Lee Rene's Blog, page 9
September 3, 2015
How Long is a Novel
I found this post on Daily Writing Tips wanted to share it.
Before the advent of ebooks, modern fiction writers concerned themselves chiefly with two lengths: long (novels) and short (short stories).
With the advent of digital publishing, the terms novella and novelette have taken on a new significance.
In the 17th century, the word novel referred to a book-length story shorter than a romance. Indeed, the English word novel derives from an Italian word for a short story: novella, a term Boccaccio used in reference to the short stories collected in the Decameron. At first, novel and novella were used interchangeably in English to describe a short fictitious narrative.
Nowadays, a novel is longer than a novella:
novel noun: an invented prose narrative of considerable length and a certain complexity that deals imaginatively with human experience through a connected sequence of events involving a group of persons in a specific setting.
How long is “considerable length”?
On average, a printed novel contains about 80,000 words. For some genres, like mystery, the minimum may go as low as 40,000 in the guidelines for some contests, but 60,000 is probably a more marketable length.
In the old days, writers estimated word count by figuring 250 words per page. According to this way of calculating, a 70,000-word book corresponds to about 175 printed pages; one with 125,000 words, 312 pages. Now, word processors keep a running total for the writer.
NOTE: A printed paperback may have as many as 400 words per page, depending upon font size and book dimensions.
Length matters in a book that has a spine to which pages must be attached. Print publishers rarely accept books that are excessively short or excessively long. Digital publishing, on the other hand, is not constrained by size.
Although popular wisdom suggests that people who read ebooks prefer them short, Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords, analyzed a thousand of his best-selling books “across all genres and categories” and discovered that the top fifty sellers published via Smashwords average 106,000 words in length.
Some readers love long novels; others don’t. Novelists who publish digitally can help readers find what they are looking for by categorizing their works according to length:
novel: 60,000 words and above
novella: 20,000 to 50,000 words
novelette: 7,500 to 20,000 words
Here are five recent fiction titles and the number of pages they have in paperback:
Sycamore Row, John Grisham (642 pages)
The Invention of Wing, Sue Monk Kidd paperback (384 pages)
Concealed in Death, Nora Roberts/J. D. Robb (384 pages)
Revival, Stephen King (416 pages)
The Burning Room, Michael Connelly (400 pages)
Before the advent of ebooks, modern fiction writers concerned themselves chiefly with two lengths: long (novels) and short (short stories).
With the advent of digital publishing, the terms novella and novelette have taken on a new significance.
In the 17th century, the word novel referred to a book-length story shorter than a romance. Indeed, the English word novel derives from an Italian word for a short story: novella, a term Boccaccio used in reference to the short stories collected in the Decameron. At first, novel and novella were used interchangeably in English to describe a short fictitious narrative.
Nowadays, a novel is longer than a novella:
novel noun: an invented prose narrative of considerable length and a certain complexity that deals imaginatively with human experience through a connected sequence of events involving a group of persons in a specific setting.
How long is “considerable length”?
On average, a printed novel contains about 80,000 words. For some genres, like mystery, the minimum may go as low as 40,000 in the guidelines for some contests, but 60,000 is probably a more marketable length.
In the old days, writers estimated word count by figuring 250 words per page. According to this way of calculating, a 70,000-word book corresponds to about 175 printed pages; one with 125,000 words, 312 pages. Now, word processors keep a running total for the writer.
NOTE: A printed paperback may have as many as 400 words per page, depending upon font size and book dimensions.
Length matters in a book that has a spine to which pages must be attached. Print publishers rarely accept books that are excessively short or excessively long. Digital publishing, on the other hand, is not constrained by size.
Although popular wisdom suggests that people who read ebooks prefer them short, Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords, analyzed a thousand of his best-selling books “across all genres and categories” and discovered that the top fifty sellers published via Smashwords average 106,000 words in length.
Some readers love long novels; others don’t. Novelists who publish digitally can help readers find what they are looking for by categorizing their works according to length:
novel: 60,000 words and above
novella: 20,000 to 50,000 words
novelette: 7,500 to 20,000 words
Here are five recent fiction titles and the number of pages they have in paperback:
Sycamore Row, John Grisham (642 pages)
The Invention of Wing, Sue Monk Kidd paperback (384 pages)
Concealed in Death, Nora Roberts/J. D. Robb (384 pages)
Revival, Stephen King (416 pages)
The Burning Room, Michael Connelly (400 pages)
September 2, 2015
On Writing, Rejection, and Persistence
I saw this post on Publishers Weekly from author Ruth Galm and her struggle to get her novel published and had to share. An inspirational story.
On Writing, Rejection, and Persistence
By Ruth Galm
Author Ruth Galm received upwards of 60 rejections from agents for her first novel, Into the Valley.. But she kept working, and after years of revising the book, it was plucked from the slush pile at Soho Press. Into the Valley. came out in August 2015, and already received a starred review from PW. Galm discusses the writing process, and persevering through rejection.
When I think of perseverance, how perhaps I persevered in the face of mounting rejection for my novel manuscript for Into the Valley, published by Soho Press last month, I feel no greater claim on this state than any writer I know who carries on doggedly every day. Publishing my debut novel took many years and pushed me from my 30s to my 40s. I can share a few particulars of the journey with the caveat that for some my path might seem like a cakewalk; that I do not presume to know any more how to persevere than the next. But I know stories from the trenches helped me in my most doubtful times, and so I will offer what I can with the disclaimers above, and the hope that it finds you recognizing the quiet, accretive strength of your own resoluteness.
Since I start most of my writing with images I’ll begin there: me hunched over a too-small table on a rickety chair bolstered by a pillow in a strange, sublet room. I was in this sublet having sublet my own apartment (a telling hedge now) after deciding at age 41 to move to a new city, only then to bolt from said new city after a few weeks and crawl back home with no place to live, no job. I was hunched at this too-small table that ruined my back and hips because the only way to block out the searing mortification of what I had just done—I was not eating or sleeping much—was to try and write. I see now that I wanted the move to erase all my perceived adult failures, the not publishing the novel at the apex (nadir?) of them. Please forgive the dramatic overtones, but I had a hard time walking down the street in this period. I felt my failure seeped out of me. A rancid combination of absent social markers—with the added delusion that publishing Into the Valley. would have made up for them—that pulsed out in a stench to people around and announced my lack of worth.
I told someone that I could not possibly write during this time of disorientation and frailty. And that person said it was exactly what I needed to do because that was where my strength lay. So I sat down to the dwarf table and near-backless chair and took one last pass, with comments from a generous former editor, at the structure and pacing of the novel manuscript; I started a short story. This act in its way restored a non-shame to me.
A second image: the large table cluttered with beloved books and my laptop in my own apartment, after the sublets (plural) were finally up. The dozens of agent queries and independent press slush submissions having gone nowhere, which continued to feel like a verdict on my talent, although only one agent actually agreed to read the manuscript and only one independent press read the whole thing, both having mostly good things to say except that they would not take it on. I sat down at the big round table in front of the literature I hoped to be in conversation with and had to ask myself a question: did I want to stop writing? Did I want to stop writing since it was likely I would not get published. The answer was emphatic, kneejerk, maybe masochistic. No. No, I never wanted to stop writing.
And this is when I crossed to the other side. The side where I understood that I would write for myself, without the prospect of publication, and that publishing was a business separate from writing. The delay of not coming to fiction writing until my early 30s made it clear to me that without this vocation my life would lose its center. I could not imagine my days without puzzling out sentences and images, without laboring in the tradition of the great art stacked around me. I could not imagine, after three years of working and revising to get it where I knew it needed to be, changing any element of my unsalable, not-of-the-moment novel manuscript, not the spare style or the focus on landscape or the blankness of the main character “B.” And there I found myself as a writer.
This was a liberation. It opened me up to the absolute truth of writing for me, that craft and art matter above all else. That in their service, I love the actual hair-pulling, nail-biting process of creating prose. This has been the gift over and over. It brings me back from the continuing rejection, makes me want to cry in gratitude for the dark time of the too-small table and feeble chair.
And that is the same space I lived in for eight months until I found out that Soho Press wanted the novel. I had sent the manuscript to their slush pile, with a letter to Senior Editor Mark Doten, a former classmate at Columbia whom I knew in passing from workshop, and I understood finally in our conversation in which he told me the reasons he and Soho loved the novel that it was because I had remained myself, had written for myself, had kept myself as highest critic that they wanted and believed in the book.
And so to be publishing my debut novel at the age of 44 seems only the particular shape of my life, not so remarkable a thing outside our culture’s focus on youth and prodigy, just the timing that is exactly right. Any earlier version would not have been this novel, would have been a lesser craft. I will only write what stirs me, the way it stirs me, and getting that right will be guide and purpose to my days. Nothing else
On Writing, Rejection, and Persistence
By Ruth Galm
Author Ruth Galm received upwards of 60 rejections from agents for her first novel, Into the Valley.. But she kept working, and after years of revising the book, it was plucked from the slush pile at Soho Press. Into the Valley. came out in August 2015, and already received a starred review from PW. Galm discusses the writing process, and persevering through rejection.
