Janice Steinberg's Blog, page 4

7 Rules to Write By – #6: Choose your agent carefully

I found my uber-agent on the internet. Here’s how I did it … and (mostly) avoided some pitfalls along the way.

Although I’d been published before, The Tin Horse was a very different kind of book – mainstream Jewish fiction – from the mysteries I’d done in the past. So when it was time to find an agent, I felt like I was starting from scratch.

A lot of people agent-hunt at writers’ conferences. Me, too. I went to a conference and did ten-minute pitches to two agents. Both were enthusiastic and asked to see my book when I was finished. But …

PITFALL ALERT! You’ll notice that Rule #6 involves choosing your agent. The idea that you choose an agent may sound strange. Often, writers taking their work into the world have a “please choose me!” attitude, like a wallflower hoping to be asked to dance (a metaphor that may ring painfully true to many of us who were bookish teens). But you do have a choice, and it’s empowering to realize that; plus, it can save a lot of wasted effort. All writers know at least one person who was over the moon with excitement because an agent wanted to represent him/her but then got increasingly frustrated as the agent seemed to do nothing. Maybe it’s happened to you. Better to be choosy. (BTW, my pitfall graphic is by British caricaturist Thomas Rowlandson, via Wikimedia Commons.)

So, I was thrilled that the agents were interested, but I checked their client lists, and neither seemed a great match for me. I kept their cards and planned to send the book to them … only, not right away. I thought of them as my B list.

For my A list, I started by getting a few names from a friend who was also writing Jewish fiction. Then I turned to a web site called AgentQuery. I love AgentQuery! This cleanly laid-out, comprehensive, free site has great general info about marketing your work and – as of today – listings for about 900 literary agents. You can create a customized list by entering search terms relevant to your book. For instance, I tried “Jewish fiction” but didn’t get enough results (though the same search yields quite a few more listings now than when I did it several years ago). I had better luck with “family saga.”

The list you generate will have brief profiles: the agent’s name, contact information, genres represented, and whether s/he is accepting queries. For the ones who look like good prospects, Full Profile gives you a web address, submission guidelines, and representative book deals – some of which may be on AgentQuery, while for others you need to consult Publishers Marketplace. BTW, there are some very good agents (like mine) who don’t have web sites. But if there’s a web site, definitely go there for the most up-to-date client list and submission guidelines.

PITFALL ALERT! Researching a potential agent’s actual deals is crucial! An agent may love a particular genre but not have a track record selling it … which, I’d say, puts that agent on your B list, if at all. Remember, you’re choosing.

After my AgentQuery research, I had an A list of about 15 agents that I thought would be really great. Most of them wanted just a brief initial query, most via e-mail although a few requested snail-mail. And yes, it’s fine to send multiple queries. Using my fabulous query letter (Rule #5: Write a strong query), I started to approach them when the book was ready.

PITFALL ALERT! Don’t query until your book is finished. It’s true that many agents will initially ask for just the first 50 pages and then take months to get back to you. But what do you do if someone immediately requests the whole book, and you’re eight months away from being ready to send it? This does not look professional, and who knows if the agent’s initial enthusiasm will survive eight months later? I did it right in terms of having the book completed, but barely avoided another pitfall: Lousy timing I almost sabotaged myself because when my book was ready happened to be in December. I actually sent my first queries two weeks before Christmas. Duh! Fortunately, I realized before I’d sent more than a few that December was an insane time to approach anyone about anything unless it involved eggnog.

I held off and sent most of my letters in January; I did a few over the course of a couple weeks, just to spread out the stress. I was surprised how quickly I heard back from many agents, several requesting the first 50 pages. Then Susan Golomb – and this was Susan herself, not an assistant – asked to see the whole manuscript. Hallelujah! Then the not-so-hallelujah: she also asked for a six-month exclusive.

