Brian Yansky's Blog, page 25
June 10, 2011
first drafts
Everyone works differently. I've said before I can't outline and I can't. But I think my first drafts are becoming more and more discovery drafts. I don't even pretend anymore that I'm writing something close to finished.
I think part of this is because I realize that for me, in terms of structure, something I find out about a character on page 57 is going to change that character and maybe the story on page 3. Because a first draft is so much about discovering character and story and trying to integrate all the elements of fiction, I think it needs to be fluid.
You've got to be open to changes, big changes, at a structural level, not just changing words in sentences or moving sentences around in a paragraph.
So these days my first drafts are filled with places where I just mark what is going to happen.
My first draft is also filled with notes to myself. But it is a draft—not an outline. I have to try to muddle my way through the world I'm creating to feel like that world, however sketchy, exists.
But I know that my first draft is like an out- of- focus photograph. It's impossible to see how it will be when it sharpens. There will be many choices ahead and there will be many chances to make connections. It's kind of exciting and frightening. Finishing a first draft means both less and more than it once did when I believed my first drafts closer to a final version. One great thing about knowing my first draft is kind of a discovery draft is I don't have high expectations, and I think that makes it easier for me to keep working when I face difficult moments in that draft.
OR SO I THINK TODAY.
I think part of this is because I realize that for me, in terms of structure, something I find out about a character on page 57 is going to change that character and maybe the story on page 3. Because a first draft is so much about discovering character and story and trying to integrate all the elements of fiction, I think it needs to be fluid.
You've got to be open to changes, big changes, at a structural level, not just changing words in sentences or moving sentences around in a paragraph.
So these days my first drafts are filled with places where I just mark what is going to happen.
My first draft is also filled with notes to myself. But it is a draft—not an outline. I have to try to muddle my way through the world I'm creating to feel like that world, however sketchy, exists.
But I know that my first draft is like an out- of- focus photograph. It's impossible to see how it will be when it sharpens. There will be many choices ahead and there will be many chances to make connections. It's kind of exciting and frightening. Finishing a first draft means both less and more than it once did when I believed my first drafts closer to a final version. One great thing about knowing my first draft is kind of a discovery draft is I don't have high expectations, and I think that makes it easier for me to keep working when I face difficult moments in that draft.
OR SO I THINK TODAY.
June 1, 2011
voice
I can't get very far in a manuscript until I have a voice. I struggle with getting that voice sometimes, as in I rewrite and rewrite the first paragraph and page, but I need that voice, whether it comes in a flash or has to be worked for, before I can go very far in a manuscript.
Generally, I believe you should push forward in a first draft, letting your subconscious mind do most of the work. Of course you're going to mull things over while you're in the shower or driving to work (pedestrians and other drivers beware), but when you're writing you're mostly trying to get to that quiet place where you can create and experience it all at once--that, as Robert Olen Butler calls it, moment-to-moment experience of your story. However, I can't do this without a true voice for my narrator. I can't get there.
I'll write ten or twenty pages sometimes just to see what happens but I'll keep going back to that first page and toying with where the story starts and what the narrator's voice is. For me voice is extremely important. That tone of the story helps me feel truly at home in my world. It's essential for me that I get that early in the process, however imperfectly, to open up my story.
Generally, I believe you should push forward in a first draft, letting your subconscious mind do most of the work. Of course you're going to mull things over while you're in the shower or driving to work (pedestrians and other drivers beware), but when you're writing you're mostly trying to get to that quiet place where you can create and experience it all at once--that, as Robert Olen Butler calls it, moment-to-moment experience of your story. However, I can't do this without a true voice for my narrator. I can't get there.
I'll write ten or twenty pages sometimes just to see what happens but I'll keep going back to that first page and toying with where the story starts and what the narrator's voice is. For me voice is extremely important. That tone of the story helps me feel truly at home in my world. It's essential for me that I get that early in the process, however imperfectly, to open up my story.