When I think of perseverance, how perhaps I persevered in the face of mounting rejection for my novel manuscript for Into the Valley, published by Soho Press last month, I feel no greater claim on this state than any writer I know who carries on doggedly every day. Publishing my debut novel took many years and pushed me from my 30s to my 40s. I can share a few particulars of the journey with the caveat that for some my path might seem like a cakewalk; that I do not presume to know any more how to persevere than the next. But I know stories from the trenches helped me in my most doubtful times, and so I will offer what I can with the disclaimers above, and the hope that it finds you recognizing the quiet, accretive strength of your own resoluteness.
Since I start most of my writing with images I’ll begin there: me hunched over a too-small table on a rickety chair bolstered by a pillow in a strange, sublet room. I was in this sublet having sublet my own apartment (a telling hedge now) after deciding at age 41 to move to a new city, only then to bolt from said new city after a few weeks and crawl back home with no place to live, no job. I was hunched at this too-small table that ruined my back and hips because the only way to block out the searing mortification of what I had just done—I was not eating or sleeping much—was to try and write. I see now that I wanted the move to erase all my perceived adult failures, the not publishing the novel at the apex (nadir?) of them. Please forgive the dramatic overtones, but I had a hard time walking down the street in this period. I felt my failure seeped out of me. A rancid combination of absent social markers—with the added delusion that publishing Into the Valley. would have made up for them—that pulsed out in a stench to people around and announced my lack of worth.
I told someone that I could not possibly write during this time of disorientation and frailty. And that person said it was exactly what I needed to do because that was where my strength lay. So I sat down to the dwarf table and near-backless chair and took one last pass, with comments from a generous former editor, at the structure and pacing of the novel manuscript; I started a short story. This act in its way restored a non-shame to me.
A second image: the large table cluttered with beloved books and my laptop in my own apartment, after the sublets (plural) were finally up. The dozens of agent queries and independent press slush submissions having gone nowhere, which continued to feel like a verdict on my talent, although only one agent actually agreed to read the manuscript and only one independent press read the whole thing, both having mostly good things to say except that they would not take it on. I sat down at the big round table in front of the literature I hoped to be in conversation with and had to ask myself a question: did I want to stop writing? Did I want to stop writing since it was likely I would not get published. The answer was emphatic, kneejerk, maybe masochistic. No. No, I never wanted to stop writing.
And this is when I crossed to the other side. The side where I understood that I would write for myself, without the prospect of publication, and that publishing was a business separate from writing. The delay of not coming to fiction writing until my early 30s made it clear to me that without this vocation my life would lose its center. I could not imagine my days without puzzling out sentences and images, without laboring in the tradition of the great art stacked around me. I could not imagine, after three years of working and revising to get it where I knew it needed to be, changing any element of my unsalable, not-of-the-moment novel manuscript, not the spare style or the focus on landscape or the blankness of the main character “B.” And there I found myself as a writer.
This was a liberation. It opened me up to the absolute truth of writing for me, that craft and art matter above all else. That in their service, I love the actual hair-pulling, nail-biting process of creating prose. This has been the gift over and over. It brings me back from the continuing rejection, makes me want to cry in gratitude for the dark time of the too-small table and feeble chair.
And that is the same space I lived in for eight months until I found out that Soho Press wanted the novel. I had sent the manuscript to their slush pile, with a letter to Senior Editor Mark Doten, a former classmate at Columbia whom I knew in passing from workshop, and I understood finally in our conversation in which he told me the reasons he and Soho loved the novel that it was because I had remained myself, had written for myself, had kept myself as highest critic that they wanted and believed in the book.
And so to be publishing my debut novel at the age of 44 seems only the particular shape of my life, not so remarkable a thing outside our culture’s focus on youth and prodigy, just the timing that is exactly right. Any earlier version would not have been this novel, would have been a lesser craft. I will only write what stirs me, the way it stirs me, and getting that right will be guide and purpose to my days. Nothing else
September 1, 2015
Creating split desire for your characters
I saw this pip on Novel Suite and thought I'd share it.
Today we’d like to share with you, the single, most effective tip we have, one we feel adds the most depth to both character and storyline.
The Tip – Creating a split desire.
What is a Split Desire? – A split desire is created when a character is pursuing one desire, but then another desire (which is mutually exclusive) gets in the way. Both desires are equally as important to the character, but they simply cannot have both. As a result they are forced to dig deeper into themselves and work out a way around this.
Why Does this Work? – Because people love suspense. They love to feel empathy for the character and root for them. When they are observing a character seek what they desire, they want them to obtain it. Then a spanner is thrown in the works when they see something else the character desires equally as much. The reader is then torn between, and they are gripped with suspense as they try to figure out what the character will do.
Let’s look at some examples
Twilight
Desire – Bella is falling in love with Edward.
Split desire – She realizes her life is in danger if she is with him.
The Hunger Games
Desire – Katniss wants to live.
Split desire – She doesn’t want to kill Peeta.
Water for Elephants
Desire – Jacob needs to keep his job in the circus.
Split desire – He wants to protect the elephant from harm, and this is in direct conflict with his ability to keep his job.
Shutter Island
Desire – Teddy wants to leave the island and maintain his sanity.
Split desire – He also wants to discover the truth about his wife and children.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
Desire – David wants to protect his wife from the pain of loosing a handicapped child.
Split desire – He realizes he has in turn caused her that pain, and he wants to give her the chance to reunite with her daughter.
How You Can Incorporate this into Your Writing Today?
Examine a story you are working on and look at one of the strong desires your character has. Take it to a point in time when the character is almost in reach of their goal, and then give them a split desire. Play around with ideas.Give them something that will throw them off course and wreak havoc with their plans.
Hopefully this gives you something to work on throughout the week.
Today we’d like to share with you, the single, most effective tip we have, one we feel adds the most depth to both character and storyline.
The Tip – Creating a split desire.
What is a Split Desire? – A split desire is created when a character is pursuing one desire, but then another desire (which is mutually exclusive) gets in the way. Both desires are equally as important to the character, but they simply cannot have both. As a result they are forced to dig deeper into themselves and work out a way around this.
Why Does this Work? – Because people love suspense. They love to feel empathy for the character and root for them. When they are observing a character seek what they desire, they want them to obtain it. Then a spanner is thrown in the works when they see something else the character desires equally as much. The reader is then torn between, and they are gripped with suspense as they try to figure out what the character will do.
Let’s look at some examples
Twilight
Desire – Bella is falling in love with Edward.
Split desire – She realizes her life is in danger if she is with him.
The Hunger Games
Desire – Katniss wants to live.
Split desire – She doesn’t want to kill Peeta.
Water for Elephants
Desire – Jacob needs to keep his job in the circus.
Split desire – He wants to protect the elephant from harm, and this is in direct conflict with his ability to keep his job.
Shutter Island
Desire – Teddy wants to leave the island and maintain his sanity.
Split desire – He also wants to discover the truth about his wife and children.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
Desire – David wants to protect his wife from the pain of loosing a handicapped child.
Split desire – He realizes he has in turn caused her that pain, and he wants to give her the chance to reunite with her daughter.
How You Can Incorporate this into Your Writing Today?
Examine a story you are working on and look at one of the strong desires your character has. Take it to a point in time when the character is almost in reach of their goal, and then give them a split desire. Play around with ideas.Give them something that will throw them off course and wreak havoc with their plans.
Hopefully this gives you something to work on throughout the week.
August 31, 2015
How to write a Character Sketch
An interesting post from Indie writer and artist, Michelle Rene Goodhew
How to Write a Character Sketch
A sketch is a starting point. In the visual arts, artists carry around sketch pads to practice and develop the fundamental skills of their craft with the aim of producing paintings that seem to jump off the canvas, or sculptures that seem to move in just the right light. The same is true for authors who use character sketches. Writers use this tool to develop and rehearse one of the fundamental skills of their craft—characterization. However, the final goal is not to have a notepad full of character sketches. An author should get to know his or her character through this practice. While not everything that an author writes in a character sketch must be included in the novel, the author should develop an in-depth and all-encompassing knowledge of every facet of the character’s personality in order to create a consistent and engaging persona. The ultimate goal of a writer is to take these character sketches and use them to craft a wonderfully engrossing, character-driven work of fiction.
A Character Sketch is a great way to assess the characters in the literature you are reading or people that you are researching about. It can give you tools of observation as you look at the many details about another individual.
When studying a specific character in a literary piece the sketch gives you the freedom to be a detective and try to find out what the author is expressing through their characters. You can sketch the protagonist ( the favorable hero or heroine in the story,) or the antagonist ( the character which causes the conflict for the main character), or the supporting characters. This sharpens the skill of observation and note-taking as you focus on one specific character and the traits that make them ‘who they are’ in the book.
Can you write a sketch without a book to study? Absolutely! A great way to practice is to sketch someone you know in real-life.
When you are writing a Character Sketch, want to look for qualities of character and/or personality traits that you see in the person you want to write about. The main goal of this is to be able to tell something about the person you are researching. Think of it like an introduction. In essence, you are introducing the reader to the person you are writing about.