PITFALL ALERT: This situation felt like walking on a very narrow path with dropoffs on either side. I wanted to do whatever would make Susan happy!  But in order to give her an exclusive, I’d have to hold off the folks who already had 50 pages, as well as any other agent who got back to me. I figured the chances were slim that Susan – who represents Jonathan Franzen – would ultimately say yes, and then I’d have to go back to the other agents and say, “Exclusive’s over, hope you’re still interested” … as I trailed the taint of rejection. I wish I could say there’s one clear-cut way to handle this situation. Here’s what I did, after spending half a day discussing pros and cons with my buddy Abigail Padgett: I wrote to Susan that although I wasn’t in a position to give her an exclusive, no one else was looking at the full manuscript, I’d be thrilled to have her consider it, and I could overnight it right away. Then I sweated a bit. Susan wrote back that she’d still like to see the book. And I raced off to copy and overnight the ms.

Two weeks later, Susan called. She said how much she loved the book … Let me stop here for a minute and just exult! Then she floated some ideas about changes she thought I should make. Her ideas made a lot of sense; plus, as someone who’s done journalism for years, I’m grateful for good editorial comments. And I’m sure one thing she was looking for was, was I a prima donna, or was I a professional who was open to working with her critique, and down the road open to working with an editor? Finally, after we’d talked for perhaps half an hour, I ventured to ask, “Are you offering to represent me?” She said yes! And I said yes.

PITFALL ALERT: Later I saw on AgentQuery what, in terms of etiquette, I was supposed to do. Since several other agents were looking at the first 50 pages, I should have told Susan I was delighted, but I needed to give the other agents the courtesy of letting them know I’d had an offer of representation, and give them a chance to make an offer. OTOH, I couldn’t imagine anyone topping Susan. In fact, one of the other agents, when I wrote to say I was signing with someone else, asked who it was – and when I told her it was Susan, she responded, “You couldn’t do better.” However, back to the idea that you get to choose your agent: You don’t have to go with the first one who asks.

Do make sure that, when you settle on an agent, you promptly inform any other agent who’s considering you. Publishing is a relatively small world. You don’t want to get a reputation for being inconsiderate. Besides, it’s very bad karma.

This is the sixth of my Seven Rules to Write By. Coming up next: It may sound radical to say you can choose your agent. But Rule 7 involves choosing your publisher.

 

Rx for Writers’ Mental Health: Bird by Bird

Every few years, I reread Bird by Bird, the wise, funny book by Anne Lamott that’s aptly subtitled Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Anne Lamott validates all of the ways that I feel crazy as a writer: the insecurity, the compulsion to compare myself to other writers who are more successful and younger, the compulsions in general. (I do this truly OCD thing of wanting my right margins to look pretty, but I can’t do it by right-justifying; I’ll actually change words to make the edge flow).

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott writes about this kind of weirdness with such compassion that – at least during the time you’re reading the book – you love in yourself precisely those qualities that you usually want to stuff into a trash bag and take to a landfill in another country. You get it that what you regard as your stinkiest muck is your creative source. The feeling doesn’t last. Which is why I need to go back and reread.

I did this last month on a plane going to New York, where I was going to make a two-minute presentation at the Jewish Book Council conference. I was one of 250-300 authors engaging in this literary speed-dating, all of us praying that representatives of Jewish book festivals around the country would find us so delightful they’d invite us to come speak (and sell books!). This caused some anticipatory anxiety. I figured I could handle the basics – demonstrate that I could dress myself and refrain from drooling when standing at a lectern – but beyond that, there was a certain pressure to be … scintillating! charming! not to mention brilliant, preferably in a profound, rabbinic way. So I reread Bird By Bird on the plane. Here are a few of my favorite quotes:

“What people somehow (inadvertently, I’m sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here – and, by extension, what we’re supposed to be writing.”

“My writer friends … do not go around beaming with quiet feelings of contentment. Most of them go around with haunted, abused, surprised looks on their faces, like lab dogs on whom very personal deodorant sprays have been tested.”

And my all-time favorite:

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.”

I survived the literary speed-dating. I did not drool. I even sort-of enjoyed myself. Thank you, Anne Lamott, for helping me stay sane! I recommend Bird By Bird if you are a writer. I recommend it if you are a human.

