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How to Create Character Mannerisms from Backstory Wounds

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Today’s post is by author and book coach Janet S Fox.

The best way to deepen and enrich our characters is to develop them from long before they enter the story we’re writing. Every character (really, every human being) struggles with one or more wounding experiences that create life-long emotional responses. These backstory wounds result in the lies our characters tell themselves, or what Lisa Cron in Story Genius refers to as “misbeliefs.”

By borrowing from acting techniques, especially those developed by Konstantin Stanislavski, writers can follow a logical sequence of development to create a character that feels real and alive while their wound and misbelief may remain buried and invisible—even to the character.

Backstory wounds in action

Backstory wounds come in all shapes and sizes, but they share one thing in common: Whether seemingly trivial or clearly debilitating, the wounding experience is unforgettable and causes lasting pain. The wounding can be singular or repeated, and because we each experience pain in our own way, even small wounds can be damaging. Examples include bullying, abuse, poverty, loss of a loved one, physical disability, fear during a natural event, failure.

Because we process pain by trying to make sense of it, we turn to self-reflection, and that can quickly turn into self-blame. Self-blame forms the lie or misbelief that dominates all future behaviors.

Here’s an example of the wound and the misbelief in action in a character:

A child witnesses her father leave when her parents divorce. She reflects that the divorce must be her fault—she was naughty, or cranky—and the lie that forms is “My dad left me and Mom because he doesn’t like my behavior, so I must be defective.”

The lie begins to emerge as a statement of fact: “Defective people (like me) can’t form relationships.” This fact perpetuates fear: “I’ll be abandoned again, because I’m defective.” And fear of further wounding holds this character in thrall: “To keep myself from being abandoned again, I won’t form relationships at all.”

This character will grow up with an emotional shield that could result in all sorts of possible character arcs: a cold woman who callously murders her partners; a broken woman who hops from one affair to the next; a timid woman who walks away from any possible partner; and so on.

Character behaviors and traits emerge from the wound

Character behaviors are patterned by the character’s emotions that result from the misbelief. Actors study human behavior to develop mannerisms or tics that are outward physical manifestations of those misbelief-generated emotions.

We can use the same sequence of developing our characters to create mannerisms, traits, and tics that reflect their deep-seated emotions in a way that shows the wound and misbelief emerging through those gestures.

Here’s the step-by-step exercise to help you uncover your character’s wound, its lasting impact, and how it reveals itself through your character’s actions on the page.

Choose your character, and brainstorm 5 possible wounding backstory events for that character. Try to make them each a little different, with different impact. Remember that these events happened long before the start of your story.Choose what feels like it could be a powerful event for your character and write a full scene around it. You may or may not use this scene in your story; if you do I suggest burying it deep in the narrative.Identify the lie or misbelief that results from the wound that emerges from this scene. For example, bullying might result in the lie that your character must protect himself.Identify the lasting emotions in your character that are produced by the lie. The bullied kid feels that to protect himself, he must act tough; or, he might fear that trying to protect himself will lead to abuse.Identify the behaviors that result from those emotions. The tough kid might bully other kids, or take up boxing, or wear clothing that feels/looks like armor; or the fearful kid might run and hide from any conflict.Identify the mannerisms, traits, or tics that result from those behaviors. The tough kid might affect a swagger, or a sneer. He might wear all black. He might push others out of his way in his rise to the top. He might abuse substances, or conversely refrain from them in order to be fully in control. The fearful kid might have a speech impediment, or an odd way of not looking directly at others, or he might have OCD.

To take this back to our woman who was wounded by divorce, she may have traits like standing rigidly and speaking forcefully, or tugging on her sleeves as if to hide her skin, or insisting on perfection in everything and everyone around her because being less than perfect results in abandonment.

The traits that define your character will rise directly from their wound.

The causal chain of backstory

As you can see, the wounding experience results in multiple possible misbeliefs, which results in multiple possible emotional responses, and so on. Think of this as a branching tree or hierarchy diagram in which each step allows you to pursue the best possible path for your character in terms of your intention. The choice is yours as to how your character responds to the wounding experience and will be based in how you see the emotional, internal arc and its impact on the external conflict arc of your story.

The growth in your character over the course of her journey may be reflected in changes in her emotions, behaviors, and mannerisms, which will subtly convey (by showing, not telling) her emotional arc to your readers.

You’re creating a cause-and-effect chain by starting with something that happened to your character long before page one. Each link you add to the chain will add depth to your character and her emotional journey, and depth to your story as well.

The Flashback: A Greatly Misunderstood Storytelling Device

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Today’s post is by editor Tiffany Yates Martin (@FoxPrintEd). Join her on Wednesday, Oct. 18 for the online class Master the Flashback.

They’re the bogeymen of publishing. Along with prologues, adverbs, and semicolons, flashbacks may be the most vilified—and most misunderstood—of storytelling devices, ones that work only if they don’t seem like devices.

Yet flashbacks are inherently artificial. Even when we are revisiting memories in life, we rarely replay an entire scene from start to finish, chronologically and in full detail. Memory doesn’t work that way; it’s slideshows and not a movie.

But one prime reason that flashbacks are a common literary convention is that, used well, they can be an effective way to present essential information and backstory. Readers have become trained, as with so many fictional devices, to accept the artificiality of flashback provided it doesn’t interrupt their experience of the story.

And there is where the trap lies that so often derails an author’s attempt to use flashback: If not woven seamlessly into the flow of the story, a flashback can draw attention to itself, reveal the author’s hand, and pull the reader out of the fictive dream.

But you don’t have to avoid this potentially potent device as long as you follow a few key guidelines in weaving flashbacks seamlessly into your story.

1. Determine whether a flashback is in fact necessary.

Before you start wielding this potent and potentially disruptive weapon, let’s examine why you want to brandish it at all. Flashback is like cayenne pepper—a little bit can add spice and depth to the stew; too much can overwhelm it.

The main misstep I see in flashbacks is using them as backstory dumps of information authors think readers need to know to understand the story or characters. That may in fact be the case, but paving in background via flashback can be like wielding a machete where you needed a scalpel.

There are three main forms of introducing backstory:

Context: This is information woven into the main story throughout, often so seamlessly you don’t even realize how much information you’re getting amid the forward movement of the story.Memory: When characters call to mind details from their past—still within the action of the “real-time” main story.Flashback: A scene from the past presented as if it’s happening “live” before readers’ eyes, which fully interrupts the main story.

It’s this last form that makes flashbacks so dangerous. Used unskillfully or too often, they lend an erratic feel and potentially compromise readers’ engagement.

A good, healthy chunk of the time (let’s say 80–85 percent, because you can’t really quantify story with math, but it sounds right), context is going to be the most fluid, seamless, and organic way to incorporate backstory. The rest of the time memory is the most effective device.