May 24, 2011
after the acceptance
What happens after a writer gets an acceptance from the publisher? A whole lot of things. There's the contract to sign, which is fun. The publisher promises to publish your book and even pay you a little money in advance for the right to do so. Yahoo to that. Then comes the editorial letter. Not as much fun as the contract I must admit.
Editorial letter?
It comes as a surprise to some new writers that their book will require further rewriting beyond all the rewriting they've already done. It will-- in most cases. I haven't heard of many authors not doing at least one revision. Several revisions are more common.
What begins this process is a letter from the editor making suggestions. I've received a few of these now from several editors. They're all different, but they all have some similar qualities. They begin with praise (anyone who is in a critique group knows the importance of this—the fragile writer ego needs a little love). Then the editor mentions some problems he or she thinks the manuscript has. Then he/she says that, of course, the writer should decide which suggestions are helpful to the writer's vision of the book and which are not. After this though, the approach of the editors I've had varies. Some like to mention a problem and then spend some space explaining why they think it's a problem and then move on. Some like to spin out possible ways to fix a problem. Usually, the first revision letter focuses on big issues of narrative or character. I say first because, again, you will most likely go through several revisions after the acceptance.
This sounds like it might be hard and I know some writers struggle with these revision letters, but provided you have a good editor (most are, I think, and all of mine have been) these letters are another chance at the manuscript. And who doesn't want another chance to make the manuscript better? Really. Later, when the book goes out into the world and is reviewed and read by readers, you'll be grateful for every single improvement made by every single revision. It's hard to write a book. A good editor can really improve a novel and a writer should be grateful for all the help he or she can get.
So, after the thrill of acceptance, the first big step is going back to the manuscript and trying to make it better by going through the revision letter carefully. I try to be open to every possible change, but I know pretty quickly that some suggestions don't work with my vision of the book. Others I think are definitely good points I need to work on. A lot I have to think over and work through because I'm just not sure about. So, my advice is not to blindly accept or reject any advice in an editorial letter but to read it through several times, make some notes, then get rewriting. Some suggestions I can't decide about until I'm in the process of revision and see how certain changes affect the rest of the novel. It's all part of the process.
Editorial letter?
It comes as a surprise to some new writers that their book will require further rewriting beyond all the rewriting they've already done. It will-- in most cases. I haven't heard of many authors not doing at least one revision. Several revisions are more common.
What begins this process is a letter from the editor making suggestions. I've received a few of these now from several editors. They're all different, but they all have some similar qualities. They begin with praise (anyone who is in a critique group knows the importance of this—the fragile writer ego needs a little love). Then the editor mentions some problems he or she thinks the manuscript has. Then he/she says that, of course, the writer should decide which suggestions are helpful to the writer's vision of the book and which are not. After this though, the approach of the editors I've had varies. Some like to mention a problem and then spend some space explaining why they think it's a problem and then move on. Some like to spin out possible ways to fix a problem. Usually, the first revision letter focuses on big issues of narrative or character. I say first because, again, you will most likely go through several revisions after the acceptance.
This sounds like it might be hard and I know some writers struggle with these revision letters, but provided you have a good editor (most are, I think, and all of mine have been) these letters are another chance at the manuscript. And who doesn't want another chance to make the manuscript better? Really. Later, when the book goes out into the world and is reviewed and read by readers, you'll be grateful for every single improvement made by every single revision. It's hard to write a book. A good editor can really improve a novel and a writer should be grateful for all the help he or she can get.
So, after the thrill of acceptance, the first big step is going back to the manuscript and trying to make it better by going through the revision letter carefully. I try to be open to every possible change, but I know pretty quickly that some suggestions don't work with my vision of the book. Others I think are definitely good points I need to work on. A lot I have to think over and work through because I'm just not sure about. So, my advice is not to blindly accept or reject any advice in an editorial letter but to read it through several times, make some notes, then get rewriting. Some suggestions I can't decide about until I'm in the process of revision and see how certain changes affect the rest of the novel. It's all part of the process.