Be sure to use strong visual words in your writing. You want to provide a lasting mental image of the person or character you are writing about. The use of quality adjectives and feeling in your writing, using words that relate to the five senses, elicit an emotional response from your reader. This will allow your reader to not only connect with you and the character but will show how you felt when reading a piece or spending time with the person you are writing about.
This type of writing only requires you to give a brief glimpse of the individual. When you are preparing to write make a list of the traits or details you want to include. It is possible to assign the number of traits equal to the # of paragraphs or supporting topics needed. Or you can categorize the subjects into a broader spectrum which allows you to have multiple supporting points for each topic. It is always best to outline your writing material first so you have a good idea what you are writing.
Your outline should include descriptions on the following details:
° Tell about their physical features. ( hair color, height, etc.)
° Tell about the character’s personality. ( are they funny, serious, quiet, etc.?)
° Their likes or dislikes( What you know about their preferences and why?)
° Talk about their family ( siblings, family history, etc)
° What are their beliefs or hobbies?
° Include anything that makes us see “who” they are.
° What do you like or dislike about them?
° Why are you drawn to them?
Here is a sample outline for you to follow. It is a basic 5 paragraph ( approximately 500 word essay outline) Feel free to take this and make it your own or make your own outline using this a s a guide.
Introduction:
This section will introduce the character and is typically the 1st paragraph in your paper. It should include the following:
• Your thesis statement ( the overall theme of the paper or the main idea of what you are writing) . The Thesis statement should include the most important character traits.
• The subtopics ( these become the topic sentence in your body paragraphs) should be included in this paragraph as well. For example: use 1 – 2 sentences to list the traits that you are going to talk about. End with a transition sentence that ties into the 2nd paragraph.
1. Body:
This is paragraphs 2-4 or the in between paragraphs. The body comes between the Introduction and the Conclusion. These paragraphs detail the traits listed as the subtopics from the Introduction. Those subtopics should be the topic sentences in each body paragraph.
• Always try to include the most important trait 1st, the second most important detail next, and so on. Each paragraph has 1 trait which is discussed in detail. Include information about experiences that support the trait which is being discussed.
o Remember! You want to pull your reader in so include details that will connect them to your main character.
III. Conclusion:
This is the last paragraph in your paper. Try to conclude with a final comment, pointed and well-expressed, that highlights the traits discussed in the paper.
• Restate your thesis statement.
• Remind the reader of your most important points.
• Close with a solid statement which finalizes all you are trying to communicate to the reader.
Another Approach Recommended by Most Editors
Who is your character physically?
Physical characteristics are the first things we notice when we meet someone. Therefore, this is a good starting point when writing a character sketch. Is your character a woman or a man? Is he or she tall or short? Is your character bald? How old is your character? Does he or she have a disability?
Authors, eager to explore the in-depth psychology of their written subjects, might discount these details as unimportant and base. But it is often these very details that lead to conflict or are the means through which we explore a character’s psychology. As an example of this, we recommend reading Flannery O’Connor’s Good Country People; in this short story, the physical details of the main character are representations of her internal state. Without a vivid description of this character’s physicality, a critical dimension of the plot would be lost and the central conflict would be nonexistent. Answering questions about your character’s physicality is the first step in creating a fully realized character.
What is your character doing?
This is the next question to ask because it brings into account other aspects of story writing such as setting and time. The answer to this question will also affect other aspects of your sketch, such as what your character is wearing or how he or she is feeling. Is your character walking down the street? Is he or she sitting in a park? Is your character working on a boat? Asking what your character is doing will not only help you understand your character, but also his or her relationship to the setting in your story.
Authors may be tempted to gloss over this part of characterization. When asked what his or her character is doing, an author might give a cursory answer; he or she may answer that the subject is at the movies, for example. But consider all that there is to do at a movie theater: Is the character waiting in line for tickets or at the concession stand? Is he or she waiting to talk to the manager? Perhaps the character is sitting impatiently waiting for the movie to begin. Getting as specific as you can when answering this question will not only help you define your character, but will also help to define the other elements of fiction.
What is your character feeling?
This is probably one of the more complex questions you can ask about your character. Is your character angry? Is he or she happy, sad, tired, or depressed? Does your character love something or someone? Asking questions about your character’s emotional life might evolve into the production of a character history. While this may be tempting, you have to focus on what your subject is feeling within the context of the story you are writing. Although the answers to these questions are important, they are rarely explicitly stated in the story.
Authors may be tempted to start with the emotional or psychological state of their characters and they may even explicitly state them. This can lead to one of the cardinal sins of fiction writing: telling instead of showing. Implicitly showing how your character is feeling by his or her interactions with other characters or the setting is infinitely more interesting to read than explicitly stating whether your character is happy, sad, elated, joyful, or miserable.
Remember a good paragraph is 3-7 sentences. All sentences need to have a subject and a predicate. They should be a complete thought. Utilize tools of dress up in your writing. ie: quality adjectives, strong verbs, adverbs, prepositions, adverbial and or adjectival clauses etc. Write your rough draft and then walk away for at least a day or two. Then go back with FRESH eyes and re-read it.
How to Write a Character Sketch
A sketch is a starting point. In the visual arts, artists carry around sketch pads to practice and develop the fundamental skills of their craft with the aim of producing paintings that seem to jump off the canvas, or sculptures that seem to move in just the right light. The same is true for authors who use character sketches. Writers use this tool to develop and rehearse one of the fundamental skills of their craft—characterization. However, the final goal is not to have a notepad full of character sketches. An author should get to know his or her character through this practice. While not everything that an author writes in a character sketch must be included in the novel, the author should develop an in-depth and all-encompassing knowledge of every facet of the character’s personality in order to create a consistent and engaging persona. The ultimate goal of a writer is to take these character sketches and use them to craft a wonderfully engrossing, character-driven work of fiction.
A Character Sketch is a great way to assess the characters in the literature you are reading or people that you are researching about. It can give you tools of observation as you look at the many details about another individual.
When studying a specific character in a literary piece the sketch gives you the freedom to be a detective and try to find out what the author is expressing through their characters. You can sketch the protagonist ( the favorable hero or heroine in the story,) or the antagonist ( the character which causes the conflict for the main character), or the supporting characters. This sharpens the skill of observation and note-taking as you focus on one specific character and the traits that make them ‘who they are’ in the book.
Can you write a sketch without a book to study? Absolutely! A great way to practice is to sketch someone you know in real-life.
When you are writing a Character Sketch, want to look for qualities of character and/or personality traits that you see in the person you want to write about. The main goal of this is to be able to tell something about the person you are researching. Think of it like an introduction. In essence, you are introducing the reader to the person you are writing about.
Be sure to use strong visual words in your writing. You want to provide a lasting mental image of the person or character you are writing about. The use of quality adjectives and feeling in your writing, using words that relate to the five senses, elicit an emotional response from your reader. This will allow your reader to not only connect with you and the character but will show how you felt when reading a piece or spending time with the person you are writing about.
This type of writing only requires you to give a brief glimpse of the individual. When you are preparing to write make a list of the traits or details you want to include. It is possible to assign the number of traits equal to the # of paragraphs or supporting topics needed. Or you can categorize the subjects into a broader spectrum which allows you to have multiple supporting points for each topic. It is always best to outline your writing material first so you have a good idea what you are writing.
Your outline should include descriptions on the following details:
° Tell about their physical features. ( hair color, height, etc.)
° Tell about the character’s personality. ( are they funny, serious, quiet, etc.?)
° Their likes or dislikes( What you know about their preferences and why?)
° Talk about their family ( siblings, family history, etc)
° What are their beliefs or hobbies?
° Include anything that makes us see “who” they are.
° What do you like or dislike about them?
° Why are you drawn to them?
Here is a sample outline for you to follow. It is a basic 5 paragraph ( approximately 500 word essay outline) Feel free to take this and make it your own or make your own outline using this a s a guide.
Introduction:
This section will introduce the character and is typically the 1st paragraph in your paper. It should include the following:
• Your thesis statement ( the overall theme of the paper or the main idea of what you are writing) . The Thesis statement should include the most important character traits.
• The subtopics ( these become the topic sentence in your body paragraphs) should be included in this paragraph as well. For example: use 1 – 2 sentences to list the traits that you are going to talk about. End with a transition sentence that ties into the 2nd paragraph.
1. Body:
This is paragraphs 2-4 or the in between paragraphs. The body comes between the Introduction and the Conclusion. These paragraphs detail the traits listed as the subtopics from the Introduction. Those subtopics should be the topic sentences in each body paragraph.
• Always try to include the most important trait 1st, the second most important detail next, and so on. Each paragraph has 1 trait which is discussed in detail. Include information about experiences that support the trait which is being discussed.
o Remember! You want to pull your reader in so include details that will connect them to your main character.
III. Conclusion:
This is the last paragraph in your paper. Try to conclude with a final comment, pointed and well-expressed, that highlights the traits discussed in the paper.
• Restate your thesis statement.
