Sandra Gulland's Blog, page 37

On Depth of Character by Donald Maass

I find NY agent Donald Maass often instructive. I needed this observation today:

So how can we ensure that our characters are as passionately engaged on the page as they are in our minds?  The easiest way to excavate their passions is to develop—and put on display—their opinions.

How does your protagonist feel about grunge boots?  Puccini?  Porcini mushrooms?  Hegel's idea of a civil society?  The future of aviation?  Texting while walking?  It's interesting to learn such opinions, isn't it?

That's my point.  Characters who are engaged—who care about things, small and big—in turn engage us.

via Writer Unboxed » Blog Archive » Depth of Character .

I tend to hold back too much in my writing. It's time I let Claude have her say.

On Depth of Character by Donald Maass is a post from: Sandra Gulland's blog.

Newsletter now out

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Whew! I just sent out my latest newsletter. You can see it here.

Note that I've listed some of the titles I'm considering for The Next Novel. Let me know what you think. (I've already taken Once Upon a Time off the list due to immediate feedback: a reader noted that it sounds like an anthology of fairy tales.)

If you want to get on the mailing list for future newsletters, sign up here.

Now: time to get back to The Next Novel.

Looking for enemas? An unusual email from a website visitor…

I'm very pleased with my new website move to WordPress, but had to laugh at this email from a visitor:

Thanks for an interesting half-hour on your site. I arrived here in pursuit of enemas! I noticed that the link to Paris maps is broken – a pity as I have an interest in the lines of the various fortifications.

One of the great things about WordPress, I'm discovering, is that there is a wealth of plug-ins one can use. One I installed last night identified all the broken links on my site: 78!

So my apologies to this visitor: I hope to have the map link fixed soon.

As for the rest, he might find "The Enema" by Abraham Bosse amusing:

How to make postcards (and hopefully raise money)

Last summer, I was invited to be part of an unusual fund-raising campaign for The Writers' Trust, an important organization that encourages writers. Would I write a dozen postcards? Of course! (Easy.)

And then, a few months ago, I saw the list of auspicious contributors and their equally auspicious contributions. It was to be an on-line auction of "literary collectibles" from the likes Margaret Atwood, Douglas Coupland, Alice Munro … and on!

I panicked. Was I collectible? And what could I possibly come up with? Everyone's contributions were so creative. With some pacing, I finally decided I would make my own postcards from images that had been meaningful to me while writing the Trilogy, Mistress of the Sun, as well as the novel I'm writing now.

I Googled "how to make postcards" and sent away for a set of peel-off blanks. Once I began, I got carried away (of course). One image was not enough. I began layering images, one upon another, like this:

On the backs, I wrote what it was about each image that inspired me. But then of course I had to put images there, as well.

It was so much fun I didn't want to stop.

The postcards are being auctioned for one week on eBay: here. It's a worthy fundraiser, and I'm praying someone bids.

On first being published: pimples at 50 and other salient details from my memory files

I continue to dig through the layers on my computer. This is like an archaeological dig.

Here's a snip from a letter to my writer's group, written on Thursday, Dec. 22nd of the year I turned 50, so 1994:

I saw my book mentioned in Quill & Quire (the publishers' and librarians' rag) yesterday: so it's true, it's really going to happen. I'm starting to get little notes from here and there, from friends and acquaintances: congrats. That's nice. God, there might even be reviews, interviews. What then?!! The first step my anxiety has taken is to examine my nails, my teeth and my hair. Can I be seen in public? Why, at age 50, do I have pimples? What justice is there in the world?

TMI! I promise that the next bits I share here will have nothing to do with facial blemishes.

On first being published: pimples at 50 and other salient details from my memory files

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.
I continue to dig through the layers on my computer. This is like an archaeological dig.