That remaining little sliver is where flashbacks come in.

So when you use them, use them judiciously—like that cayenne pepper. Ask yourself what makes flashback the strongest way to incorporate the backstory, worth its many risks. That will often be one of several reasons:

It’s an essential, defining element of the character’s past relevant to the current story and their arc—like their main “wound” or a formative event that dictates or materially affects the character’s journey in this story.It’s a “secret” or reveal that’s finally being fully shared—one central enough to the main story to warrant a full dramatization.It’s brief, woven into a “real-time” scene, and serves to heighten impact, stakes, or meaning in the main story. Often this type of flashback will be just a few paragraphs.2. Determine the most effective placement for a flashback.

The most challenging place for a flashback is opening your story. It can disorient or confuse readers—like walking into a room looking backward—and risks feeling like a false promise of what the story is actually about. That said, an opening flashback can work if used deliberately and well, and usually kept ruthlessly short.

There are no real “rules” or systems for where to place a flashback, but a good guideline with all backstory is to ask yourself my version of the “Watergate question”: What does the reader need to know and when do they need to know it?

Overloading readers with backstory before we’re fully invested in the main story hamstrings its effectiveness. The author’s job is to find where a flashback most effectively serves and furthers the main story by offering essential backstory at the most impactful, germane time—which ties into the next guideline.

3. Move the story forward, both within the flashback and in the main story.

Imagine a friend is telling you the harrowing tale of her recent car accident when she stops suddenly to relive shopping for that car just days earlier.

That fact may be relevant to heightening stakes and impact for the wreck—dammit, it was her brand-new dream car!—but in the middle of the much more relevant action of the story it stops momentum cold.

This is when flashbacks fail, as if the author is putting the main story on ice while she takes the reader on a journey down Memory Lane.

It’s the trickiest balancing act. Authors should use flashbacks in a way that still move the main story forward, even as we are briefly glancing backward.

That means the flashback should not only encompass its own strong forward momentum within the scene it presents, but its use at its particular point in the story should also serve to move the main story forward—usually in one of the ways described above.

4. Transition smoothly into and out of the flashback.

Here’s the make-or-break logistical challenge in flashback deployment: You must fluidly guide readers both into and out of it. That means avoiding a clumsy introductory device like “She remembered it as if it were yesterday” or “The scene unfolded in her mind like a movie…”, or plopping us back into the story afterward with an awkward, “Back in the present…” or “She shook her head to clear the memory.”

There are two common ways to incorporate flashback fluidly: Anchor some key aspect of the flashback in something that’s happening in the current moment. Or, with standalone flashback scenes, a space break is sufficient to set it off as a separate scene from the past. But it’s still useful to segue in and out in a way that ties it to the main story without hanging a lantern on the transition. Learn more here about weaving flashbacks seamlessly into your story.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on Wednesday, Oct. 18 for the online class Master the Flashback.

Get Started With Dictation: Choosing the Best Techniques and Tools for You

Today’s post is by Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer. She teaches a Dictation Bootcamp for Authors beginning October 17, 2023.

If you’ve heard of authors experiencing tremendous success with dictation but you don’t have a clue where to start, you’re in the right place, my friend.

Yes, there is a plethora of ways to approach dictating your next book, and all of those ways can feel intimidating if you haven’t successfully dictated yet.

Here we will cover:

Picking the best dictation techniquePicking the best dictation toolPicking the best dictation setting

I had tried and failed to master dictation multiple times before finally discovering what worked for me. I’ll share some of what I’ve learned to dictate ten books—and counting.

Dictation techniques

Throughout the years of my writing journey, I identified three methods you can employ when dictating:

Watching the screen as you speak your wordsNot watching the screen as you speak your wordsRecording your words and transcribing later

The first one many people are familiar with. If you’re on your computer using the built-in speech-to-text option (like I’m doing for this post), your words will appear on the screen as you speak them.

The pro to this method is the same as typing your words on the screen. You get to see what you’ve written as soon as you’ve written it.

The con: your inner editor distracts you from drafting your piece.

It’s doubly hard with dictation as you watch errors appear. Homonyms, misspelled character names, incorrect punctuation. These not only drive your inner editor mad, but it can be plain distracting as you try to form the next sentence in your brain.

This doesn’t mean you can’t use the built-in speech-to-text option on your computer or phone to dictate a story. Simply don’t look at the screen.

Which brings us to the second method: Not watching the screen as you speak will keep you in the creative flow as you get down your first draft.

I’ve done dictation long enough for fiction and nonfiction that both methods work for me. However, I prefer to not watch the screen as I speak my words. It’s just too distracting. The danger, however—as I’ve discovered more than once—is if my dictation software halts. Generally, it will make a little ding noise when that happens, but not always. So I could be dictating away only to discover nothing has been captured for several minutes.

To remedy this, I’ve trained myself to check the screen subconsciously to make sure the dictation function is operating correctly.

One final method eliminates that issue: You can dictate your words into a recording device and have it transcribed later. It’s an old-school method (as in dictaphones before smartphones) that works extremely well today.

I know of authors who still use dictaphones to record their words while on a walk or loading groceries in the car. Afterward, some employ a human transcriber and some use software for the transcription.

That brings us to the tools of dictation.

Dictation tools

Don’t worry, we are not about to break your author bank in this section!

For years, I allowed the idea of expensive dictation software to hold me back from speaking my stories. I couldn’t justify spending hundreds of dollars on software when I didn’t know if I could master dictation mentally.

What I discovered after many failed attempts was that the smartphone in my pocket was a much better asset than I gave it credit for. I stumbled onto what worked for me by accident.

In my freelance work, I record interviews for later reference when writing a story. I found a neat little app for my iPad called Voice Recorder and used that for years.

The app eventually offered an upgrade to transcribe the recordings.

Ding!

Given my struggles with dictation, I decided to give it a try and found that the transcription option was remarkably accurate. It was far from perfect, but enough to get me on the road to mastering dictation.

The app today requires a monthly subscription fee of $3. To me, it’s a tiny investment for a tool that can revolutionize your writing life.

The app is far from the only one to offer this kind of power. For my most recent manuscript, I simply dictated with the built-in function on my new iPhone 13. This worked remarkably well, too.

The point is, you do not need to let expensive tools or complicated technology hold you back from incorporating dictation into your writing life.

Dictation setting

The right setting can be critical to our creative flow. Experienced or prolific writers generally can write anywhere, anytime. But not all.

Some swear by routines and the appropriate setting and time to get their stories in. For the most part, you can write in any setting with dictation. Yes, the noise of a coffee shop or a park may make it more challenging, but again, the technology is getting better and better. My iPhone “zooms” in on my voice when I hold it close to my mouth. You can also invest in a headset that gets you a microphone very close to your mouth to overcome external noises.