• Remind the reader of your most important points.
• Close with a solid statement which finalizes all you are trying to communicate to the reader.
Another Approach Recommended by Most Editors
Who is your character physically?
Physical characteristics are the first things we notice when we meet someone. Therefore, this is a good starting point when writing a character sketch. Is your character a woman or a man? Is he or she tall or short? Is your character bald? How old is your character? Does he or she have a disability?
Authors, eager to explore the in-depth psychology of their written subjects, might discount these details as unimportant and base. But it is often these very details that lead to conflict or are the means through which we explore a character’s psychology. As an example of this, we recommend reading Flannery O’Connor’s Good Country People; in this short story, the physical details of the main character are representations of her internal state. Without a vivid description of this character’s physicality, a critical dimension of the plot would be lost and the central conflict would be nonexistent. Answering questions about your character’s physicality is the first step in creating a fully realized character.
What is your character doing?
This is the next question to ask because it brings into account other aspects of story writing such as setting and time. The answer to this question will also affect other aspects of your sketch, such as what your character is wearing or how he or she is feeling. Is your character walking down the street? Is he or she sitting in a park? Is your character working on a boat? Asking what your character is doing will not only help you understand your character, but also his or her relationship to the setting in your story.
Authors may be tempted to gloss over this part of characterization. When asked what his or her character is doing, an author might give a cursory answer; he or she may answer that the subject is at the movies, for example. But consider all that there is to do at a movie theater: Is the character waiting in line for tickets or at the concession stand? Is he or she waiting to talk to the manager? Perhaps the character is sitting impatiently waiting for the movie to begin. Getting as specific as you can when answering this question will not only help you define your character, but will also help to define the other elements of fiction.
What is your character feeling?
This is probably one of the more complex questions you can ask about your character. Is your character angry? Is he or she happy, sad, tired, or depressed? Does your character love something or someone? Asking questions about your character’s emotional life might evolve into the production of a character history. While this may be tempting, you have to focus on what your subject is feeling within the context of the story you are writing. Although the answers to these questions are important, they are rarely explicitly stated in the story.
Authors may be tempted to start with the emotional or psychological state of their characters and they may even explicitly state them. This can lead to one of the cardinal sins of fiction writing: telling instead of showing. Implicitly showing how your character is feeling by his or her interactions with other characters or the setting is infinitely more interesting to read than explicitly stating whether your character is happy, sad, elated, joyful, or miserable.
Remember a good paragraph is 3-7 sentences. All sentences need to have a subject and a predicate. They should be a complete thought. Utilize tools of dress up in your writing. ie: quality adjectives, strong verbs, adverbs, prepositions, adverbial and or adjectival clauses etc. Write your rough draft and then walk away for at least a day or two. Then go back with FRESH eyes and re-read it.
August 17, 2015
Omniscient POV
I had to share this informative post from author and writing coach, K.M. Weiland
What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV
Writers don’t only have to decide which character’s point of view the story will be told in, they also have to figure out whether to then share that character’s narrative in first-person, third-person, second-person, or (*cue ominous rumbling*) omniscient POV.
The point of view (or POV) in which you tell your story’s narrative is arguably the single most important decision you can make about your book. POV will affect every single word choice. It will decide which scenes are included and which are not. It will influence your readers’ perception of your characters. It may even dictate the plot itself.
I get a lot emails from authors who are confused about omniscient POV. Most of them are getting slapped on the hand by editors for using it. Some are astonished to learn there even is such a thing, much less that it’s frowned upon. Omniscient POVs have a grand tradition going back to the beginnings of literature, and it’s no wonder many authors default to omniscient POV, since this is the narrative voice in which most of us humans tend to verbally share stories.
Why All the Fuss About the Omniscient POV?
So what’s the problem with the omniscient POV? Why are so many authors confused about it? And why are so many editors delivering digital hand slaps because of it?
Omniscient POVs are tricky. I have to admit, I always wince (just a little) whenever authors tell me they’re writing in omniscient. I’ll admit this upfront: not a big fan of the technique–if only because there is so much more intimacy to be found in the tighter POVs of first-person and deep third-person. Furthermore, because omniscient is a POV that has largely fallen into disuse, it can be a harder sell to agents and editors.
However, that isn’t to say the omniscient POV can’t be wielded effectively. We definitely do still see a book here and there that uses it (usually in the literary genre). But the omniscient POV can be challenging to get right. Authors often struggle to maintain a consistent omniscient voice and figure out how the omniscient POV differs from random head-hopping (which dips in and out of multiple characters’ tight narratives without warning).
Perhaps you’re one of those authors who is considering an omniscient POV for your story, or perhaps you’re already wielding an omniscient POV and struggling to understand why you’re taking flak for it. Today, we’re going to explore what makes the omniscient POV tick and how you can figure out if taking the chance on it is the right choice for your story.
What Is the Omniscient POV?
Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, let’s start with a quick exploration of the differences between the four major types of POV used in narrative fiction.
Omniscient POV
As its name suggests, the omniscient POV is one that tells its story from the perspective of a narrator (usually–implicitly–the author himself) who “knows all and sees all.” This narrator is rarely characterized or explained, and readers accept this without ever wondering who is telling the story. This narrative functions on the idea that the author/narrator already knows how the story will end. He is able to observe the thoughts and motives of all the characters (although still within certain limits, as we’ll discover in a minute). The omniscient narrative does not tell the story from the perspective of any particular character; rather, it observes all the events in an unbiased fashion and reports back to the reader.
EXAMPLE:
Bleak House Charles DickensWho happens to be in the Lord Chancellor’s court this murky afternoon besides the Lord Chancellor, the counsel in the cause, two or three counsel who are never in any cause, and the well of solicitors before mentioned? There is the registrar below the Judge, in wig and gown; and there are two or three maces, or petty-bags, or privy purses, or whatever they may be, in legal court suits. These are all yawning; for no crumb of amusement ever falls from Jarndyce and Jarndyce (the cause in hand), which was squeezed dry years upon years ago. The short-hand writers, the reporters of the court, and the reporters of the newspapers, invariably decamp with the rest of the regulars when Jarndyce and Jarndyce comes on. Their places are a blank. Standing on a seat at the side of the hall, the better to peer into the curtained sanctuary, is a little mad old woman in a squeezed bonnet, who is always in court, from its sitting to its rising, and always expecting some incomprehensible judgment to be given in her favor. (Bleak House by Charles Dickens)
Third-Person POV
The third-person POV tells the story in the third-person, referring to all the characters with the third-person pronouns “he” and “she.” Technically, the omniscient POV is also told in third-person, but the distinction is that a deep or tight third-person POV restricts itself entirely to the perspective of a single character within any given scene. Usually, the protagonist is the primary narrator. Only details observed by the POV character or knowledge he has personally gleaned or assumed can be shared (i.e., if the narrator doesn’t know another character’s mother died, then the narrative can’t share that information with the readers).
EXAMPLE:
Way of Shadows Brent WeeksStepping out from the niche he’d been standing in, Azoth looked down the street toward the guild home, a hundred paces away. Maybe he didn’t need to go with Blint now. He’d killed Rat. Maybe he could go back and everything would be all right. Go back to what? I’m still too little to be the guild head. Ja’laliel’s still dying. Jarl and Doll Girl were still both maimed. There would be no hero’s welcome for Azoth. Roth or some other big would take over the guild, and Azoth would be afraid again, as if nothing had happened. (The Way of Shadows by Brent Weeks)
First-Person POV
In a first-person POV, the protagonist himself is telling the story directly to readers and referring to himself by the first-person pronouns “I” or “me.” Like deep third-person, first-person is entirely restricted to the thoughts and observations of the narrator. He can’t dip into the thoughts of other characters for the obvious reason that he can’t read their minds (unless, of course–he can).
EXAMPLE:
Cat Lady's Secret Linda YezakFrom the bus station to the hospital is a long five blocks–a miserable walk anytime, but especially in the mid-morning heat. My net is too short to use as a staff, so the best I can do is just limp along. The hospital entrance doors slide open. Frigid air form inside blasts out, evaporates the sweat on my face, and feels heaven-sent. People stare as I cross the polished gray floor to the elevator bank, same as they stared while I walked over here. I greet them head-on. I know I’m a sight. Who wouldn’t stare at an old woman in a bright green t-shirt and baggy plaid pants? Can’t blame them for that. (The Cat Lady’s Secret by Linda W. Yezak)
Second-Person POV
The second-person POV is used only rarely. It tells the story using the pronouns “you” or “your” to refer to the protagonist–in essence, making the story about the reader.
EXAMPLE:
If on a winter's night a traveler italo calvinoYou are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice–they won’t hear you otherwise–“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone. (If on a winter’s night a traveler by Italo Calvino)
Omniscient POV: Authorial Observation
The key to wielding an effective omniscient POV is all about maintaining a uniform narrative voice. The omniscient POV allows you to dip into multiple characters’ heads, but you will be acting more as an observer than a reporter. As a result, the omniscient POV is much more prone to telling, rather than showing—which means it’s (ironically) a much less immersive style than deep third-person or first-person.