7 Rules to Write By, #5: Write a Strong Query

[image error]Here I am in New York (actually Brooklyn) yesterday morning, with my agent, Susan Golomb. Along with being a warm, lovely person and an insightful editor, Susan is a mega agent; her list includes Jonathan Franzen and Rachel Kushner. I did not get Susan to consider representing me because I knew any of these people … nor was I best friends with her cousin or her dog walker. Plus, I live in San Diego, about as far from New York as you can get and still be in the continental U.S. But I heard back from her – and from half of the 12 agents I approached – within a few weeks after sending a one-page query letter.

It was a really good query. And it took me about a year to write. My particular challenge was, how should I introduce my novel … with the contemporary story, which kicks off the action? with the historical story and its rich setting? with the spark for the book, a minor character in The Big Sleep? You’ll see that in the query I came up with, I actually managed to get all three of those things into the first paragraph. That did not happen in my first draft. Or my second or third.

Whatever your unique challenges, if you’ve written a novel of any complexity, you face the same core issues in writing a query: You need to reduce your novel of 75,000 words or more to one measly page in which you mention key characters, plot elements, and themes. And this radically pared-down piece of prose nevertheless needs to give a taste of your sparkling narrative voice. And, by the way, you want to throw in that you are willing to do the agent’s dishes for the rest of your life, or chauffeur her kid to school … except you restrain yourself and leave that part out.

But you’ve already made it through Rules 1-4. You’ve gone toward what scares you. You’ve done the work. You’ve been open to feedback, whether it’s just your own or you’ve been in a writers group. You’ve been a pro about revising. So you can handle …

Rule #5. Write a strong query.

Here are some tips.

Give your query the time it deserves. Write a draft. Then show it to people and get feedback. This goes even for those who aren’t into writers groups. Your query is a marketing document, and you need to know how it comes across. Once you get feedback, set the query aside and let the ideas simmer. Then go through the cycle – write, get feedback, and let simmer – again. And again.

By the way, for a novel, unless you’re a celebrity, you shouldn’t approach agents until you have a completed manuscript to send them. So you can start working on a query when you’re coming into the home stretch on your book.

Use basic query structure. You’ll probably find multiple, conflicting ideas about what that is. Here’s what I suggest:

- Introductory paragraph, which may start with some personal note about why you’re approaching this particular agent and then gives a capsule description of your book. You’ll notice that in mine, I slipped in the length of my ms., which is useful information and also let the agent know the book was completed.

- Plot summary – I’ve read that this should be just one paragraph; however, because of the historical and contemporary threads in my book, I did one for each thread.

- Relevant background about you.

Make it professional. In addition to the basics like demonstrating your familiarity with conventions of spelling and grammar, do not use a microscopically tiny font. In these days when most agents accept electronic queries, you can probably get away with going a teensy bit over one page. That does not, however, mean you can pack in three pages worth by using a 9-point instead of the standard 12-point font. It’s obvious.

Here’s the basic query I sent – often leading off with something specific to the agent I was approaching. By the way, you’ll notice that my working title for the book was not The Tin Horse. That happens.

***

I am seeking representation for An Intelligent Jewess, a literary novel (100,000 words) that was inspired by a marginal character in The Big Sleep, a keenly observant young woman described as having “the fine-drawn face of an intelligent Jewess.” Set primarily in the 1920s and 30s, my novel gives “the Jewess” a name, Elaine Greenstein, and takes place in her Los Angeles, the little-known Jewish immigrant mecca of Boyle Heights. And it explores her mysteries of identity and family—sparked by her discovery, at age eighty-five, of a clue to what happened to her twin sister, who disappeared when they were eighteen.

Born in 1921, Elaine grows up in Boyle Heights, a neighborhood east of downtown Los Angeles that was home to more than 75,000 Jews (site of the original Canter’s Deli and Max Factor’s barber shop) between the First and Second World Wars. Elaine’s Papa preaches the American Dream, despite being stuck as a salesman at Fine’s Fine Footwear, and Mama schemes to get money for her girls’ school outfits via her savvy at cards. Elaine feels her fiercest love and most bitter rivalry toward her fraternal twin, Barbara. Elaine is the brainy sister, Barbara a bold rule-breaker who shoplifts groceries to help their pal, Danny, during the Depression. Naturally, thrilling Barbara becomes Danny’s first love, while Elaine pines for him. Soon greater forces rip the childhood friends apart. At home in their Jewish enclave yet close to neighborhoods where rental signs say “No Jews or Dogs”—and hearing dire news from Europe—Danny embraces Zionism. Elaine is determined to be Jewish and American. And Barbara wants out. After a blowup when she and Elaine are eighteen, she flees and is never heard from again.