The benefit of dictation over typing is you can write in even more settings.

Write while walking a nature trail. Write while washing the dishes. Write while laying on your side in bed, eyes closed and fully envisioning the story (my favorite method when writing fiction).

While a quiet place is ideal, just like with any method of writing (by hand, typing, or dictating), you can learn to write in almost any setting.

I prefer privacy when writing, but I’ve done all three in public—typing and dictating and writing by hand.

Dictation can free you

Like me, you may have tried to master dictation multiple times. We face huge mental blocks, especially when it comes to dictating fiction. But I want to encourage you to give it another try!

Just start here:

Take out your smartphone right now.Open your messages app and tap your speech-to-text or dictation function.Speak one sentence to a loved one or a writing buddy. Just a “Hi, how’s your day?” will work.Edit if needed and send it.

Congratulations! If you did the above, you have begun your journey to mastering dictation.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, consider joining Sarah’s Dictation Bootcamp for Authors beginning October 17, 2023.

The Other Pitch Packages Authors Should Prepare

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Today’s post is by author Amy L. Bernstein.

When we talk about “pitch packages” in publishing, we’re usually talking about an author’s query letter and synopsis (for fiction), or a book proposal (for nonfiction).

These are standard elements that every author, with a bit of research and consultation, can learn about and craft for themselves or, better still, with assistance from an editor or book coach.

Then there are the other pitch packages that many authors don’t think about, but come in mighty handy as you begin laying the groundwork months before your book is published and even after it’s out.

To some extent, these other pitch materials are a mix-and-match affair. Borrow one phrase from column A, one from column B, and make something new. But pay attention to the nuanced distinctions among them as you write—for as the audience, placement, and formatting varies, so too must the sequence, tone, and scope of your language.

Here’s a rundown of four other pitch packages you will need before, during, and after your book comes out, roughly in order of importance and utility.

1. Podcast pitch

Whether or not you are an avid consumer of podcasts, being a guest on a podcast is one of the most effective ways for an author to make an impression on potential readers—and to do so on a reasonably large scale. There are 464.7 million podcast listeners globally as of 2023. This number is predicted to reach 504.9 million by 2024. The share of the U.S. population that listened to a podcast within the last week has skyrocketed from about 7 percent in 2013 to 26 percent in 2022. Only a fraction of these, of course, are geared toward conversations with authors, but that fraction reaches hundreds of thousands of listeners, at a minimum.

Therefore, pitching podcasts should be central to your pre- and post-publication marketing strategy—whether you’re self-published or working with a top publisher.

In some cases, your publisher or PR rep will help get you booked on podcasts. But that’s the exception rather than the rule. The vast majority of authors need to manage this task independently. Finding podcasts to pitch is a topic for another article (hint: it’s remarkably easy to do, given the proliferation of free and subscription-based podcast matching services). But that’s only half the battle. Competition to land a guest spot can be fierce and many hosts book guests six months or more in advance. So you’ll want to plan carefully based on your publication schedule.

To pitch confidently, you need two things: A short email pitch and a companion video (via Zoom, YouTube, Vimeo, or another easy recording platform) that showcases your voice, style, and approachability. (Here’s my all-purpose pitch video, by way of example.)

But first things first. Know your purpose (or purposes) in seeking a guest spot and prepare to share key information:

Do you want to discuss just one book or a body of work?Can you clearly and succinctly describe your brand as an author?Are you willing to discuss broader topics related to genre, your writing process, marketing, self-publishing, and so forth?Do you have expertise to share in areas beyond your author identity? For example, I often discuss book coaching, offer writing craft advice, and how to live a creative life in mid-life.

Once you are clear on discussion parameters it’s time to research shows with a relevant track record of programming. Then write an email pitch that:

Acknowledges the host’s areas of interest (citing a prior show is a bonus) and why you’re a good fit.What you’d like to discuss. As with a query letter, this should be short, targeted, and compelling. Be specific and sharpen your hook. Don’t sell your book—sell an idea, a topic, a fascinating question to explore.Note why listeners would find this interesting or noteworthy.Mention any prior experience on podcasts or, short of that, any public speaking you’ve done.Provide a link to your pitch video if you have one.2. Book blurb solicitation

Traditional publishers will seek praise quotes (endorsements or blurbs) for your book ahead of publication. This isn’t a review, but a sentence or two highlighting the book’s value and impact, the best of which lands on the cover. You should augment that effort by reaching out to other authors, experts, and influencers on your own. (My publisher believes it’s more effective for authors to reach out directly, but there’s room for debate.)

Honestly, this is hard because it means asking a stranger (in most cases) for a favor—and that stranger may be a celebrity or successful author in their own right. How dare you approach them?

Requesting a blurb is a delicate ask. Pitching by email (especially if you can find a direct contact) is much better than messaging someone on social media, which often feels spammy. (That said: I sent a preliminary pitch to someone on Mastodon and he responded positively. So never say never.)

Your solicitation is structured similarly to the podcast pitch, but I suggest you treat this communication a bit more formally. Keep it short and adopt some or all of this etiquette:

Your first sentences should make it clear how and why you value this author’s work. One trick I use is to share a brief quote from one of the author’s books that speaks to me—and which is relevant to my own book. Don’t overdo the flattery and do not introduce your book or your credentials in the first paragraph.In the second paragraph, put your book in a context that will resonate with this author: Does your story or area of expertise track closely with theirs? Did their work inspire yours? Are you trying to carry their legacy forward in some way? Establish a connection so that you avoid the appearance of reaching out at random. Draw on your hook-for-the-book language to help with this. In the final paragraph, let the author know you’d be grateful if they’d consider writing a short blurb for the book, and that you’d be happy to send it along. Do not attach a file with this solicitation. You can embed an image of your book cover in the body of the email, if you wish. Offer a fairly long lead time—at least three months, though six is better—and make sure that’s a request, not an expectation.3. All-purpose teaser copy

You’re going to need this boilerplate far more often than you may realize. This little mash-up of log line, synopsis, and teaser will serve a number of purposes, including for:

Social media posts, combined with a cover image and a link for pre-orders or direct sales.Soliciting advanced review copy (ARC) readers.Sharing book news informally with your personal network (family and friends).Embedding in a newsletter—yours or another author’s as part of, say, a newsletter swap.Using in a blog post to introduce or discuss the book.Turning into a business card or postcard for conferences and festivals.Using in cover letters as part of a submittal package to a literary magazine to run an excerpt. This is typically helpful when submitting through Submittable.

Typically, your all-purpose teaser copy opens with a log line—a punchy sentence or two that captures the “feel” of the book, rather than the plot. This is followed by a very short plot/story synopsis (maybe four sentences) that doesn’t reveal how the book ends but offers the reader a hint or tease about the stakes.