The omniscient narrator observes the characters and draws in-the-know conclusions about their thoughts—rather than reporting the blow-by-blow, in-the-minute firing of their synapses. An omniscient narrative is sort of like you telling your friend about the plot of a movie you watched. Because you’ve seen the movie, you know how the story’s going to end and you can make educated guesses about the characters’ actual thoughts during the story–but you’re not in their heads as you’re re-telling their story.
What’s the Difference Between the Omniscient POV and “Head Hopping”?
A lot of authors who attempt the omniscient POV get shot down on accusations of “head hopping.” Head hopping is the common gaffe that occurs when the narrative breaks “out of POV” and jumps without warning from the perspective of one character into the perspective of another.
The key to understanding how omniscient POV differs from head-hopping is in our definition of character “thoughts.” In a deep POV, every word of the narrative is technically going to be taking place inside the narrator’s head–and therefore is part of his thoughts. That’s not the case in an omniscient POV.
Rather, in the omniscient POV, the narrative is free to observe the mindsets of various characters. What it’s not free to do (at the risk of confusing readers) is portray those thoughts in the unique and personal voices of the individual characters. Basically, what that means is that direct thoughts are pretty much off-limits (although there will always be the occasional exception to confuse things).
For example, you might write:
“Jeb wanted to go home, Sally was happy to stay where she was, but Billy just wanted them to stop arguing.”
But you wouldn’t write:
Jeb stared out the windshield. Man! I just want this stupid vacation to end, so we can go home.
Beside him, Sally studiously flipped through her magazine. I don’t care what he says. I’m staying.
In the backseat, Billy covered his ears with his hands. Even when they’re not fighting, they’re fighting!
The Difficulties of Omniscient POV
The problem with the omniscient POV—and one of the big reasons editors are no longer so keen on it—is that it’s dad-blamed tough to write. As you’re learning, this is largely because it’s a difficult concept to get our heads around in the first place!
Her Fearful Symmetry Audrey NiffeneggerThat isn’t to say editors won’t accept it (Audrey Niffenegger’s sophomore novel Her Fearful Symmetry was omniscient–and earned an advance of $5 million in a bidding war between publishing houses–largely, on the blockbuster success of her previous book, the first-person Time Traveler’s Wife).
What editors will always be looking for in an omniscient POV (or any POV, come to that) is an amazing narrative voice. That voice needs to be not just something that serves the story, but something that pops off the page and pulls readers in. That kind of voice can be more difficult to accomplish in an omniscient POV, if only because the narrator’s voice is much harder to define.
Brothers Karamazov Fyodor DostoevskyDo you still feel the omniscient POV is the right choice for your story? The best way to learn how to write powerful omniscient POVs is by reading masters (Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov comes to the mind). Read omniscient POVs like crazy and take apart the narratives until you get a feel for how they work and how you might apply them in your story!
Wordplayers, tell me your opinion! Have you ever considered using the omniscient POV in your stories? Why or why not? Tell me in the comments!
What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV
Writers don’t only have to decide which character’s point of view the story will be told in, they also have to figure out whether to then share that character’s narrative in first-person, third-person, second-person, or (*cue ominous rumbling*) omniscient POV.
The point of view (or POV) in which you tell your story’s narrative is arguably the single most important decision you can make about your book. POV will affect every single word choice. It will decide which scenes are included and which are not. It will influence your readers’ perception of your characters. It may even dictate the plot itself.
I get a lot emails from authors who are confused about omniscient POV. Most of them are getting slapped on the hand by editors for using it. Some are astonished to learn there even is such a thing, much less that it’s frowned upon. Omniscient POVs have a grand tradition going back to the beginnings of literature, and it’s no wonder many authors default to omniscient POV, since this is the narrative voice in which most of us humans tend to verbally share stories.
Why All the Fuss About the Omniscient POV?
So what’s the problem with the omniscient POV? Why are so many authors confused about it? And why are so many editors delivering digital hand slaps because of it?
Omniscient POVs are tricky. I have to admit, I always wince (just a little) whenever authors tell me they’re writing in omniscient. I’ll admit this upfront: not a big fan of the technique–if only because there is so much more intimacy to be found in the tighter POVs of first-person and deep third-person. Furthermore, because omniscient is a POV that has largely fallen into disuse, it can be a harder sell to agents and editors.
However, that isn’t to say the omniscient POV can’t be wielded effectively. We definitely do still see a book here and there that uses it (usually in the literary genre). But the omniscient POV can be challenging to get right. Authors often struggle to maintain a consistent omniscient voice and figure out how the omniscient POV differs from random head-hopping (which dips in and out of multiple characters’ tight narratives without warning).
Perhaps you’re one of those authors who is considering an omniscient POV for your story, or perhaps you’re already wielding an omniscient POV and struggling to understand why you’re taking flak for it. Today, we’re going to explore what makes the omniscient POV tick and how you can figure out if taking the chance on it is the right choice for your story.
What Is the Omniscient POV?
Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, let’s start with a quick exploration of the differences between the four major types of POV used in narrative fiction.
Omniscient POV
As its name suggests, the omniscient POV is one that tells its story from the perspective of a narrator (usually–implicitly–the author himself) who “knows all and sees all.” This narrator is rarely characterized or explained, and readers accept this without ever wondering who is telling the story. This narrative functions on the idea that the author/narrator already knows how the story will end. He is able to observe the thoughts and motives of all the characters (although still within certain limits, as we’ll discover in a minute). The omniscient narrative does not tell the story from the perspective of any particular character; rather, it observes all the events in an unbiased fashion and reports back to the reader.
EXAMPLE:
Bleak House Charles DickensWho happens to be in the Lord Chancellor’s court this murky afternoon besides the Lord Chancellor, the counsel in the cause, two or three counsel who are never in any cause, and the well of solicitors before mentioned? There is the registrar below the Judge, in wig and gown; and there are two or three maces, or petty-bags, or privy purses, or whatever they may be, in legal court suits. These are all yawning; for no crumb of amusement ever falls from Jarndyce and Jarndyce (the cause in hand), which was squeezed dry years upon years ago. The short-hand writers, the reporters of the court, and the reporters of the newspapers, invariably decamp with the rest of the regulars when Jarndyce and Jarndyce comes on. Their places are a blank. Standing on a seat at the side of the hall, the better to peer into the curtained sanctuary, is a little mad old woman in a squeezed bonnet, who is always in court, from its sitting to its rising, and always expecting some incomprehensible judgment to be given in her favor. (Bleak House by Charles Dickens)
Third-Person POV
The third-person POV tells the story in the third-person, referring to all the characters with the third-person pronouns “he” and “she.” Technically, the omniscient POV is also told in third-person, but the distinction is that a deep or tight third-person POV restricts itself entirely to the perspective of a single character within any given scene. Usually, the protagonist is the primary narrator. Only details observed by the POV character or knowledge he has personally gleaned or assumed can be shared (i.e., if the narrator doesn’t know another character’s mother died, then the narrative can’t share that information with the readers).
EXAMPLE:
Way of Shadows Brent WeeksStepping out from the niche he’d been standing in, Azoth looked down the street toward the guild home, a hundred paces away. Maybe he didn’t need to go with Blint now. He’d killed Rat. Maybe he could go back and everything would be all right. Go back to what? I’m still too little to be the guild head. Ja’laliel’s still dying. Jarl and Doll Girl were still both maimed. There would be no hero’s welcome for Azoth. Roth or some other big would take over the guild, and Azoth would be afraid again, as if nothing had happened. (The Way of Shadows by Brent Weeks)
First-Person POV
In a first-person POV, the protagonist himself is telling the story directly to readers and referring to himself by the first-person pronouns “I” or “me.” Like deep third-person, first-person is entirely restricted to the thoughts and observations of the narrator. He can’t dip into the thoughts of other characters for the obvious reason that he can’t read their minds (unless, of course–he can).
EXAMPLE:
Cat Lady's Secret Linda YezakFrom the bus station to the hospital is a long five blocks–a miserable walk anytime, but especially in the mid-morning heat. My net is too short to use as a staff, so the best I can do is just limp along. The hospital entrance doors slide open. Frigid air form inside blasts out, evaporates the sweat on my face, and feels heaven-sent. People stare as I cross the polished gray floor to the elevator bank, same as they stared while I walked over here. I greet them head-on. I know I’m a sight. Who wouldn’t stare at an old woman in a bright green t-shirt and baggy plaid pants? Can’t blame them for that. (The Cat Lady’s Secret by Linda W. Yezak)
Second-Person POV
The second-person POV is used only rarely. It tells the story using the pronouns “you” or “your” to refer to the protagonist–in essence, making the story about the reader.
EXAMPLE:
If on a winter's night a traveler italo calvinoYou are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice–they won’t hear you otherwise–“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone. (If on a winter’s night a traveler by Italo Calvino)
Omniscient POV: Authorial Observation
The key to wielding an effective omniscient POV is all about maintaining a uniform narrative voice. The omniscient POV allows you to dip into multiple characters’ heads, but you will be acting more as an observer than a reporter. As a result, the omniscient POV is much more prone to telling, rather than showing—which means it’s (ironically) a much less immersive style than deep third-person or first-person.
