Anthea Carson's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"
Editing
I am working on the second book in my trilogy The Dark Lake. I am doing that painstaking, no fun work of editing. I'm trying to ruthlessly cut away everything that is not part of the story. I'm trying to figure out what the story is. I wrote over 600 pages about 5 yrs ago and thought it was brilliant. Time and distance gave me the objectivity I needed to see the problems with the story. I wonder how some writers can produce so quickly. I am personally glad I let this piece of writing sit for 5 yrs. I think it took that long for me to have the objectivity and detachment I needed to see the glaring problems in this piece of writing.
Then there's the other issue. When you see problems it's easy to get into the morbid mentality that the story is garbage and the whole thing should be thrown out, followed by the search for something other than writing to do with your life. But I think I'm past that too. I've heard enough positive feedback to know that's not true.
Then there's the other issue. When you see problems it's easy to get into the morbid mentality that the story is garbage and the whole thing should be thrown out, followed by the search for something other than writing to do with your life. But I think I'm past that too. I've heard enough positive feedback to know that's not true.
Book titles
I read some very good advice on picking out a name recently, and it helped me find the name of my second book in the Oshkosh Trilogy.
The advice said to look for your title within your book. It said somewhere in the book itself is your title, you just have to find it.
The advice said it was very important that your title accurately represent the book.
I thought about one of my favorite titles, "Gone with the Wind."
I remember encountering the phrase 'gone with the wind' while reading the book. One of the strong characters, a mentor to Scarlett, was waxing philosophical about how to survive the changing times. She talked about the difference between a brittle tree and a bendable reed when it came to surviving a strong wind, and how the bendable reed was actually stronger than the brittle tree, even though it didn't look like it.
Margaret Mitchell originally picked the title "Tomorrow is another Day." This is Scarlett's phrase that she says to herself to keep her going, but it doesn't capture the spirit of the book as well as "Gone with the Wind."
I found the title for my sequel to The Dark Lake while discussing some of the themes of the book with my husband. I realized it was a book about the formation of identity during your teenage years.
In the story, Janey Lou begins to ask people to call her Jane instead. She is changing her identity (or trying to) and growing up, (or trying to.)
Then I realized I had my title.
"Call me Jane"
The advice said to look for your title within your book. It said somewhere in the book itself is your title, you just have to find it.
The advice said it was very important that your title accurately represent the book.
I thought about one of my favorite titles, "Gone with the Wind."
I remember encountering the phrase 'gone with the wind' while reading the book. One of the strong characters, a mentor to Scarlett, was waxing philosophical about how to survive the changing times. She talked about the difference between a brittle tree and a bendable reed when it came to surviving a strong wind, and how the bendable reed was actually stronger than the brittle tree, even though it didn't look like it.
Margaret Mitchell originally picked the title "Tomorrow is another Day." This is Scarlett's phrase that she says to herself to keep her going, but it doesn't capture the spirit of the book as well as "Gone with the Wind."
I found the title for my sequel to The Dark Lake while discussing some of the themes of the book with my husband. I realized it was a book about the formation of identity during your teenage years.
In the story, Janey Lou begins to ask people to call her Jane instead. She is changing her identity (or trying to) and growing up, (or trying to.)
Then I realized I had my title.
"Call me Jane"
Becoming teachable: in writing and in chess
Today I realized I know nothing about writing. I remember the time I realized I knew nothing about chess. After that I went up 500 rating points, because I became teachable.
So what changed with chess, for me, that I became teachable?
I remember I used to get offended when people would make fun of my moves at the chess club. When I first went to the club, I was very proud of my chess ability. After all, I could beat most people I knew. But I had never played in a chess club against tournament chess players. They cleaned my clock there at the chess club (no pun intended--wait, only a chess player would get that pun--never mind) and then the men (always only men back then in the 90's--wait--it's still pretty much only men) would stand around laughing at how bad my moves were.
"What did you play Bishop to h7 for?" They would ask, scoffingly.
"Because I felt like it!" I would respond, angrily.
"But that move makes no sense," they would say every week.
"Not all my moves need to make sense," I would respond.
"It doesn't do anything," they would say.
"Not all my moves need to do something."
"Yes they do," nearly the entire club would say in unison, whether they were watching my game or not.
I stubbornly held my views. After all, one of the reasons I loved chess was the feeling of independence I had about what I was doing. Every move was my idea, my thoughts, nobody could tell me what to do. I just lost because I didn't see the knight fork, or the checkmate, or the queen skewer, that's all. It had nothing to do with making nonsense moves and wasting time.
I was also very hurt at all the laughing and jokes about my moves. But I refused to stop going to the chess club because, well, there was nothing I liked as much as chess except maybe possibly writing and I couldn't dance. And the writing groups were boring. You had to listen to other people's writing.
Then one Tuesday night down at the Acacia I played a mysterious man in a black trench coat with a high collar. I shook his hand, and then proceeded to lose a piece nearly every move and get checkmated in a way where I knew fully well that I had no chance at any point during the game. Every one of my moves was forced, after about move 5 or so. I had a sense of awe. I sat there with my mouth open staring at my checkmated king.