4. Elevator pitch

When someone asks what your new book is about, don’t get caught stammering! Borrow from your all-purpose teaser, or your log line, or even your book jacket to craft a short, fun answer that you can recite from memory. Use the opportunity to make a strong impression. You never know where that will lead.

Crafting all these pitch packages may seem like a lot of work, and it can be. But you’re making a suite of materials that borrow from one another. If you already have tight book jacket copy, you can borrow some of that for the all-purpose teaser. If you’ve already dropped a log line into your standard agent query letter, then that’s another piece already made.

Parting advice

Above all, never lose sight of who you’re pitching to and why you want their attention. Oddly enough, the substance of any pitch package isn’t about you, it’s about your work and why it will resonate with others. So customize your pitch for the intended recipient.

Is It Worthwhile to Write My Memoir, Especially If a Publishing Deal Is Unlikely?

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk

Ask the Editor is a column for your questions about the editing process and editors themselves. It also features first-page critiques. Want to be considered? Submit your question or submit your pages.

Today’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Book Pipeline. Editors reviewing unpublished fiction and nonfiction through the Book Pipeline Workshop. “Recommend” submissions are considered for circulation to lit agents and publishers. Learn more and submit—and use code Jane50 for an exclusive $50 off a Pitch Package review! (Ends Oct. 31.)

Question

In the eighth decade of my life and after having three books traditionally published—a travel memoir 50 years ago and two novels more recently—I am pondering the wisdom of writing a very personal memoir.

What has moved me most to think about this is the #MeToo movement: I was the victim of date rape while working as a civilian employee on an American army base in France from 1963–1964. While my time in France was indeed a wonderful one, a dream come true, tarnished only by this one incident, I sometimes reflect on the high percentage of women who have suffered sexual abuse, many while serving in the military. I was advised not to report this case by my immediate superior with the very real threat that the perpetrator (an officer) most likely would not be punished, and it would likely mean the loss of my job.

The memoir I am thinking of and which I have partially written is about much more than this incident; it is also about the loss of innocence and the excitement of discovering a foreign culture. It includes the story of my first true romance, an interracial affair. I was the “innocent” white girl in love with an African American enlisted man—two “no-no’s” for I was told during my training that it was absolutely not advised to date enlisted men, but only officers, “men of a higher caliber.” Race was not mentioned but implied by the times and by several other statements. These experiences in addition to the opportunity I had to develop wonderful life-long friendships with several French citizens prompts me to want to share them in a memoir. I would like to know if this is worth my writing; would it be received well or would you offer a caveat to me, to avoid what may be a well-worn subject matter?

—Memoirist with a Dilemma

P.S. I would love to have a traditional publisher if I do finish this memoir, but in today’s world, I think it is highly unlikely I would find one interested in an octogenarian author.

Dear Memoirist with a Dilemma,

Oh my goodness, there are so many layers to this question!

I think I want to start by saying that even if #MeToo feels like it’s run its course, even if it feels like the publishing world is tired of women’s stories about rape, or maybe just tired of women’s stories or memoirs, period…I assure you, the market is not oversaturated with memoirs by women in their eighth decade.

Which, as you know, doesn’t mean there’s an easy path ahead of you. The publishing world may not be receptive to a memoir like this for any number of reasons—some of which might be valid and some of which are utter bullshit. Your age might be one of those reasons, but it’s not the only one. Publishing is a highly uncertain field with few guarantees, and the market for memoirs can be particularly uncertain.

As it happens, I’m writing this response on Labor Day, so in answering your question about the value of writing a memoir—and about the worth of writing—I do first want to acknowledge writing (and art-making, generally) as a form of labor that, like any labor, should be fairly compensated, monetarily.

That said, for better and worse, many artistic and writing projects fall largely outside the realm of capitalism. Recently, I was listening to one of the first episodes of the “Wiser Than Me” podcast*, hosted by Julia Louis-Dreyfus; it’s an interview with Isabel Allende (who didn’t start writing novels until 40), who channeled Elizabeth Gilbert giving advice to young writers—which you are not, but maybe this is actually just decent advice for any writer: “Don’t expect your writing to give you fame or money, right? Because you love the process, right? And that’s the whole point, love the process.” 

Which is just to say that, if you’re asking whether writing this memoir is likely to justify your time and energy, financially—well, unfortunately, that’s probably a very short response letter. It’s almost certainly not.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write it, or that writing this memoir would be unwise, in some way, or unworthy of your time and energy. The answer, here, lies in the why. Why do you want to write this memoir?

Do you love the process? Do you think you’ll feel better about the world on the average day when you’ve sat down to work on this book than on a day when you haven’t? Do you enjoy writing more than you don’t enjoy it?

If your answers to those questions are enthusiastically positive, then that’s reason enough to write.

There might be other, even more significant reasons to dive fully into this project. Writing a memoir isn’t therapeutic, per se, but the process of writing and rewriting our personal stories can be a rewarding process, one that’s often full of (good) surprises.

In this case, you’re talking about revisiting experiences—including an assault—after 60 years; the opportunity to reshape your story and to reconsider what you make of it might be incredibly meaningful. Indeed, it sounds like you’re already doing this to some extent, inspired in part by the #MeToo movement and other people’s sharing of their stories. One of the reasons #MeToo took off was because it defused and transformed a particular kind of shame and loneliness an awful lot of women had been sitting with for too long. Perhaps you, too, have been feeling that way.

Does revisiting this time and your experiences—the many good ones as well as the bad one—and considering them from fresh and maybe unexpected angles sound appealing and useful? Again, if your answer here is an enthusiastic yes: what are you waiting for?

(This might be an unpopular opinion, but for what it’s worth, I think it’s also completely valid to say, “Nah, I don’t need to relive all that.” But I think you wouldn’t have written in with this question if that were how you felt about it.)

Ultimately, both of those reasons are sort of personal and maybe even a little self-centered. And so what if they are? After all, as Mary Oliver put it in “The Summer Day” (which she wrote at age 62), “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” You really don’t have to please anyone but yourself.

But I also understand that writing a memoir solely for the pleasure of it might not feel entirely satisfactory, either. We want our stories to make connections, and to matter to someone, right?

So I would ask, again, why you want to write this memoir. What kind of impact do you want to make, and on whom? And, once you’ve articulated those answers in some detail, maybe there’s another question to ask, which is whether writing a memoir is the only way to tell the stories you want to tell.

There’s self-publishing. There’s blogging. There’s sharing on social media. Maybe you want to write a collection of shorter pieces, which you could place individually in literary publications or anthologies. If one of your goals is to contribute to a richer, more nuanced history of the military and/or #MeToo and/or racism in our country and its institutions, there are organizations that are dedicated to collecting those stories in particular. Maybe you can write op-eds offering your experiences as a way to provide deeper context into stories that are happening now. Maybe you want to write a series of letters to the younger generations of your family. Maybe, if you have photos, there are ways to incorporate those.