Here's a snip from a letter to my writer's group, written on Thursday, Dec. 22nd of the year I turned 50, so 1994:

I saw my book mentioned in Quill & Quire (the publishers' and librarians' rag) yesterday: so it's true, it's really going to happen. I'm starting to get little notes from here and there, from friends and acquaintances: congrats. That's nice. God, there might even be reviews, interviews. What then?!! The first step my anxiety has taken is to examine my nails, my teeth and my hair. Can I be seen in public? Why, at age 50, do I have pimples? What justice is there in the world?

TMI! I promise that the next bits I share here will have nothing to do with facial blemishes. 
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Digging into the compost

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Today I took on updating very old Word files on my computer before they became unrecognizable. In the process, I filed each one away, which meant glancing over it first. Then, of course, I got caught up in the web of my own history, finding short stories I'd written years and years ago, letters and diaries.

I've a few to share, but this one comes up first, a bit from a letter (well actually, a fax) written to my publisher in 1995. I'd been thrilled to get my first book—The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B.—but I was a little disconcerted, to say the least, to discover that the first 25 pages was missing from the first copy I took out of the box.

I called my wonderful editor, Iris Tupholme, who told me, with her usual great good humor:

"It is a universal law of publishing that the one flawed book in the print run is sent directly to the author."

Unfortunately, there were more than a few flawed books in the run that year. My poor publisher! Here's from the fax I wrote on July 10, 1995, listing the problems I'd encountered:

the first signature missing (I've seen this twice, once in a bookstore)

glue spilling out the spine onto the pages

end-papers mucked up at the headband

holes through the inside pages (as if the pages had been closed over a bolt or something)

torn inside lining paper

ink smears inside

title on case upside-down

fabric on case torn

fabric on case wrinkled

first (blank) page glued to the inside cover

multiple covers on book (I don't consider this a problem)

This was, I learned in the years since, highly unusual. No doubt that printer was quickly dropped, but these things can (and do) happen. Publishing is manufacturing, with all the problems that can go with it.

Now, of course, I wish I'd kept that first flawed book. Other, non-flawed copies from this first print run can be found on the Net selling anywhere from $50 to $250, signed.

(The image at left is that of a bookseller offering it for $200 U.S. I can't make out what the writing on the right is about.)

Digging into the compost

Today I took on updating very old Word files on my computer before they became unrecognizable. In the process, I filed each one away, which meant glancing over it first. Then, of course, I got caught up in the web of my own history, finding short stories I'd written years and years ago, letters and diaries.

I've a few to share, but this one comes up first, a bit from a letter (well actually, a fax) written to my publisher in 1995. I'd been thrilled to get my first book—The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B.—but I was a little disconcerted, to say the least, to discover that the first 25 pages was missing from the first copy I took out of the box.

I called my wonderful editor, Iris Tupholme, who told me, with her usual great good humor:

"It is a universal law of publishing that the one flawed book in the print run is sent directly to the author."

Unfortunately, there were more than a few flawed books in the run that year. My poor publisher! Here's from the fax I wrote on July 10, 1995, listing the problems I'd encountered:

the first signature missing (I've seen this twice, once in a bookstore)

glue spilling out the spine onto the pages

end-papers mucked up at the headband

holes through the inside pages (as if the pages had been closed over a bolt or something)

torn inside lining paper

ink smears inside

title on case upside-down

fabric on case torn

fabric on case wrinkled

first (blank) page glued to the inside cover

multiple covers on book (I don't consider this a problem)

This was, I learned in the years since, highly unusual. No doubt that printer was quickly dropped, but these things can (and do) happen. Publishing is manufacturing, with all the problems that can go with it.

Now, of course, I wish I'd kept that first flawed book. Other, non-flawed copies from this first print run can be found on the Net selling anywhere from $50 to $250, signed. (The image at left is that of a bookseller offering it for $200 U.S. I can't make out what the writing on the right is about.)

Jane Austen comic: LEAVE ME ALONE!

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I love this. The amazing thing is that Jane Austen was rarely if ever alone. How did she do it?!

Jane Austen comic: LEAVE ME ALONE!

I love this. The amazing thing is that Jane Austen was rarely if ever alone. How did she do it?!