The omniscient narrator observes the characters and draws in-the-know conclusions about their thoughts—rather than reporting the blow-by-blow, in-the-minute firing of their synapses. An omniscient narrative is sort of like you telling your friend about the plot of a movie you watched. Because you’ve seen the movie, you know how the story’s going to end and you can make educated guesses about the characters’ actual thoughts during the story–but you’re not in their heads as you’re re-telling their story.
What’s the Difference Between the Omniscient POV and “Head Hopping”?
A lot of authors who attempt the omniscient POV get shot down on accusations of “head hopping.” Head hopping is the common gaffe that occurs when the narrative breaks “out of POV” and jumps without warning from the perspective of one character into the perspective of another.
The key to understanding how omniscient POV differs from head-hopping is in our definition of character “thoughts.” In a deep POV, every word of the narrative is technically going to be taking place inside the narrator’s head–and therefore is part of his thoughts. That’s not the case in an omniscient POV.
Rather, in the omniscient POV, the narrative is free to observe the mindsets of various characters. What it’s not free to do (at the risk of confusing readers) is portray those thoughts in the unique and personal voices of the individual characters. Basically, what that means is that direct thoughts are pretty much off-limits (although there will always be the occasional exception to confuse things).
For example, you might write:
“Jeb wanted to go home, Sally was happy to stay where she was, but Billy just wanted them to stop arguing.”
But you wouldn’t write:
Jeb stared out the windshield. Man! I just want this stupid vacation to end, so we can go home.
Beside him, Sally studiously flipped through her magazine. I don’t care what he says. I’m staying.
In the backseat, Billy covered his ears with his hands. Even when they’re not fighting, they’re fighting!
The Difficulties of Omniscient POV
The problem with the omniscient POV—and one of the big reasons editors are no longer so keen on it—is that it’s dad-blamed tough to write. As you’re learning, this is largely because it’s a difficult concept to get our heads around in the first place!
Her Fearful Symmetry Audrey NiffeneggerThat isn’t to say editors won’t accept it (Audrey Niffenegger’s sophomore novel Her Fearful Symmetry was omniscient–and earned an advance of $5 million in a bidding war between publishing houses–largely, on the blockbuster success of her previous book, the first-person Time Traveler’s Wife).
What editors will always be looking for in an omniscient POV (or any POV, come to that) is an amazing narrative voice. That voice needs to be not just something that serves the story, but something that pops off the page and pulls readers in. That kind of voice can be more difficult to accomplish in an omniscient POV, if only because the narrator’s voice is much harder to define.
Brothers Karamazov Fyodor DostoevskyDo you still feel the omniscient POV is the right choice for your story? The best way to learn how to write powerful omniscient POVs is by reading masters (Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov comes to the mind). Read omniscient POVs like crazy and take apart the narratives until you get a feel for how they work and how you might apply them in your story!
Wordplayers, tell me your opinion! Have you ever considered using the omniscient POV in your stories? Why or why not? Tell me in the comments!
July 31, 2015
12 Young Adult Cliches to avoid
12 Clichés To Avoid When Beginning Your Story
By: Courtney Carpenter
Read today’s tip from Mary Kole’s new book, Writing Irresistible Kidlit. In this excerpt, she shares some examples of common story beginnings that kidlit writers make.
Here are some of the most common openings I see, as they’re almost always a rejection:
Waking Up: Avoid the first moments of the day, especially if your character is being snapped out of a dream.
School Showcase: A character introducing the requisite best friend and the school bully
Family Showcase: Introductions of parents, siblings, pets
Room Tour: A character sitting in her room, thinking, looking over her stuff
Emo Kid: A character sitting and thinking about all his problems
Normal No More: A character lamenting how normal, average, and/or lame her life is, which is the writer setting us up for the big change that’s about to happen
Moving Van: A character in the car, driving to his new house, hating every minute of it
Mirror Catalogue: Looking at oneself and describing one’s flaws, usually with a self-deprecating voice
Summer of Torture: A character lamenting how she has to do something that she doesn’t want to do (live in a haunted house, go visit Grandma, work at the nursery) all summer long
New Kid: A character worrying about being the new kid on his first day of school or wizard training or the vampire academy
RIP Parents: One or both parental units kicking the bucket suddenly and tragically
Dystopian Selection: In the dystopian genre, it’s the day of choosing jobs, getting selected for something awful, being paired with a soul mate, etc.
These are very common beginnings and all I ask is that, if you choose to forge ahead and brave one, make it fresh.
By: Courtney Carpenter
Read today’s tip from Mary Kole’s new book, Writing Irresistible Kidlit. In this excerpt, she shares some examples of common story beginnings that kidlit writers make.
Here are some of the most common openings I see, as they’re almost always a rejection:
Waking Up: Avoid the first moments of the day, especially if your character is being snapped out of a dream.
School Showcase: A character introducing the requisite best friend and the school bully
Family Showcase: Introductions of parents, siblings, pets
Room Tour: A character sitting in her room, thinking, looking over her stuff
Emo Kid: A character sitting and thinking about all his problems
Normal No More: A character lamenting how normal, average, and/or lame her life is, which is the writer setting us up for the big change that’s about to happen
Moving Van: A character in the car, driving to his new house, hating every minute of it
Mirror Catalogue: Looking at oneself and describing one’s flaws, usually with a self-deprecating voice
Summer of Torture: A character lamenting how she has to do something that she doesn’t want to do (live in a haunted house, go visit Grandma, work at the nursery) all summer long
New Kid: A character worrying about being the new kid on his first day of school or wizard training or the vampire academy
RIP Parents: One or both parental units kicking the bucket suddenly and tragically
Dystopian Selection: In the dystopian genre, it’s the day of choosing jobs, getting selected for something awful, being paired with a soul mate, etc.
These are very common beginnings and all I ask is that, if you choose to forge ahead and brave one, make it fresh.
July 25, 2015
Formatting Dialogue
From Daily Writing Tips
A reader has a question about formatting dialogue in a novel:
I have some confusion regarding speakers when writing dialog, and when you should start new lines. The logic I remember being taught is that every time the speaker changes in a story we should start a new paragraph. Is that always the case, or is it possible to have a quick line from another character or speaker in a paragraph where another character spoke?
When I read a novel for pleasure—as opposed to studying a novel that does not appeal to me—I don’t want to have to work at it. I want to enter the fictional dream and not be pulled out of it by inappropriate diction, faulty grammar, or unconventional formatting.
The time-honored way to present dialogue in a novel is to signal a new speaker by beginning a new line.
Jane Austen did it. George Eliot did it. Mark Twain did it. The modern novelists I read do it. Combining the direct speech of multiple characters in one paragraph can be done, but even with the help of quotation marks and tags, the reader would find it slow going. For example, read the following conversation that appears in the novel Little Night by Luanne Rice:
The phone rang, and they heard Clare answer in the kitchen. After a few minutes, Clare came back in. She was smiling. “Was that Paul?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” Clare said. “He’s in the park, tracking an owl.” “He called to tell you that”
Clare nodded, her smile growing. “Grit, I think you’ve brought us luck.” “I doubt that,” Grit said, before she could stop herself.
Now read the same exchange presented conventionally:
After a few minutes, Clare came back in. She was smiling.
“Was that Paul?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” Clare said. “He’s in the park, tracking an owl.”
“He called to tell you that”
Clare nodded, her smile growing. “Grit, I think you’ve brought us luck.”
“I doubt that,” Grit said, before she could stop herself.
Writers of experimental fiction—Thomas Pynchon, for example,—don’t hesitate to break the rules; that’s what experimental writing is about.
Writers whose goal is to entertain readers by keeping them in the fictional dream don’t distract them with that kind of originality. They observe the conventions. The convention for dialogue is “new speaker, new line.”
A reader has a question about formatting dialogue in a novel:
I have some confusion regarding speakers when writing dialog, and when you should start new lines. The logic I remember being taught is that every time the speaker changes in a story we should start a new paragraph. Is that always the case, or is it possible to have a quick line from another character or speaker in a paragraph where another character spoke?
When I read a novel for pleasure—as opposed to studying a novel that does not appeal to me—I don’t want to have to work at it. I want to enter the fictional dream and not be pulled out of it by inappropriate diction, faulty grammar, or unconventional formatting.
The time-honored way to present dialogue in a novel is to signal a new speaker by beginning a new line.
Jane Austen did it. George Eliot did it. Mark Twain did it. The modern novelists I read do it. Combining the direct speech of multiple characters in one paragraph can be done, but even with the help of quotation marks and tags, the reader would find it slow going. For example, read the following conversation that appears in the novel Little Night by Luanne Rice:
The phone rang, and they heard Clare answer in the kitchen. After a few minutes, Clare came back in. She was smiling. “Was that Paul?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” Clare said. “He’s in the park, tracking an owl.” “He called to tell you that”
Clare nodded, her smile growing. “Grit, I think you’ve brought us luck.” “I doubt that,” Grit said, before she could stop herself.