Of course, you can’t guarantee how any of these might land, either, but if you’d take satisfaction from the process…well, I think that’s the main thing. Maybe, actually, the only thing.

Good luck with your project.

—Hattie Fletcher

* I’m giving a shout-out to this podcast in particular because here’s how Julia Louis-Dreyfus explains the idea behind it in the first episode:

I was really struck by the fact that we just don’t hear enough about the lives of older women. You know what I mean? When women get older, they become less visible, less heard, less seen in a way that really it just doesn’t happen with men. We are ignoring the wisdom of, like, more than half the population. It is just stunning to me that women—old women and, by the way, not even so old women—are so easily dismissed and made invisible by our culture. You know—f**k that bullshit. I want to hear from older women.

And I think this is part of my answer to your letter, too. We need as many stories from older women as we can get.

Today’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Book Pipeline. Editors reviewing unpublished fiction and nonfiction through the Book Pipeline Workshop. “Recommend” submissions are considered for circulation to lit agents and publishers. Learn more and submit—and use code Jane50 for an exclusive $50 off a Pitch Package review! (Ends Oct. 31.)

Media Training for Authors: 6 Ways to Become a Go-To Expert

Photo by Sam McGhee on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author and media trainer Paula Rizzo.

Authors will often say, “I’ll do media when my book comes out!” And I always inform them—it’s too late. In fact, you need to start before you even have a book.

I know, I know—but it’s true! Don’t panic.

I started a blog at ListProducer.com about list making, how to be more organized and less stressed in April 2011. I knew if anyone was going to take me seriously as an expert, I needed to be seen in the media. So I pursued media attention. Lots.

Why is doing media so important? Well, nothing gives an author or her book a boost like a media mention. It might not always equal book sales, but being recognized in the media is one of the best ways to get people excited about you and your book. And if you’re earlier in the process, it helps to sell your book proposal too. My publisher was impressed that I could get the media’s attention when they signed with me.

I know this from both sides. I spent nearly two decades booking authors for TV appearances. In my career as a journalist and an Emmy Award–winning senior television producer, I noticed something about the authors and experts who made the cut versus the ones who never made it past the pitch. The authors who are chosen for segments already had media under their belts—usually. Television moves quickly and producers can’t be bothered testing out people who are terrified to be on camera. Now as a media trainer I’m able to help my clients get a “yes” from the media.

Now, you might be wondering—how can I begin doing media appearances for the very first time and get the ball rolling?

1. Start before you’re ready.

In fact, it’s imperative for you to start before you feel fully “ready.” You’ll probably never feel totally ready, and that’s okay. Once you get started, each experience will add to your confidence. And by the time you’re doing media for your book, you’ll feel right at home. You should also be creating your own content and talking about topics that you care about even if the media doesn’t come knocking right away. 

2. Get your feet wet.

Don’t be a snob! No opportunity is too small—and in fact, it can actually be better to start with smaller audiences and build up from there. Very few people start with top-tier media. Choose some local outlets to pitch and practice with. Every media experience gives you more name recognition and will move you towards your next gig.

Media begets media. Once you do one interview, you can use that to pitch others. And where do you think producers and editors are looking for experts? Other media! But you have to be there to be found.

3. Get used to rejection.

Rejection is more than okay. It’s good, because it means you’re putting yourself out there. Pitching yourself as an author and expert means you’ll deal with a lot of rejection, and it’s something you have to get used to. Try not to get discouraged or take it personally. It just means you weren’t the right fit or it wasn’t the right time. Make sure you follow up—sometimes that’s even more important than the first attempt.

4. Make friends with reporters and producers.

As you begin to pitch yourself and start doing media, always maintain friendly relationships with reporters and producers. Whether you book the segment or not, keep in touch so that they remember you for next time. You never know when they’ll need someone with exactly your perspective or expertise!

Then make sure to say yes when they do ask you for a comment. It breaks my heart when authors say they passed on a media interview because they didn’t feel ready. This is why I’m encouraging you to start sooner rather than later: so this doesn’t happen to you! In a producer’s eyes, the expert who doesn’t say yes isn’t serious and they move on to the next—and may never call you again.

5. Remember, TV still matters.

Of all the things I’ve done in my career, people were most excited when they saw me appear on television giving an interview. I’ve won an Emmy Award as a television news producer, published two books (Listful Thinking and Listful Living), given keynote speeches and more. But not one of those accomplishments garnered me the social cache and excitement of being featured on television. Does it sell books? I have no idea. Probably not. But it boosted my visibility and contributed to my credibility. (In my experience, podcasts sell books more than other forms of media. Do lots of them! They are great practice too for bigger opportunities.)

6. Get up to speed on what to do before, during, and after a media appearance.

Practice what you’re going to say. You don’t want to sound stiff and rehearsed, but you should have an idea of what you’re going to talk about. The more you practice, the easier it’ll be to speak articulately and naturally. Watch episodes of the show you’re appearing on or check out the journalist’s previous work to get a better sense of the questions you might be asked. Sometimes they will share this information in advance, but not always. Practice out loud for television interviews. Trust me on this. You’ll feel strange, but it’s really important that you rehearse how certain words will sound when you say them.

I created a list of the top 10 media questions every author needs to be able to answer in an interview, at a book event or anywhere else! You can grab it here.

Use the Accordion Method. This is a concept I developed for my media-training clients. This means having a short, medium, and long answer to the questions you’re preparing for. That way, you can easily pick how you want to respond based on the amount of time you have. Speaking in soundbites is an essential skill for any author whether you’re doing media, pitching your book, speaking at book events or on stages. It’s something I teach in depth in my online training course Media-Ready Author.

Planning is key. Plan out what you’re going to wear, how you’ll do your makeup and what technology you’ll use if you’re appearing via video call. That way, none of the logistical elements will stress you out on the day of.

Promote it. Tell everyone that it’s happening! You want to create buzz around your media opportunities.

Be in the moment. You want to respond to what your interviewers are actually asking, even if their framing is a little different than what you practiced. You should have talking points and know the messages you want to get across but make sure you’re truly listening and go with the flow. All that practice will set you up to be able to improvise when the situation calls for it.

Always assume you’re on camera. You never want to be caught off guard making a funny face or fixing your hair on camera. Once you’re connected on Zoom or in the studio with the interviewer, assume they could broadcast at all times.

Make eye contact. As a producer, I learned this skill early on, and it’s something I do to this day whenever I speak to someone. When you’re in person with someone, pick one eye and stare into it the whole time you’re having a conversation. That way you don’t have to decide where to look and feel awkward. Just pick one eye and stick with it! If you’re on a video call, look into the camera’s lens, not at yourself on the screen.