When my novel opens, Elaine is eighty-five. She has raised her children, buried her husband, and had a career as a leading progressive attorney (in The Big Sleep, the Jewess is reading a law book). Her life’s work is over. Then she stumbles on a decades-old clue to Barbara’s whereabouts. In contemporary chapters woven through the novel, she follows Barbara’s trail. But before Elaine can face her sister again, she must revisit their past.

Although An Intelligent Jewess is a literary novel, its spark came from my roots in mystery fiction. I am the author of five mysteries published by Berkley, including the Shamus-nominated Death in a City of Mystics, set in Israel. I am also an arts journalist and have published more than 300 articles in the San Diego Union-Tribune, Dance Magazine, and elsewhere.

Grandpa Tiny and the Priest’s Daughter or: Family Stories and Selective Memory

I love it when people say they figure the stories in The Tin Horse are based on my family stories, because they feel so authentic. Actually, most of the book is made up … except for one incident, in which Elaine’s grandfather, as a teenage boy in Ukraine, falls for a Christian girl and has to run for his life, with the girl’s brothers in hot pursuit. He has to swim across a river to get away.

My paternal grandfather, Philip Steinberg, came to America after getting into a romance with a Christian

Grandma and Grandpa Tiny’s wedding, 1916

girl and needing to leave his village in Ukraine. And yes, there was a river he had to cross, though he didn’t have to swim; a good thing, since he didn’t know how to swim. That, as I remember it, is the story I heard from my cousin Kathy. Grandpa lived with Kathy’s family for several years, and she sought out his stories, so she’s the expert on Grandpa Tiny, so-named because the oldest cousin of my generation, Jeff, stumbled over “Grandpa Steinberg.” At least, that’s my version of the family lore of how Grandpa Tiny got that name. But of course, the passing on of family stories is a wonderfully subjective process, both in terms of who tells what to whom and what sticks in a given person’s mind.

Case in point: Kathy visited recently and told me about a juicy angle to the story of Grandpa Tiny and his Ukrainian girlfriend that I hadn’t been aware of … whether it wasn’t told to me earlier, or I just didn’t remember. Though I think this soap operatic detail would have stuck with me; I certainly would have used it. It turns out the girl wasn’t just a Ukrainian peasant, she was the daughter of a Russian Orthodox priest.

By the way, although Grandpa Tiny came at age 18, I never knew him to have an accent. And his written English was beautiful. At a party for his 75th birthday, I saw a poetic letter he’d written to my grandmother when they were courting. He recounted a dream in which they were walking in a garden together.

 

7 Rules to Write By – #4: Have the will and skill to revise

It’s Jeff’s turn to be critiqued, and he’s doing everything right. He listens carefully, taking notes. He doesn’t argue or try to explain; he gets it that if people are confused by what’s on the page, he needs to fix it on the page. He notices when several people bring up the same issue. But then, the next time he’s up for critique, he presents a revision of the work he showed last time. And almost nothing has changed! The material may read a bit more smoothly, but it still has the same fundamental problems of structure or characterization or story logic that it had before.

If you’ve spent any time in writing workshops or critique groups, you’ve probably seen this happen. Or maybe you’ve been Jeff. You genuinely valued a number of the comments at the first critique session and did your best to work with them, and then you heard from the group that they saw no substantial improvements.

Revision is the territory that separates the professionals from the amateurs. First, you need to be willing to make changes based on feedback from a trusted teacher or group … and, down the road, from an agent or editor – and serious writers are. But it takes more than a professional attitude to revise effectively. You have to know how to do it. That’s why rule #4 is:

Have the will and skill to revise.