The mysterious man leaned over and whispered, "I'm obligated to tell you that I'm a chess expert, and you never stood a chance."
"How did you do that?" I asked.
"Let me just give you some advice. Never leave your pieces unprotected," he said, and then he pulled his collar over his face and headed toward the door.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
"Chris Brunt," he said. "You'll see me again."
And with that he left the club.
At that moment I realized I knew nothing about chess. I started asking for help. I stopped getting offended when people laughed at my moves. I started asking them what I should have done instead. "Why?" became my favorite question. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge. I studied tactics books because someone suggested it. I studied endgame books, opening books, whatever I could get my hands on. After a while I found myself laughing when I would see a player make a move that made no sense and did nothing. That is, unless it was Chris Brunt. Then I knew I just didn't understand the move.
That was the feeling I had last night when learning from a local writer from Pikes Peak Writer's Group named Deb Courtney. She very graciously agreed to take a look at a few pages from my novel Call me Jane
It was clear in listening to her analysis that she knew what she was talking about. She kept her perspective on the reader at all times including the marketability, the purpose of the scene with respect to the story, how to accomplish that purpose, and of course the clarity. I felt I was able to tell her the goal that I had for the passage I wrote, however idiosyncratic that goal might be. Sometimes clarity was not my goal, and I felt that she was able to hear that, and with the reader in mind give me just the right solution that would work for my individual writing personality.
"This passage is confusing. Since people are going here and going there, how about you draw a map. Then you can reference your map while writing, so that you will be able to help the reader know what's going on?" she suggested.
"Great idea," I said. And then I said, "Writing is fun. This editing process isn't fun."
"That's right. Writing is fun. This is editing," she said.
I could tell she'd heard it all before. I knew she truly knew what she was talking about. I could just tell, like with that mysterious stranger in the black trench coat. Now I have that same feeling. I want to soak up all there is to learn about writing like a sponge. I want to hear all the things that are wrong with a piece of writing that I do. I bet I'll go up 500 rating points.
Deb Courtney is the managing partner of Courtney Literary. http://courtneyliterary.com/
So what changed with chess, for me, that I became teachable?
I remember I used to get offended when people would make fun of my moves at the chess club. When I first went to the club, I was very proud of my chess ability. After all, I could beat most people I knew. But I had never played in a chess club against tournament chess players. They cleaned my clock there at the chess club (no pun intended--wait, only a chess player would get that pun--never mind) and then the men (always only men back then in the 90's--wait--it's still pretty much only men) would stand around laughing at how bad my moves were.
"What did you play Bishop to h7 for?" They would ask, scoffingly.
"Because I felt like it!" I would respond, angrily.
"But that move makes no sense," they would say every week.
"Not all my moves need to make sense," I would respond.
"It doesn't do anything," they would say.
"Not all my moves need to do something."
"Yes they do," nearly the entire club would say in unison, whether they were watching my game or not.
I stubbornly held my views. After all, one of the reasons I loved chess was the feeling of independence I had about what I was doing. Every move was my idea, my thoughts, nobody could tell me what to do. I just lost because I didn't see the knight fork, or the checkmate, or the queen skewer, that's all. It had nothing to do with making nonsense moves and wasting time.
I was also very hurt at all the laughing and jokes about my moves. But I refused to stop going to the chess club because, well, there was nothing I liked as much as chess except maybe possibly writing and I couldn't dance. And the writing groups were boring. You had to listen to other people's writing.
Then one Tuesday night down at the Acacia I played a mysterious man in a black trench coat with a high collar. I shook his hand, and then proceeded to lose a piece nearly every move and get checkmated in a way where I knew fully well that I had no chance at any point during the game. Every one of my moves was forced, after about move 5 or so. I had a sense of awe. I sat there with my mouth open staring at my checkmated king.
The mysterious man leaned over and whispered, "I'm obligated to tell you that I'm a chess expert, and you never stood a chance."
"How did you do that?" I asked.
"Let me just give you some advice. Never leave your pieces unprotected," he said, and then he pulled his collar over his face and headed toward the door.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
"Chris Brunt," he said. "You'll see me again."
And with that he left the club.
At that moment I realized I knew nothing about chess. I started asking for help. I stopped getting offended when people laughed at my moves. I started asking them what I should have done instead. "Why?" became my favorite question. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge. I studied tactics books because someone suggested it. I studied endgame books, opening books, whatever I could get my hands on. After a while I found myself laughing when I would see a player make a move that made no sense and did nothing. That is, unless it was Chris Brunt. Then I knew I just didn't understand the move.
That was the feeling I had last night when learning from a local writer from Pikes Peak Writer's Group named Deb Courtney. She very graciously agreed to take a look at a few pages from my novel Call me Jane
It was clear in listening to her analysis that she knew what she was talking about. She kept her perspective on the reader at all times including the marketability, the purpose of the scene with respect to the story, how to accomplish that purpose, and of course the clarity. I felt I was able to tell her the goal that I had for the passage I wrote, however idiosyncratic that goal might be. Sometimes clarity was not my goal, and I felt that she was able to hear that, and with the reader in mind give me just the right solution that would work for my individual writing personality.