Afterward, say thank you! Don’t forget your manners. It’s always polite to thank the reporter or producer in the moment as well as in a follow-up email. Connect with them on LinkedIn and follow them on social media. Get to know what they cover and also what they like personally. This helps to build and maintain relationships that can be fruitful down the line.

I can count on one hand the number of thank-you notes I received during my nearly 20 years as a television producer. Sending one will help you stand out and be remembered.

Repurpose all the content. This content isn’t just for the producer or reporter to use—it’s for you! Make the most of the content by sharing it with your audience online and repurposing it for blogs and social media.

Stay in touch and get asked back. Keep an open line of communication with reporters and producers who you’ve worked with. They already know you, so they’re more likely to work with you again. Leverage those relationships—if they enjoyed working with you once, it makes their job easier to book you again because they know you’ll do well.

When you cultivate these relationships before you have a book, it will be much easier for you to get the media’s attention when your book does come out. The trick is to start right now.

3 Ways to Use Theme to Deepen Your Story

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Today’s post is by author, editor and book coach Sharon Skinner.

Theme is a critical element of story, but it is more than just the point you are making. Theme can be used to deepen reader experience, add subplots, increase conflict, ramp up tension, and heighten the overall narrative. It is the sweet syrup that drips and runs into all the nooks and crannies of a deeply layered story.

By staying mindful of your overall theme and thematic topics when writing and revising, you can develop a layered narrative that will resonate with readers both on a conscious and subconscious level and stay with them long after the book (or curtain) closes.

First, identify your theme

Theme is foundational. It supports the plot and story like an iceberg, where the majority of it sits beneath the surface. The thematic foundation upon which the story is written drives much of what you can do with story. Having a solid theme—thematic topics and a thematic statement—will help you deliver a story with depth.

You can have more than one theme in your story. However, a single thematic statement keeps your story on track.

Thematic topics versus thematic statement

Thematic topics can be expressed with single words like love, hate, greed, fear, etc. A single story can touch on multiple thematic topics. A great example of this is Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda. Hamilton touches on a multitude of topics, including power, love, hate, arrogance, loyalty, betrayal, loss, forgiveness…and more.

A thematic statement is what your book is about. Every book is about something. Every writer, whether they initially realize it or not, is making a point. A great way to get at theme is by asking yourself, “What’s the point?”

A thematic statement should be a complete sentence. Broken down to its most succinct, it can read like a line or a meme, but needs to be a complete independent phrase or sentence.

Examples include:

Love conquers all.To err is human.Money is the root of all evil.Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

In Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, ambition is a key topic. Getting from there to the thematic statement is as simple as giving Hamilton a clear line of dialogue: “I’m not gonna give up my shot.” This statement is a complete sentence that not only expresses the goal of the protagonist, Hamilton, it provides a thematic statement for the story. Alexander Hamilton is a man bound and determined to make something of himself by refusing to take no for an answer and taking his shot at greatness.

While Hamilton is a musical, it is also a great story—one that Miranda had to write and develop before bringing it to the stage—and provides some excellent examples for using theme to deepen story.

What is gloriously delicious about the thematic statement in Hamilton, what fills up the subconscious nooks and crannies and deepens the layers of this story, is how this statement is repeated and reflected upon. In the end (spoiler alert) the protagonist does give up his shot. This is the reason for his demise.

Once you have identified your thematic topics and developed a thematic statement, you can use them to deepen the reader experience. Here are three ways to do that.

1. Using theme to add conflict and barriers

Your story’s thematic topics are a great source for developing conflict and obstacles for your characters.

When raising the stakes, you want to make it personal, not just the what, but why it matters to the character, not just what’s happening but why it’s meaningful to them.

Use your theme to create conflicts and barriers that bump up against your protagonist’s traits, push their buttons, test them, and strengthen and hone them to be able to face the final challenge that awaits them at the climax of the story. When the characters’ values, beliefs, and growth are at stake, the tension escalates, drawing readers into the story even further.Develop character relationships that are shaped by the thematic topics. How characters interact, clash, or collaborate can highlight the nuances of the theme and contribute to the story’s emotional impact.

In Hamilton, Alexander isn’t the only one with great ambitions. However, the ways the characters pursue those ambitions differ drastically. Even allies can have conflicting viewpoints that stem from different interpretations of the theme.

Or, for example, if your theme centers around trust, pit your characters’ ideas and feelings around trust and/or breaking that trust against one another.

2. Using theme to develop subplots and parallel storylines

Subplots can serve as microcosms that mirror or contrast the main plot, allowing you to explore different facets of the theme. These subplots can also involve secondary characters who embody different perspectives on the thematic statement. Your subplots can argue for or against your thematic statement.

In Hamilton, one of the subplots is the duel that his son is involved in. His advice to his son, which is to fire into the air—literally giving up his shot—goes horribly wrong. This foreshadows what is to come. Hamilton’s grief and guilt over his son’s death becomes something he carries with him through the rest of the narrative. And so does the audience.

Which brings us to foreshadowing.

3. Using theme to foreshadow

You can easily integrate thematic elements into your story early on, foreshadowing the events and character developments yet to be revealed. This adds depth and resonance when readers reflect on earlier hints and realize their significance in hindsight.

Hamilton carries with him the guilt of his son’s death, an event that directly foreshadows what is yet to occur. One might think that Hamilton’s future action would be modified based on his son’s death. Yet, when the time comes, Hamilton follows his own advice, resulting in his tragic death. The audience is left reeling, wondering if he did it on purpose, or to prove a point, or…who knows what else?

“I’m not gonna give up my shot. I’m not gonna give up my shot.” He was not gonna give up. And Lin-Manuel Miranda knows exactly what he’s doing when the word shot is repeated over and over.

That’s good stuff. And you don’t consciously see it coming but, subconsciously, it’s layered in there for you. It elevates the story and deepens the experience.

With a story like that, you think about it long afterward. And isn’t that exactly what we want to give our readers? A long-lasting delicious story they can savor long after the final page.

How Can You Tell If You’re Starting Your Story in the Right Place?

Today’s post is by regular contributor Susan DeFreitas (@manzanitafire), an award-winning author, editor, and book coach. She is hosting a free masterclass for novelists on Sept. 22, Excellent Openings.

When I help my clients prepare the pitch materials for their novel, it’s not just the query and synopsis we focus on—it’s their opening pages. 

Because it doesn’t matter how snappy that query letter is, or how promising that synopsis reads: If the opening pages of the story itself don’t suck the agent or editor in, those pages won’t have the desired effect on readers, which means the book won’t sell.

Needless to say, books that don’t sell are not the type of books agents and editors are interested in.

I’ve written elsewhere about the basics that pros are looking for in the opening pages of a novel: A clear point of view, a compelling voice, compelling characters, specific details, and tension of some type.