 Comments on one’s writing tend to be diagnostic – “this is a problem” – rather than prescriptive – “here’s how to fix it.” That’s good; it’s your story. But how do you take those diagnostic comments and use them to bring more clarity and power to your writing? Here are some tips.

* Resist the temptation to jump in and start revising the minute you come home after being critiqued. Give feedback at least 24 hours to settle.

* Go over what you brought home from the critique session – your notes, written comments from the group, maybe a recording – and look for two things:

- Where do several people raise the same issue?

- What resonates for you? It may be a comment from just one person, but it’s the person whose judgment you trust the most, or it just rang true.

Those are the areas to work on.

* What happens next depends on what level of revision is required. Some suggestions are at the micro level of changing a few words or tightening a scene. Easy-peasy, right? You can dive right in. But often, when someone does a revision in which not enough changes, it’s because s/he needed to work on an intermediate or even a macro level.

* An intermediate revision might involve such things as fleshing out a character or plot element, building a relationship, changing the sequence of scenes, or weaving material into the early chapters to establish motivation for an action taken halfway into the book. If you need to do this more complex level of revision, be aware that whatever you’ve already written has a certain authority simply by being on the page. If you just open your document and start writing, there’s a good chance you won’t go deeply enough. I suggest doing some prep writing away from the page, for instance:

- character sketches

- free writing from a character’s point of view

- scene analysis: taking apart a scene and writing what each character is thinking and feeling moment to moment, as well as what they say. Robert McKee in Story (p. 154) gives a terrific example of this process in his analysis of a scene from “Chinatown.” (Story, while aimed at screenwriters has some great information for novelists, even if you do sometimes want to throw the book across the room.)

- structural analysis: working with your outline – or making an outline, if you hadn’t before – to consider changes in sequence or plan where you want to deepen or add new material. For instance, you might have Cathy mangle her sister’s thumb in an accident in chapter 3, a guilt-inducing event that will help readers understand why, years later, she puts up with her sister’s demands. BTW, as a general rule, it’s good to make your characters suffer.

* What if you literally have to do a re-vision, to take a completely fresh look at some macro aspect of the fictional world you’ve created? If you’re contemplating large-scale changes, you can use the same prep writing techniques as for an intermediate revision – character sketches, scene analysis, etc. Having an outline can be essential, if you need to consider different approaches to structure, sequence of events, and when various characters will come on the scene.

For a macro revision, you also need time – weeks or even (gulp) months in which a new vision can take shape strongly enough to hold its own against the concrete reality of what’s already on the page. And changes at this level aren’t isolated to a single chapter or scene; they send out ripples. For instance, my fabulous editor at Random House asked me to take a different approach to the contemporary chapters that are about one-quarter of The Tin Horse. I spent two months doing character sketches and free writing, playing with my outline, and just letting ideas percolate. One of the biggest changes I eventually made was to move the entrance of one character from chapter 17 back to chapter 4, and the ripples extended through the entire novel: I needed to develop that character more and weave her into the contemporary story from chapter 4 on; and her expanded presence revealed surprising aspects of my main character, Elaine.

Trying for this deep a re-vision may feel terrifying. Fantastic! Remember Rule #1 of 7 Rules to Write By: Go toward what scares you. The scary places will bring out your best work.

* One last thing: Save your old draft.

7 Rules to Write By – #4: Have the will and skill to revise.

It’s Jeff’s turn to be critiqued, and he’s doing everything right. He listens carefully, taking notes. He doesn’t argue or try to explain; he gets it that if people are confused by what’s on the page, he needs to fix it on the page. He notices when several people bring up the same issue. But then, the next time he’s up for critique, he presents a revision of the work he showed last time. And almost nothing has changed! The material may read a bit more smoothly, but it still has the same fundamental problems of structure or characterization or story logic that it had before.

If you’ve spent any time in writing workshops or critique groups, you’ve probably seen this happen. Or maybe you’ve been Jeff. You genuinely valued a number of the comments at the first critique session and did your best to work with them, and then you heard from the group that they saw no substantial improvements.