May 17, 2011
sheepdog writing advice
My sheepdog gave me some advice the other day, "Never take a bath. How will others know who you are if you don't smell like you?"
Opps. Wrong advice. I meant some writing advice. He said, "Sheep like to wander. Sheep will wander at the first opportunity. You must be vigilant when you are herding sheep."
That got me thinking about story and the way I struggle to figure out what really belongs. I think that it is easy, easy, easy to be distracted by all kinds of interests: language, interesting thoughts, diversions of all kinds. They make us take our eyes off our sheep and some of them wander off. The novel looses narrative momentum. A novel needs narrative momentum. It has to have it. You have to get all of your sheep from point A to point B. Don't let your sheep wander.
May 10, 2011
Kurt Vonnegut on the Shapes of Stories
I don't know if any part of writing confuses me more than structure. I struggle with it all the time. What's the shape of my story? How do I get all that STUFF to fit together? There are so many freaking concerns in writing even a simple story. We writers are juggling character, plot, theme, language and a dozen other things with two inadequate hands and a bit of delusional grandeur. And then, on top of this, we have to somehow create a structure that houses all of our intentions and connivances and deviations, that provides just the right architecture for all that we want to put into our story. It's hard. Really hard. Or so I thought until I saw this explanation sent to me by my good friend Varian who knows that Kurt Vonnegut is one of my favorite writer people. Thanks, Kurt, for putting it all in perspective.
May 4, 2011
writing news
Sold a novel, which is a big thrill. It's the second one I've sold to Candlewick. I'm honored to be published by such a great publisher. Here's the Publisher's Lunch notice.
Brian Yansky's FIGHTING ALIEN NATION, the sequel to ALIEN INVASION AND OTHER INCONVENIENCES, which continues the story of the survivors of an alien invasion, again to Candlewick, with Kaylan Adair to edit, by Sara Crowe at Harvey Klinger (world English).
sara@harveyklinger.com
So it's another alien book for me. I guess I'm going through my alien period. Thank you little green men.
Brian
Brian Yansky's FIGHTING ALIEN NATION, the sequel to ALIEN INVASION AND OTHER INCONVENIENCES, which continues the story of the survivors of an alien invasion, again to Candlewick, with Kaylan Adair to edit, by Sara Crowe at Harvey Klinger (world English).
sara@harveyklinger.com
So it's another alien book for me. I guess I'm going through my alien period. Thank you little green men.
Brian
May 1, 2011
the right word
Okay, so I've used this quote before but I've never really tried to explain it on the sentence level, so I thought I'd give it a shot.VIA Mr. Mark Twain, "The difference between the almost right word and the right word is the difference between the lightening bug and the lightening."
So let's say you have a story and your character, late at night, hears the sound of a baby crying outside his house. He's falling asleep but it startles him awake. The crying continues and he jumps up and swings open the door and steps out into amoonless night.He finds a cat sitting on his front walk.
So we want a sentence about this.
The sound of a baby crying and a cat screeching were similar.
SIMILAR as used here is definitely lightening bug for me. Oh, it does the job, sure. But it drags the whole comparison down. Maybe, too, the writer is making some deeper observation about how easy it is to think one thing is another, so the weakness of the word "similar" weakens the whole comparison. So much on just one word? Well, yeah. Let me try again.
A baby crying and a cat screeching are strikingly alike.
STRIKINGLY as used here is still lightening bug to me. Again, does the job. Not bad. Better than the first. Almost?
A baby crying and a cat screeching are erily alike? ERILY? Lightening bug. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe too predictable?
A baby crying and a cat screeching are unforgivably alike. UNFORGIVABLY? For me that's lightening. Of course that kind of sentence makes a point and so the scene should be following this sense of two things that shouldn't be alike being alike and this situation should somehow be an echo of what's happening in the story. But, for me anyway, this is the right word for this sentence.
So much on the right word? I think so. Certain words in certain sentences need to be right and not almost right.