I’ve also noted the less obvious things: an internal struggle/vulnerability/weakness that signals the beginning of a character arc; one or more story elements that raise questions, thereby stimulating the reader’s curiosity; and well-integrated backstory.

But none of that answers a burning question so many of us have: How do I know if I’m actually starting in the right place?

After all, there are many different places in the overall timeline of your novel that your story could begin. So what makes one option superior to another?

Beginning writers tend to waffle around at the beginning of a story with a lot of what some folks refer to as “throat clearing”—hence the common injunction to get things moving quickly, and to get the inciting incident on the page as soon as possible.

But take it from me, because I’ve seen it many times: Openings written to the letter of this advice are generally either unintelligible, hard to care about, or both.

“Get the inciting incident on the page as soon as possible” is good advice. But it’s important to understand what “as possible” actually means.

After all, we could all start with The Thing That Sets the Plot into Motion, right? That is always actually possible, in the most basic sense: we could start with the car crash, the aliens landing on the front lawn, the mysterious letter arriving in the mail, or what have you.

But published novels that actually do so are rare. And even movies generally don’t attempt to start with the fireworks of the inciting incident, despite screenwriting’s focus on action, action, and more action.

They aren’t doing that because we first need enough information to understand what the inciting incident means to the protagonist, and why we should care. And to accomplish that, you generally need to get three things on the page before the inciting incident of your novel.

1. Basic context

If we have no idea where the story is taking place, and the basic context of the protagonist’s life, we cannot understand what the inciting incident means.

Let’s say, for instance, that you’re writing a space opera in which the protagonist is the first mate on a faster-than-light ship bound for a utopian settlement on a rugged, borderline uninhabitable planet on far reaches of the galaxy—and the inciting incident is a blow to the ship’s hull delivered by a hitherto-unknown alien species.

In order for us to understand what that event means in this story, you need to start in a place that allows you to establish the important bits here: the mission of the ship, the sorts of people aboard, and why they decided to pack up their entire lives for Planet X.

You probably also need to start in a way that allows you to establish how far the ship is away from that planet, what recourse to help or aid they may have, and what is currently known (if anything) about alien species in general.

2. Problems

Your opening also needs to establish who the protagonist of the novel is—and whoever that is, we need to see some problems in this person’s life well before this new alien species decides to ram the hull of their ship with disagreeable bits of antimatter.

In storytelling terms, problems are some sort of external trouble that’s indicative of an internal issue. And though it may seem counterintuitive, it’s actually these sorts of issues that make us care about the protagonist (white setting up what the inciting incident will mean for them, emotionally speaking).

For our space opera, let’s say the external trouble is a power struggle between the first mate and the arrogant chief engineer, which results in a few stern words from the captain to the first mate: If you don’t have what it takes to enforce my authority on this ship, I’ll find someone who does.

And let’s say that this, along with the internal narration of the protagonist, reveals the protagonist’s internal issue: She has imposter syndrome, despite her long list of accomplishments, and therefore fails to command respect.

3. What the protagonist wants, and why

And this in turn helps to establish the third essential ingredient of our opening trifecta, which is what the protagonist longs for—which is to say, what they want.

In this case, let’s say that what the protagonist wants is to be respected as a leader.

And why do they want that? Perhaps because her mother was a legendary ship’s captain. Perhaps even the captain of the ship that established the original utopian settlement on this distant, inhospitable planet. 

All told, that’s the context we need in order to understand what it really means when this new alien species takes aggressive action against their ship, killing the captain in the process—and making our first mate with imposter syndrome the new captain of a ship under siege.

Will our first mate successfully navigate the fraught territory of first contact? Will she manage to quell the infighting that arises on her ship, and keep the chief engineer from leading a mutiny—long enough to unravel the truth about Planet X, and what really happened to the utopian settlement there?

All that remains to be seen. But given this sort of setup, chances are good that the reader will actually care enough about the protagonist, and understand enough about the story, to read on.

Could this story actually start with the aliens ramming the hull, and then backtrack to cover all of those essential bits I’ve spoken to here? Sure. But that’s a complicated maneuver, and one that would be hard to pull off (maintaining forward momentum with the storyline following that event, while also backtracking to cover the story’s basic bases).

The stronger tactic, generally speaking, is to do what 99 percent of all those books and movies you love actually do: Start just long enough before the inciting incident to establish these three things—the context in which the inciting incident will occur, the main problem in your protagonist’s life prior to it occurring, and what it is this protagonist of yours longs for in life.

Once you’ve established those three things in your novel—whether it takes you three pages or thirty—your reader will be ready for the inciting incident.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join Susan for a free masterclass for novelists on Sept. 22, Excellent Openings.

Finding the Funny: 8 Tips on Writing Humor

Photo by Franco Antonio Giovanella on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author Joni B. Cole, author of Party Like It’s 2044: Finding the Funny in Life and Death.

When I was in elementary school, I can remember being told by more than a few kids, “You think you’re funny but you’re snot.”

Well now, all these years later, the laugh is on those poopyheads because, apparently, I am funny. Or at least the folks at the Erma Bombeck Writing Workshop think so because they’ve honored me with the distinction of “Humor Writer of the Month,” in conjunction with the release of my new essay collection Party Like It’s 2044: Finding the Funny in Life and Death.

But am I a humor writer?

I never thought of myself that way, at least not until after reading the reviews of my first essay collection published over a decade ago. The majority of the essays in that collection dealt with difficult life experiences: my father’s infirmity due to a stroke; friendships cleaved over politics; the ache of separation as my growing daughters started to assert their independence. (What’s so funny about your middle-schooler threatening mortification if you chaperone her class field trip? Had she seen some of the other mothers?)

Because I had to relive painful personal experiences while writing those essays, I was taken by surprise at the tenor of the reviews of that book: “riotously funny…” “honest and hilarious…” “Roll-on-the-floor funny…”.

But of course, being funny can happen even when you don’t exactly feel like laughing. Humor doesn’t discriminate and can sneak into all sorts of situations. I think about the time a woman who had taken several of my writing workshops died rather suddenly. She was my age, meaning she was way too young to be struck down; plus I hadn’t even been aware that she was ill. I felt terrible for her family but (it’s embarrassing to admit this) I’d never liked this woman. For years I’d tried to unsubscribe from her monthly newsletter that I hadn’t even subscribed to in the first place. Then this woman died and her newsletters still kept showing up in my inbox, which I had to admit was kind of funny.

In life, I suspect we’ve all been reminded that humor and gravitas are not mutually exclusive. As a writer, however, I rarely paid attention to this reality. In retrospect, I find it rather funny (funny peculiar, not funny ha ha) that I overlooked humor as a narrative device, particularly because I am what one reviewer of my new essay collection calls, “a writer’s writer.” She went on to refer to me (facetiously, I hope) as “that A+ student you always hate.” (An A+ student! Take that Professor Chesney! Now maybe you’ll rethink that low pass you gave me in your creative writing class.)