Revision is the territory that separates the professionals from the amateurs. First, you need to be willing to make changes based on feedback from a trusted teacher or group … and, down the road, from an agent or editor – and serious writers are. But it takes more than a professional attitude to revise effectively. You have to know how to do it. That’s why rule #4 is:

Have the will and skill to revise.

 Comments on one’s writing tend to be diagnostic – “this is a problem” – rather than prescriptive – “here’s how to fix it.” That’s good; it’s your story. But how do you take those diagnostic comments and use them to bring more clarity and power to your writing? Here are some tips.

* Resist the temptation to jump in and start revising the minute you come home after being critiqued. Give feedback at least 24 hours to settle.

* Go over what you brought home from the critique session – your notes, written comments from the group, maybe a recording – and look for two things:

- Where do several people raise the same issue?

- What resonates for you? It may be a comment from just one person, but it’s the person whose judgment you trust the most, or it just rang true.

Those are the areas to work on.

* What happens next depends on what level of revision is required. Some suggestions are at the micro level of changing a few words or tightening a scene. Easy-peasy, right? You can dive right in. But often, when someone does a revision in which not enough changes, it’s because s/he needed to work on an intermediate or even a macro level.

* An intermediate revision might involve such things as fleshing out a character or plot element, building a relationship, changing the sequence of scenes, or weaving material into the early chapters to establish motivation for an action taken halfway into the book. If you need to do this more complex level of revision, be aware that whatever you’ve already written has a certain authority simply by being on the page. If you just open your document and start writing, there’s a good chance you won’t go deeply enough. I suggest doing some prep writing away from the page, for instance:

- character sketches

- free writing from a character’s point of view

- scene analysis: taking apart a scene and writing what each character is thinking and feeling moment to moment, as well as what they say. Robert McKee in Story (p. 154) gives a terrific example of this process in his analysis of a scene from “Chinatown.” (Story, while aimed at screenwriters has some great information for novelists, even if you do sometimes want to throw the book across the room.)

- structural analysis: working with your outline – or making an outline, if you hadn’t before – to consider changes in sequence or plan where you want to deepen or add new material. For instance, you might have Cathy mangle her sister’s thumb in an accident in chapter 3, a guilt-inducing event that will help readers understand why, years later, she puts up with her sister’s demands. BTW, as a general rule, it’s good to make your characters suffer.

* What if you literally have to do a re-vision, to take a completely fresh look at some macro aspect of the fictional world you’ve created? If you’re contemplating large-scale changes, you can use the same prep writing techniques as for an intermediate revision – character sketches, scene analysis, etc. Having an outline can be essential, if you need to consider different approaches to structure, sequence of events, and when various characters will come on the scene.

For a macro revision, you also need time – weeks or even (gulp) months in which a new vision can take shape strongly enough to hold its own against the concrete reality of what’s already on the page. And changes at this level aren’t isolated to a single chapter or scene; they send out ripples. For instance, my fabulous editor at Random House asked me to take a different approach to the contemporary chapters that are about one-quarter of The Tin Horse. I spent two months doing character sketches and free writing, playing with my outline, and just letting ideas percolate. One of the biggest changes I eventually made was to move the entrance of one character from chapter 17 back to chapter 4, and the ripples extended through the entire novel: I needed to develop that character more and weave her into the contemporary story from chapter 4 on; and her expanded presence revealed surprising aspects of my main character, Elaine.

Trying for this deep a re-vision may feel terrifying. Fantastic! Remember Rule #1 of 7 Rules to Write By: Go toward what scares you. The scary places will bring out your best work.

* One last thing: Save your old draft.

The Urge for Going: Is it in Americans’ DNA?

My grandmother’s family, the Antons, shortly after they came to Milwaukee from Ukraine. My grandma is the baby.

I visited a book group recently, and one of the members, Cheryl, brought up an idea I’ve been thinking about ever since. We were discussing the way several people in The Tin Horse make precipitous departures, leaving behind family, home, and everything they know, and she pointed out that many of us in America are just a few generations away from immigrants or may even be immigrants ourselves. Someone in our recent genetic past made a choice between, on one side, the deep pull of the familiar/fear of the unknown, and, on the other, a spirit of adventure and maybe a sense of constriction at whatever their family or village expected them to become. Their brothers or sisters may have weighed the same choices and decided to stay put, but our ancestors gave in to–to quote Joni Mitchell, who provided the sound track for a time in my life when I was running as fast as I could from expectations–”the urge for going.”