So let's say you have a story and your character, late at night, hears the sound of a baby crying outside his house. He's falling asleep but it startles him awake. The crying continues and he jumps up and swings open the door and steps out into amoonless night.He finds a cat sitting on his front walk.
So we want a sentence about this.
The sound of a baby crying and a cat screeching were similar.
SIMILAR as used here is definitely lightening bug for me. Oh, it does the job, sure. But it drags the whole comparison down. Maybe, too, the writer is making some deeper observation about how easy it is to think one thing is another, so the weakness of the word "similar" weakens the whole comparison. So much on just one word? Well, yeah. Let me try again.
A baby crying and a cat screeching are strikingly alike.
STRIKINGLY as used here is still lightening bug to me. Again, does the job. Not bad. Better than the first. Almost?
A baby crying and a cat screeching are erily alike? ERILY? Lightening bug. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe too predictable?
A baby crying and a cat screeching are unforgivably alike. UNFORGIVABLY? For me that's lightening. Of course that kind of sentence makes a point and so the scene should be following this sense of two things that shouldn't be alike being alike and this situation should somehow be an echo of what's happening in the story. But, for me anyway, this is the right word for this sentence.
So much on the right word? I think so. Certain words in certain sentences need to be right and not almost right.
April 24, 2011
Decisions
Decisions, decisions, decisions. That's what writing is all about. Many of those decisions should be intuitive in the first draft or drafts. How do you make decisions intuitively? You put yourself in the right place.
Easy to say. Hard to do.
I put myself in the wrong place a whole lot I often realize as I revise my manuscript. What was I thinking? How did I go right when I should have turned left? Why couldn't I see the opportunity for the relationship between my three main characters and the central conflict in that relationship? I didn't exploit that. Missed opportunity. Missed. Missed. Missed.
But—doesn't matter. To get a first draft on paper I just have to feel like I'm going in the right direction, making the right decisions, and make them well enough that I don't end up in Anchorage when I'm trying to get to San Diego. So, I won't get to San Diego in my first draft, but I will go in the general direction of San Diego. I will get close enough that maybe with work in revision I'll know how to get there.
The intuitive decisions of a first draft, along with the conscious ones, only need to be roughly successful. That's all. Most of the real work, in the heavy lifting sense, happens in revision.
Or so I think today.
Easy to say. Hard to do.
I put myself in the wrong place a whole lot I often realize as I revise my manuscript. What was I thinking? How did I go right when I should have turned left? Why couldn't I see the opportunity for the relationship between my three main characters and the central conflict in that relationship? I didn't exploit that. Missed opportunity. Missed. Missed. Missed.
But—doesn't matter. To get a first draft on paper I just have to feel like I'm going in the right direction, making the right decisions, and make them well enough that I don't end up in Anchorage when I'm trying to get to San Diego. So, I won't get to San Diego in my first draft, but I will go in the general direction of San Diego. I will get close enough that maybe with work in revision I'll know how to get there.
The intuitive decisions of a first draft, along with the conscious ones, only need to be roughly successful. That's all. Most of the real work, in the heavy lifting sense, happens in revision.
Or so I think today.
April 17, 2011
voice
The way your character tells his story, the kind of language he uses and how he uses it to tell his particular story is one way to think of voice. A lot of editors and agents say that what the very first thing they look for in a manuscript is a strong voice.
I can see that. I love a strong voice as a reader. I start to believe in the story right away if I'm pulled in by the voice. Voice has to do with diction, of course; it has to do with our choice of words. But the way those words are arranged, the tone that emerges from those constructions, reveals character. I think that's one of the reasons people react to novels with strong narrative voices. They feel an immediate connection to the character telling the story. They want to hear him say more, tell them more.
I can see that. I love a strong voice as a reader. I start to believe in the story right away if I'm pulled in by the voice. Voice has to do with diction, of course; it has to do with our choice of words. But the way those words are arranged, the tone that emerges from those constructions, reveals character. I think that's one of the reasons people react to novels with strong narrative voices. They feel an immediate connection to the character telling the story. They want to hear him say more, tell them more.
