take notes.

4. Ask about workshop philosophy. Your success in workshop will depend largely on the critical atmosphere the moderating teacher allows. Ask professors: Do they insist on discussions that are respectful and helpful, or do they enjoy watching students mix it up like cats in a sack?

5. If you’re writing fiction, show up with a novel in draft. Short fiction is wonderful, but it doesn’t sell. Your professors know this and will likely critique any longer manuscript you have ready. (Confirm this with them.) Having a novel manuscript to show publishers or agents will stand you in better stead than having just a handful of stories.

6. Prepare for a schedule change. Working 9-to-5 can be a grind, but it’s predictable and secure. The academic schedule changes daily. Teaching classes, attending classes, holding office hours, working a part-time job, and trying to be a literary genius on top of it all is no small organizational feat. You will need to be an expert budgeter of time and energy.

7. Lower your expectations of being “literary” with your program colleagues. You’re going to graduate school, not stepping back in time to some 1920s-era fantasy of expatriates in Paris. Check your pipe, cape and bon mots at the door: The MFA program will likely be more work than you imagine.

Finally, if you’re not accepted into any MFA programs, don’t take it as a sign from the heavens that you weren’t meant to be a writer. That decision is up to you, not Fate or Destiny or some committee. There’s always next year, and plenty of writers fared OK with that MFA degree.

Tim Lemire, a graduate of the MFA program in creative writing at the University of Michigan, is the author of I'm An English Major -- Now What? How English Majors Can Find Happiness, Success, and a Real Job (Writer's Digest, 2006). He also posts TIM'S ENGLISH, a weekly five-minute podcast about effective communication: http://timsenglish.blogspot.com.