Now read the same exchange presented conventionally:
After a few minutes, Clare came back in. She was smiling.
“Was that Paul?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” Clare said. “He’s in the park, tracking an owl.”
“He called to tell you that”
Clare nodded, her smile growing. “Grit, I think you’ve brought us luck.”
“I doubt that,” Grit said, before she could stop herself.
Writers of experimental fiction—Thomas Pynchon, for example,—don’t hesitate to break the rules; that’s what experimental writing is about.
Writers whose goal is to entertain readers by keeping them in the fictional dream don’t distract them with that kind of originality. They observe the conventions. The convention for dialogue is “new speaker, new line.”
July 12, 2015
Are Filter Words Weakening Your Fiction?
I found this post quite helpful in my writing. I think we all use "filter words" sometimes.
Are Filter Words Weakening Your Fiction?
By Suzannah Windsor Freeman for The Write It Sideways Blog
After taking several weeks away from the first draft of my novel, I decided to jump back in.
I expected to find all sorts of problems with the story: inconsistencies in the plot, lack of transitions, poor characterization—the works. But what began to stick out at me the most was something to which I’d given little thought in writing the first draft.
Filter words
What Are filter words
Actually, I didn’t even know these insidious creatures had a name until I started combing the internet for info.
Filter words are those that unnecessarily filter the reader’s experience through a character’s point of view. Dark Angel’s Blog says:
“Filtering” is when you place a character between the detail you want to present and the reader. The term was started by Janet Burroway in her book On Writing.
In terms of examples, Let the Words Flow says to watch out for:
to see
to hear
to think
to touch
to wonder
to realize
to watch
to look
to seem
to feel (or feel like)
can
to decide
to sound (or sound like)
to know
I’m being honest when I say my manuscript is filled with these words, and the majority of them need to be edited out.
What Do Filter Words Look Like?
Let’s imagine a character in your novel is walking down a street during peak hour.
You might, for example, write:
Sarah felt a sinking feeling as she realized she’d forgotten her purse back at the cafe across the street. She saw cars filing past, their bumpers end-to-end. She heard the impatient honk of horns and wondered how she could quickly cross the busy road before someone took off with her bag. But the traffic seemed impenetrable, and she decided to run to the intersection at the end of the block.
Eliminating the bolded words removes the filters that distances us, the readers, from this character’s experience:
Sarah’s stomach sank. Her purse — she’d forgotten it back at the cafe across the street. Cars filed past, their bumpers end-to-end. Horns honked impatiently. Could she make it across the road before someone took off with her bag? She ran past the impenetrable stream of traffic, toward the intersection at the end of the block.
Are Filter Words Ever Acceptable?
Of course, there are usually exceptions to every rule.
Just because filter words tend to be weak doesn’t mean they never have a place in our writing. Sometimes they are helpful and even necessary.
Susan Dennard of Let the Words Flow writes that we should use filter words when they arecritical to the meaning of the sentence.
If there’s no better way to phrase something than to use a filter word, then it’s probably okay to do so.
Have you ever noticed filter words creeping into your first drafts? How do you know when to keep a filter word, and when to eliminate it?
About the Author
Suzannah Windsor is the founding/managing editor of Writeitsideways.com and Compose: A Journal of Simply Good Writing, and an associate editor for Anderbo. Her work has appeared in The Writer magazine, Grist, Sou'wester, Anderbo, Saw Palm, Best of the Sand Hill Review, the Danforth Review, and others. She is a dual citizen of Canada and Australia and currently lives in northwestern Ontario with her husband and four children.
Are Filter Words Weakening Your Fiction?
By Suzannah Windsor Freeman for The Write It Sideways Blog
After taking several weeks away from the first draft of my novel, I decided to jump back in.
I expected to find all sorts of problems with the story: inconsistencies in the plot, lack of transitions, poor characterization—the works. But what began to stick out at me the most was something to which I’d given little thought in writing the first draft.
Filter words
What Are filter words
Actually, I didn’t even know these insidious creatures had a name until I started combing the internet for info.
Filter words are those that unnecessarily filter the reader’s experience through a character’s point of view. Dark Angel’s Blog says:
“Filtering” is when you place a character between the detail you want to present and the reader. The term was started by Janet Burroway in her book On Writing.
In terms of examples, Let the Words Flow says to watch out for:
to see
to hear
to think
to touch
to wonder
to realize
to watch
to look
to seem
to feel (or feel like)
can
to decide
to sound (or sound like)
to know
I’m being honest when I say my manuscript is filled with these words, and the majority of them need to be edited out.
What Do Filter Words Look Like?
Let’s imagine a character in your novel is walking down a street during peak hour.
You might, for example, write:
Sarah felt a sinking feeling as she realized she’d forgotten her purse back at the cafe across the street. She saw cars filing past, their bumpers end-to-end. She heard the impatient honk of horns and wondered how she could quickly cross the busy road before someone took off with her bag. But the traffic seemed impenetrable, and she decided to run to the intersection at the end of the block.
Eliminating the bolded words removes the filters that distances us, the readers, from this character’s experience:
Sarah’s stomach sank. Her purse — she’d forgotten it back at the cafe across the street. Cars filed past, their bumpers end-to-end. Horns honked impatiently. Could she make it across the road before someone took off with her bag? She ran past the impenetrable stream of traffic, toward the intersection at the end of the block.
Are Filter Words Ever Acceptable?
Of course, there are usually exceptions to every rule.
Just because filter words tend to be weak doesn’t mean they never have a place in our writing. Sometimes they are helpful and even necessary.
Susan Dennard of Let the Words Flow writes that we should use filter words when they arecritical to the meaning of the sentence.
If there’s no better way to phrase something than to use a filter word, then it’s probably okay to do so.
Have you ever noticed filter words creeping into your first drafts? How do you know when to keep a filter word, and when to eliminate it?
About the Author
Suzannah Windsor is the founding/managing editor of Writeitsideways.com and Compose: A Journal of Simply Good Writing, and an associate editor for Anderbo. Her work has appeared in The Writer magazine, Grist, Sou'wester, Anderbo, Saw Palm, Best of the Sand Hill Review, the Danforth Review, and others. She is a dual citizen of Canada and Australia and currently lives in northwestern Ontario with her husband and four children.
June 19, 2015
Made it Moment: Writer Steve P. Vincent
Author Jenny Milchman recently posted a about Australian Author Steve P. Vincent in a recently Made It Moments Blog. I found Steve's story fascinating and thought I shared it. I wish the Moments were audio so Steve Vincent could talk to us right now. Seriously…read on, and you’ll see why I say so. You’ll also see what happens when a writer follows almost the exact opposite road I did.
It took me 11 years and 7 manuscripts before my eighth novel was published. With each rejection, I went back to the drawing board, learning all that I was doing wrong and something about how the business worked. While Steve as he describes it “fell into” success in this biz. Already published, he now gets to pursue the hard work of learning the ropes of this industry…and finding all the Moments there are to mine within it.
Being asked to describe how I ‘made it’ is a funny thing, because I don’t think I’m quite where I want to be just yet! But because Jenny is awesome and I love reading these little tidbits, I’ll do my best.
I came to writing fiction relatively late. While I’m pretty good at writing, rely on it for my other work as a government policy advisor and have a huge appetite as a reader, I never really linked those things in my head and considered I could write novels. I tinkered, a bit, but I was focused on my career and never seriously sat down to put a large number of words to paper.
In reality, I came to be published after a few accidental steps down a path: a conversation with a friend about writing, a decision we both made to enroll in a creative writing course, the AWESOME teacher who taught that course, and her very strong prodding for me to submit to a publisher. I did, not really expecting, but out the other end spat a three book digital deal with Pan Macmillan Australia’s digital imprint, Momentum.
While it has been a fun ride, I also feel like I have a lot more to learn. My second book is better than my first, and I hope the third will be better than both of those too! I’m learning on the job and am lucky to have a great publisher and support team around me. At some point I’ll probably try to get an agent, too, because although flying blind is exciting it’s also tiring!
I feel satisfied and really lucky, but more than anything, I’m excited about the moments to come! I released my second book last week. I’ve nearly finished the third (and last) book I’m contracted for. I’m straight into writing another book in another series. I’m going to Thrillerfest, where I’ll speak in the Grand Hyatt in front of an army of thriller fans. I’m enjoying the moments as they come and glad that readers are enjoying my labor of love.
Steve P. Vincent is a thriller writer from Melbourne, Australia. His debut novel, The Foundation, was published by Pan Macmillan / Momentum in September 2014. The sequel and his second novel, State of Emergency, was published in June 2015. He has a Bachelor of Arts (Hons) in Political Science and History and his honors thesis was on the topic of global terrorism. He has traveled extensively through Europe, the US, and Asia
June 17, 2015
7 Ways an Algorithm Can Help You Write a Better Novel
7 Ways an Algorithm Can Help You Write a Better Novel
By Lisa Lepki for The BookBaby Blog
Any craft, the beauty of writing is not just in the creative process, but also in the workmanship and joinery that lie beneath the surface.