Cheryl raised the question: Is escape in Americans’ DNA? Do we have a genetic predisposition to strike out for the frontier? I’m writing this from the lower left corner of the country, 2000 miles from where I grew up. And I’d love to hear what people think.

7 Rules to Write By – Rule #3 (continued): Your Red Teacher’s Pencil

In the last 7 Rules post – on Rule #3, choosing the right critique group for you – I talked about the etiquette for giving and receiving critiques. Before moving on to Rule #4 (about revising), I wanted to go into some detail about one of the guidelines for giving a critique: Be specific. Sounds terrific, right, but just how do you do that?

I heard a great comment from my editor’s mom about getting out her red teacher’s pencil. Here are some things to consider when you have your red pencil poised over a manuscript.

* What rivets you? Where does your attention flag?

* What engages you emotionally—scares you, makes you laugh, makes you give a damn what happens to these characters?

* What gives you a sense of urgency–a feeling that something important is at stake? If urgency is lacking, can you identify why?

* Does the pacing offer a satisfying balance between dramatic high points and quieter interludes? Are the high points pumped up, given enough space and volume?

* What details give you a vivid sense of character and setting? Where do you want more?

* Does the dialogue sound natural for these characters in this situation? Do the characters sound consistent in terms of the language they use and worldviews they express?

* Does dialogue convey emotion and relationship as well as information? Beware info dumps!

* Is the narrative logical and believable in terms of the story’s fictional reality? What jars you and pulls you out of that reality?

* Does the writer take you along when making a transition from one scene to another, or is it a bumpy ride? Do you ever get confused about where you are in place or in time?

* Does the narrative flow, sentence to sentence and paragraph to paragraph?

* How does each scene advance the overall story?

And remember, from Critique Etiquette, people learn from hearing where they’ve done their best writing, as well as hearing where they need to improve; we really get too close to know when we’ve done it well.

 

 

 

7 Rules to Write By – #3: Choose the Right Critique Group for You

Recently my friend “Alice” told me about a writing workshop she’d joined. She was the only person who was writing memoir; everyone else was doing fiction. And she found the critiques of her work lacerating. “It’s good for me,” she said. She also said that since joining the group, she’d stopped writing.

I had three words of advice for her. “Get out now!”

Critique groups aren’t for everyone, so if you’re the kind of writer who needs to develop your work in solitude, go for it; and feel free to stop reading now. For me, critique groups have been invaluable, both as a source of feedback on my work and as an opportunity to learn about craft from having to say meaningful things about others’ work. But not all critique groups are created equal. That’s why the next of my 7 Rules to Write By is:

Rule 3. Choose the right critique group for you.

Part of finding the right group has to do with finding people at more of less your level of experience. If you’re a beginner, you may want to start by taking a class.  Not only will a class with a good teacher help you learn the ropes, but if you meet some fellow students with whom you click, that may be the core of a critique group.

Genre is another factor, though not a deal-breaker. If Alice had been getting helpful critiques, I wouldn’t have been concerned that she was the sole memoirist. The main thing is to have people who read and appreciate the genre in which you’re writing. My own group includes novelists of various stripes and a couple of memoirists.

What is a deal-breaker, for either a group or a class, is etiquette. Below are rules I’ve used as a teacher and group member.

And the ultimate deal-breaker is how you feel after your work is discussed. Ideally, you should leave a critique session feeling stirred up–your work was as polished as you could make it when you gave it to the group, and a meaningful critique should make you aware of where you need to do more. But … you should also feel energized and excited about sitting down to revise. If any critique group makes you stop writing, get out now!

Here are my rules for critique etiquette. Coming up in rule 4: how to use a critique.

Critique Etiquette

The purpose of a critique is to give the author information about how the fictional reality s/he has created is experienced by readers. Critiques are given in a spirit of respect and mutual support.

Giving a Critique

* Your goal is to help the author achieve optimal clarity and power.