April 8, 2011
Reading
Published on IndieReader Houston's blog, too.
I will be at the TeenBookCon in Houston on Saturday, April 9. I'm on a panel called Guys Write Great Stuff. Well, they do. So do gals. Right now, in YA, there is so much great stuff being written it's impossible to read it all.
So guys and gals write great stuff but do guys read it? That's a question a lot of people have been asking in publishing and beyond lately because they're worried they don't. They're worried that guys not reading will cause them to be poor readers later in life. Also, they're worried they may not read for pleasure at all.
I worry about this, too, because I was one of those guys who did almost miss out on reading. I didn't read much when I was a kid. I was well into my sixteenth year before I started opening books without being forced to by teachers.
What changed? I read a novel that did things that I never thought a novel could do. It was strange and funny and frightening and smart and wise and it spoke to me. It did. It was a novel called SLAGHTERHOUSE FIVE. But for every boy, and for that matter girl, it will be a different book. The important thing, particularly for boys, since girls seem to find their way to books and reading easier, is that they find THE BOOK. By this, I mean they find a book that they can't put down, one that overcomes the resistance to books that comes from not reading them. They have to fall in love. One book is all it takes, in most cases, to decide to open another and another.
For me, reading Slaughterhouse Five made me realize I'd been missing out on things. I'd thought until then that reading novels was another task that had to be done for school. At best I thought of it as a distant and formal entertainment, not accessible like TV or movies. When I found out how wrong this was, how novels could speak more intimately and more directly and how I could participate more fully in the story, something changed for me. I saw the world differently. Great books will do that. They will change the way you see the world (maybe a little, maybe a lot) every time you read one.
So books became my entry into new worlds. They became my friends, too, and over the years I still return to many of those friends. Every book that moves you in some way will be a little different, but all will transport you to another world within this one we live in each day. That's pretty amazing. That's a little bit of magic in and of itself. You don't have to become a writer to get great things from books. You just have to become a reader.
I will be at the TeenBookCon in Houston on Saturday, April 9. I'm on a panel called Guys Write Great Stuff. Well, they do. So do gals. Right now, in YA, there is so much great stuff being written it's impossible to read it all.
So guys and gals write great stuff but do guys read it? That's a question a lot of people have been asking in publishing and beyond lately because they're worried they don't. They're worried that guys not reading will cause them to be poor readers later in life. Also, they're worried they may not read for pleasure at all.
I worry about this, too, because I was one of those guys who did almost miss out on reading. I didn't read much when I was a kid. I was well into my sixteenth year before I started opening books without being forced to by teachers.
What changed? I read a novel that did things that I never thought a novel could do. It was strange and funny and frightening and smart and wise and it spoke to me. It did. It was a novel called SLAGHTERHOUSE FIVE. But for every boy, and for that matter girl, it will be a different book. The important thing, particularly for boys, since girls seem to find their way to books and reading easier, is that they find THE BOOK. By this, I mean they find a book that they can't put down, one that overcomes the resistance to books that comes from not reading them. They have to fall in love. One book is all it takes, in most cases, to decide to open another and another.
For me, reading Slaughterhouse Five made me realize I'd been missing out on things. I'd thought until then that reading novels was another task that had to be done for school. At best I thought of it as a distant and formal entertainment, not accessible like TV or movies. When I found out how wrong this was, how novels could speak more intimately and more directly and how I could participate more fully in the story, something changed for me. I saw the world differently. Great books will do that. They will change the way you see the world (maybe a little, maybe a lot) every time you read one.
So books became my entry into new worlds. They became my friends, too, and over the years I still return to many of those friends. Every book that moves you in some way will be a little different, but all will transport you to another world within this one we live in each day. That's pretty amazing. That's a little bit of magic in and of itself. You don't have to become a writer to get great things from books. You just have to become a reader.