Writers, don’t panic. You’re not out of a job. Apple’s next major innovation is not going to be the iTolstoy. Please carry on writing wonderful stories for us to read.
But, while a computer program can’t generate a compelling narrative or sympathetic characters, it might help make a good story even better. Writing is a craft. And like any craft, the beauty of the product is not just dependent on the creative process, but also on the workmanship and joinery that lie beneath the surface. This is where technology can make a difference and help you write a better novel.
1. Fight your addiction to glue words and overly sticky sentences
You know those sentences with 30% more words than necessary? We all write them. Sticky sentences are bogged down in glue words (the 200 or so most common words in English: is, as, the, that, etc). Glue words are the empty spaces in your writing that your readers have to pass through to get to the meaning. Almost all writing can benefit from a reduction in glue words to improve clarity.
• Original: Kate was able to use the information that she had in her files and spoke to a number of people about the problem and managed to resolve it.
Glue Words: 58% – Sentence Length 28 words
• Redraft: Kate resolved the problem using her contacts and the available information.
Glue Words: 36% – Sentence Length 11 words
The redraft saves 17 words in a 28-word sentence. That is going to make a huge difference to your reader. Get rid of the stickiness.
2. Strengthen your vague or abstract words
An editing tool will present you with a list of all the vague and abstract words you have used in your writing and suggest similar words that are stronger or more concrete. Ironically, the very vagueness of abstract words is one of the reasons for their popularity. It is harder to be precise. We often prefer the safer obscurity of the abstract.
Be specific. Occasionally using one of these words (say one a page) won’t ruin your style. However, the more you use these words, the less readable your writing becomes.
3. Adverbs! Need we say more?
The road to hell is paved with adverbs. – Stephen King
Ok, we admit that occasionally adverbs can be useful, sometimes even indispensable. More often, however, writers use them to prop up a weak verb when a strong verb should do the job instead. Strong verbs also create a more nuanced image for your reader: for example, “meanders” instead of “walks slowly”; “raced” instead of “drove quickly”. Editing tools can highlight the dreaded adverbs so that you can get out your thesaurus and find the word that is exactly right.
4. Assess the variety of length in your sentences
As a writer who tends toward the long rambling variety of sentence, this is one of the most useful tools for me. Varying sentence length is an important feature of good writing. Some should be long and flowing; others, short and punchy. Sentence length needs to ebb and flow like the tide.
A good editing tool will map out your writing so you can scan down and pick out the areas where all the sentences are of similar length. They will also calculate your average sentence length and give you a sentence variety score. These are checked against recommended levels and an error is reported if your sentences are too long, too short, or not varied enough.
5. “De-tag your dialogue!” the Editor shouted angrily.
If there is one thing that annoys editors more than anything, it is dialogue tags. The character’s actions or the dialogue itself action should be carrying the emotion. Don’t depend on an adverb to make your reader feel something.
For example:
Original: “I’m not going,” John yelled angrily.
Redraft: John thumped his fist on the table. “I’m not going and that’s final.”
In the second example, John’s anger was shown, not told. Editing tools will find your dialogue tags so that you can find a better way to bring emotion to the scene.
6. Re-evaluate your use of the passive voice
The passive voice isn’t incorrect, but it’s sometimes awkward and annoying to read. Sentences written in the active voice tend to be more clear and engaging. Once these sentences are flagged, it’s easy to re-jig them so that they are more effective.
7. De-clutter your writing by cutting redundant expressions
Every word in your writing should be there for a purpose. Redundant expressions make writing longer, not better. Look at these four examples:
She peered through the hollow tube.
He stepped out on the frozen ice.
She followed her natural instinct.
His writing was peppered with overused clichés.
In all four cases, the second to last word is superfluous. The editing tool (and your human editor) want those unnecessary words gone!
A good editing tool won’t change your voice or tell you what to do. Its job is to flag up potential technical issues so you can reassess whether you have said it in the best way. It also won’t replace a human editor. Instead, it will get your manuscript one step further along so that when your editor starts editing, she can focus on content and style rather than readability.
It’s the writer that creates the unforgettable characters and sends them on their journey to war, love, or redemption. An editing tool just checks to make sure that the tires are fully pumped and the windshield is clear. It’s another great tool in your writing toolbox.
Author Lisa Lepki is an indie author, a staffer at ProWritingAid, and an active member of the grammar police. Lisa loves the challenge of extending the endless catalogue of writing rules in the ProWritingAid software (currently she and the team have 2,722 rules and
By Lisa Lepki for The BookBaby Blog
Any craft, the beauty of writing is not just in the creative process, but also in the workmanship and joinery that lie beneath the surface.
Writers, don’t panic. You’re not out of a job. Apple’s next major innovation is not going to be the iTolstoy. Please carry on writing wonderful stories for us to read.
But, while a computer program can’t generate a compelling narrative or sympathetic characters, it might help make a good story even better. Writing is a craft. And like any craft, the beauty of the product is not just dependent on the creative process, but also on the workmanship and joinery that lie beneath the surface. This is where technology can make a difference and help you write a better novel.
1. Fight your addiction to glue words and overly sticky sentences
You know those sentences with 30% more words than necessary? We all write them. Sticky sentences are bogged down in glue words (the 200 or so most common words in English: is, as, the, that, etc). Glue words are the empty spaces in your writing that your readers have to pass through to get to the meaning. Almost all writing can benefit from a reduction in glue words to improve clarity.
• Original: Kate was able to use the information that she had in her files and spoke to a number of people about the problem and managed to resolve it.
Glue Words: 58% – Sentence Length 28 words
• Redraft: Kate resolved the problem using her contacts and the available information.
Glue Words: 36% – Sentence Length 11 words
The redraft saves 17 words in a 28-word sentence. That is going to make a huge difference to your reader. Get rid of the stickiness.
2. Strengthen your vague or abstract words
An editing tool will present you with a list of all the vague and abstract words you have used in your writing and suggest similar words that are stronger or more concrete. Ironically, the very vagueness of abstract words is one of the reasons for their popularity. It is harder to be precise. We often prefer the safer obscurity of the abstract.
Be specific. Occasionally using one of these words (say one a page) won’t ruin your style. However, the more you use these words, the less readable your writing becomes.
3. Adverbs! Need we say more?
The road to hell is paved with adverbs. – Stephen King
Ok, we admit that occasionally adverbs can be useful, sometimes even indispensable. More often, however, writers use them to prop up a weak verb when a strong verb should do the job instead. Strong verbs also create a more nuanced image for your reader: for example, “meanders” instead of “walks slowly”; “raced” instead of “drove quickly”. Editing tools can highlight the dreaded adverbs so that you can get out your thesaurus and find the word that is exactly right.
4. Assess the variety of length in your sentences
As a writer who tends toward the long rambling variety of sentence, this is one of the most useful tools for me. Varying sentence length is an important feature of good writing. Some should be long and flowing; others, short and punchy. Sentence length needs to ebb and flow like the tide.
A good editing tool will map out your writing so you can scan down and pick out the areas where all the sentences are of similar length. They will also calculate your average sentence length and give you a sentence variety score. These are checked against recommended levels and an error is reported if your sentences are too long, too short, or not varied enough.
5. “De-tag your dialogue!” the Editor shouted angrily.
If there is one thing that annoys editors more than anything, it is dialogue tags. The character’s actions or the dialogue itself action should be carrying the emotion. Don’t depend on an adverb to make your reader feel something.
For example:
Original: “I’m not going,” John yelled angrily.
Redraft: John thumped his fist on the table. “I’m not going and that’s final.”
In the second example, John’s anger was shown, not told. Editing tools will find your dialogue tags so that you can find a better way to bring emotion to the scene.
6. Re-evaluate your use of the passive voice
The passive voice isn’t incorrect, but it’s sometimes awkward and annoying to read. Sentences written in the active voice tend to be more clear and engaging. Once these sentences are flagged, it’s easy to re-jig them so that they are more effective.
7. De-clutter your writing by cutting redundant expressions
Every word in your writing should be there for a purpose. Redundant expressions make writing longer, not better. Look at these four examples:
She peered through the hollow tube.
He stepped out on the frozen ice.
She followed her natural instinct.
His writing was peppered with overused clichés.
In all four cases, the second to last word is superfluous. The editing tool (and your human editor) want those unnecessary words gone!
A good editing tool won’t change your voice or tell you what to do. Its job is to flag up potential technical issues so you can reassess whether you have said it in the best way. It also won’t replace a human editor. Instead, it will get your manuscript one step further along so that when your editor starts editing, she can focus on content and style rather than readability.
It’s the writer that creates the unforgettable characters and sends them on their journey to war, love, or redemption. An editing tool just checks to make sure that the tires are fully pumped and the windshield is clear. It’s another great tool in your writing toolbox.
Author Lisa Lepki is an indie author, a staffer at ProWritingAid, and an active member of the grammar police. Lisa loves the challenge of extending the endless catalogue of writing rules in the ProWritingAid software (currently she and the team have 2,722 rules and