* Don’t just look for the places that need improvement. Also notice where the author has done his/her best writing. We get so close to our own material, we really don’t know where we’ve succeeded.

* Be specific. Don’t just say, “I didn’t buy the character of Chuck,” but “When Chuck got furious on page 12, I didn’t understand where that came from.”

* A critique is not an argument. You do not have to convince the author or other people in the group that you are RIGHT.

* It’s most valuable to the author to find out if several people had the same response. Let the author know if you strongly agree or disagree with a comment someone else has made.

* Own your biases. You just may not like a particular genre.

* Be judicious about making suggestions. It can be enormously helpful to an author to hear a fresh idea about a character or scene, but, taken too far, it can feel invasive.

Receiving a Critique

* Breathe. Practice non-attachment. You are receiving information, some of which may be enormously useful.

* Listen. Jot notes on what people say, but don’t put a lot of energy at this point into deciding whether you agree. You may want to record feedback.

* It’s fine to ask someone to clarify or expand on a comment. But resist the urge to explain yourself! If readers didn’t get a key idea, the point isn’t to explain yourself during the critique session but to make the idea clearer when you revise.

 

Foolproof Passover Apple Cake

I have a number of things in common with the Greensteins in The Tin Horse. Like Barbara and Elaine, I’m into modern dance. Like Elaine, I’ve always been a reader. One thing I didn’t expect to share, however, was Mama’s special apple cake. I like to cook, but I do not bake. In that, I’m like my mom, who went for months not realizing that her oven didn’t work.

Then, last year, my mom’s 90th birthday fell during Passover. My brothers and I were throwing a party, and I couldn’t find anyone in Milwaukee from whom I could buy a Passover cake (which can’t have regular flour or leavening). I tried a caterer and kosher delis. Cost was irrelevant. But no luck. As someone who does not bake, the last thing I wanted to experiment with was my mother’s cake. I considered offering guests a plate of festive Passover macaroons, the kind you buy in cans. What kind of daughter would do that for her mother’s 90th birthday? Finally, in desperation, I found this recipe by Nigella Lawson. I learned what a springform pan was, bought one from Amazon, then put socks inside it, and packed it in my suitcase. The cake was such a hit at my mom’s party that I made it for my seder Monday.

If I can make this cake, anyone can.

A few notes: Nigella recommends Braeburn apples, but I originally found her recipe someplace else (the NY Times) and it suggested Granny Smiths. I prefer the Granny Smiths. And “superfine sugar” is also called caster sugar or baking sugar.

Damp Apple and Almond Cake

Nigella Lawson

Ingredients

3 apples eating apples, such as Braeburns

1 tablespoon lemon juice

2 teaspoons sugar

8 eggs

1 3/4 quarters cup superfine sugar

3 1/4 cups ground almonds

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1/2 cup flaked almonds

1 teaspoon confectioners’ sugar

Preparation

Peel, core and chop the apples roughly. Put them in a saucepan with one T. lemon juice and sugar, and bring the pan to a boil over a medium heat. You may need a wee bit of water to keep things moist. Cover the pan and cook over low heat for about 10 minutes or until you can mash the apple to a rough puree with a wooden spoon or fork. (You should have about one heaped cup of puree.) Leave to get cool.

Preheat the oven to 350°F; and oil a 10” springform pan with almond oil or a flavourless vegetable oil and line the bottom with parchment paper.

Put the cooled puree in the processor with the eggs, ground almonds, superfine sugar and a tablespoonful — or generous squeeze — of lemon juice and blitz to a puree. Pour and scrape, with a rubber spatula for ease, into the prepared pan, sprinkle the flaked almonds on top and bake for about 45 minutes. It’s worth checking after 35 minutes, as ovens do vary, and you might well find it’s cooked earlier — or indeed you may need to give it a few minutes longer.

Put on a wire rack to cool slightly, then remove the sides of the pan. This cake is best served slightly warm, though still good cold. As you bring it to the table, push a teaspoon of confectioners’ sugar through a fine sieve to give a light dusting.

Serves 12 (or serves about 25, if they have appetites like my mom’s 90-year-old cronies)