"This passage is confusing. Since people are going here and going there, how about you draw a map. Then you can reference your map while writing, so that you will be able to help the reader know what's going on?" she suggested.
"Great idea," I said. And then I said, "Writing is fun. This editing process isn't fun."
"That's right. Writing is fun. This is editing," she said.
I could tell she'd heard it all before. I knew she truly knew what she was talking about. I could just tell, like with that mysterious stranger in the black trench coat. Now I have that same feeling. I want to soak up all there is to learn about writing like a sponge. I want to hear all the things that are wrong with a piece of writing that I do. I bet I'll go up 500 rating points.
Deb Courtney is the managing partner of Courtney Literary. http://courtneyliterary.com/
The Joys of Storyboarding
I have discovered the joys of storyboarding! While attending a workshop of Pikes Peak Writer's group, which I am lucky enough to live near (because I live in Colorado Springs) I learned that there are two kinds of writers; plotters and pantsers. Plotters plot their story out to the last detail. They love outlines, index cards, big white boards and markers, and above all, story boarding. Pantsers go by the seat of their pants, just like the name says. They just start writing and the creativity burns within them as the flow in the moment, pouring their soul onto the page. That used to be me.
I couldn't stand the idea of storyboarding. I thought it would completely destroy this flame within me that burns and burns and makes me want to write. But I took a chance. I decided to go down to my local Walgreens and purchase a box of index cards, some notebooks, colored markers, and whiteboards. I started thinking differently. Instead of letting my story pour forth on the page, I thought about my scenes before I wrote them. I asked myself, "What does this scene need to accomplish in the overall picture of what my story is, and where it is going. Then I started putting down what my husband (also a writer, but a screenwriter--definitely a fan of storyboards) calls beats. A beat is simply something that happens.
One problem I used to have with my writing was the endless describing. I was very good at putting you there, as the reader, wherever 'there' was, be it a farm, an island, a store, or a small party town like Oshkosh, Wisconsin. But once I got you there, I didn't have any real reason for you to be there. You would just sort of stand around going, "Wow, I'm here on the farm in Ainsworth, Nebraska, looking at the horses. I really feel like I'm here. I don't know why I'm here, but I'm here."
This problem was solved instantly once I started story boarding. It is impossible to create endless descriptions with no plot if you are storyboarding. It forces you to think differently. If forces you to create a story.
Look, even a bad story is better than no story, in a book. I didn't used to think so, but now I realize that even the books that seemed so esoteric, that I loved so much, like James Joyce's "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," or William Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury," had a story taking place.
In chess we say even a bad plan is better than no plan at all. Before I got good, I used to just move pieces for no reason, just because I felt like it. After a while, and after being asked by other chess players (always men, only men, endless men--why don't women play, grr) "Why did you move there? What was the reason?" it began to sink in. Every move needs to have a function within a plan. This is also true with scenes.
Unless you are writing stream of consciousness, every scene needs to have a purpose. Storyboarding helps create and clarify that purpose. I highly recommend it as a useful tool for writers. Plus, buying the colored index cards and markers at Walgreens is fun.
I couldn't stand the idea of storyboarding. I thought it would completely destroy this flame within me that burns and burns and makes me want to write. But I took a chance. I decided to go down to my local Walgreens and purchase a box of index cards, some notebooks, colored markers, and whiteboards. I started thinking differently. Instead of letting my story pour forth on the page, I thought about my scenes before I wrote them. I asked myself, "What does this scene need to accomplish in the overall picture of what my story is, and where it is going. Then I started putting down what my husband (also a writer, but a screenwriter--definitely a fan of storyboards) calls beats. A beat is simply something that happens.
One problem I used to have with my writing was the endless describing. I was very good at putting you there, as the reader, wherever 'there' was, be it a farm, an island, a store, or a small party town like Oshkosh, Wisconsin. But once I got you there, I didn't have any real reason for you to be there. You would just sort of stand around going, "Wow, I'm here on the farm in Ainsworth, Nebraska, looking at the horses. I really feel like I'm here. I don't know why I'm here, but I'm here."
This problem was solved instantly once I started story boarding. It is impossible to create endless descriptions with no plot if you are storyboarding. It forces you to think differently. If forces you to create a story.
Look, even a bad story is better than no story, in a book. I didn't used to think so, but now I realize that even the books that seemed so esoteric, that I loved so much, like James Joyce's "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," or William Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury," had a story taking place.
In chess we say even a bad plan is better than no plan at all. Before I got good, I used to just move pieces for no reason, just because I felt like it. After a while, and after being asked by other chess players (always men, only men, endless men--why don't women play, grr) "Why did you move there? What was the reason?" it began to sink in. Every move needs to have a function within a plan. This is also true with scenes.
Unless you are writing stream of consciousness, every scene needs to have a purpose. Storyboarding helps create and clarify that purpose. I highly recommend it as a useful tool for writers. Plus, buying the colored index cards and markers at Walgreens is fun.