In all seriousness, being called a “writer’s writer” is a label I truly appreciate because I take it to mean my work shows how much care I put into the structure, the scene selection, the pacing, the verb choices, the metaphors within my stories. Typically, my creative process is to revisit and revise everything about a googol times. Yet I had never thought to look specifically at the humor in my work, at least not until after my first book fell into this category.

To learn more about the craft of humor writing, I googled “how to write humor,” and the first thing I learned is that words with the letter k are funny—advice that can be traced back to the days of vaudeville. After that, however, I stopped googling the topic. I’m not sure why; maybe because I worried that studying the craft of humor writing might take the fun out of my funny. I know this is ridiculous reasoning, just like I know that writers who refuse to get feedback because they think it might compromise their work are missing out on one of the best resources we have to write more and write better.

Even though I stopped researching how to write humor, I did start paying a lot more attention to this feature of my work. What made something funny? How did the humor enhance the story? Where did I get in my own way? I think this attentiveness has served my essays in myriad ways. For starters, it has helped sharpen my prose. It also has presented me with unique opportunities to deepen characterization, bring into greater relief the poignancy of a scenic moment, and elevate the work overall.

Way back when my first collection was put into the humor genre, it sometimes felt like a mixed blessing. Many times I’d find myself thinking, I’m riotously funny! While at the same time thinking, How the hell did I manage that? Becoming conscious of something you’ve been doing autonomically can do a number on you, like when you start thinking about breathing and then you can’t breathe normally.

Maybe for this reason, I still hesitate to call myself a humor writer. On a related note, when an interviewer references my new book as a collection of “literary humor essays,” I make sure they know which of those two descriptors I prefer. That said, I love the idea of making readers laugh.

While I don’t see myself as an authority on this genre, I have picked up a few tips by tuning in to my own process, and by reading (reading as a writer, that is) notable humor writers who have authored books that make me laugh out loud…and notable humor writers who have authored books that leave me cold. And therein lies an important lesson I have learned in writing and in life—that humor is subjective. You may think you’re funny, while others think you’re snot. (But who cares what those poopyheads think!)

8 tips on writing humor

1. Humor…humanity. There’s a reason those words share the same root. You know what’s funnier than a banana peel, or a joke, or puns, or even words with the letter k? People. Ordinary people, including yourself. Even in the most difficult situations, people are funny, if you take the time to pay attention to what makes all of us all too human.

2. Listen in. Paying attention to what you or the people around you are doing and saying is one way to tap into the funny. But paying attention to the thoughts that run through your head—a treasure trove of weird and wonderful material—is often an even richer resource for humor, and a meaningful way to get to know how your mind works.

3. Show, don’t mock. Making fun of people is not funny. Punching down is not funny. But showing characters on the page through their actions, details, dialogue, and internal monologue, now that can lead to successful humor. Why? Because it allows readers to form their own judgments about the character. Instead of trying to force the humor, it lets us decide for ourselves whether we should laugh at (or with) the people on the page.

4. Collect little humor gems. Like this text I just received from Xfinity, my telecommunications provider that has been trying for several hours to get me back online. Good news—your Xfinity service was restored at approximately 1:43 p.m. I’ll have to use that in some future essay—approximately 1:43 p.m.

5. There’s nothing funny about a blank page (or a first, or second draft…) At least in my case. In fact, my early drafts are usually pretty dry and uninspired, but that’s okay because I know how to find the funny, almost always in the process of revision and line editing.

6. Avoid too much self-deprecation. Yes, being up front about your quirks and weaknesses makes for powerful true stories. But overdoing the crazy for comic effect, at least in a personal narrative, can quickly read false and feel tiresome.

Bookshop • Amazon

7. Less is more. If you’re trying to make every scene or line a laugh riot, you’re trying too hard. I fell into this bad habit for a time, maybe because I felt the pressure to continue to be “roll-on-the-floor funny.” Eventually, I curbed that futile and counter-productive impulse and now I’m not funny. Unless it’s in service to the story.

8. Back to k words. The days of vaudeville may be long gone, but this truth persists. Some sounds really are funnier than others, and the same goes for certain words, depending on the context. I’ll never forget when I was struggling with a certain detail in an essay and swapped out the name “Citibank” for “Deutsche Bank.” So much funnier! (At least I think so.)

I Received Conflicting Advice on My Query Letter. What Now?

Photo by Thirdman

Ask the Editor is a column for your questions about the editing process and editors themselves. It also features first-page critiques. Want to be considered? Submit your question or submit your pages.

Today’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Book Pipeline. FINAL DEADLINE: Friday, Sept. 15th for the 2023 Book Pipeline Unpublished contest. Last chance to compete this season! Awarding $20,000 to authors across 8 fiction & nonfiction categories. Multiple writers have signed with top lit agents and been published over the past few seasons. Register now.

Question

A few months ago, I submitted my query letter to a well-known, respected query editor, and at the same time to a writing podcast (Print Run—I’m a Patreon member). I got very positive feedback from the show. The agents had small suggested changes, but they liked how clean and simple the query was.

Feedback from the paid editor was much less positive. She said the query was basically only a concept and I needed to significantly expand it to explain a lot more.

I rewrote the query letter as the editor suggested. My gut says the original query was better. But…I paid for professional feedback, so I feel obligated to go with that professional’s opinion.

Do I listen to my gut and the two unpaid professionals? Or listen to the paid editor? I suppose a third option is to try querying with both letters to see if I get a better response to one versus the other.

—Querying in California

Dear Querying in California,

Have you ever gotten a bad haircut? Back when the “Rachel” was a big deal, I asked for one. I’m sure it discomfited the whole salon when I locked myself in the bathroom and cried on the floor at how bad I thought I looked. The stylist gave me exactly what I asked for, but it still wasn’t me.

Point being, getting what you paid for isn’t always getting what you need.

If it helps you feel better about the money, average it out—you got advice from three professionals and paid for one. Agents Laura Zats and Erik Hane from Print Run have seen thousands of queries, and they liked yours. Your query sold your book to their taste. Their taste. Another person thought you needed something different, to suit—you guessed it!—their taste.

We will always get conflicting feedback. If one friend-reader loves your manuscript opening, another may think it’s too slow. One agent’s “I love your concept and can’t wait to read more” is another agent’s form rejection. Since your query has already been read in a public forum, let’s look at some highlights.

The original query:

RACING HEARTS is a 81,000 word, single-POV, standalone Contemporary Romance. It would appeal to fans of Head Over Heels by Hannah Orenstein, Part of Your World by Abby Jimenez, and From Lukov With Love by Mariana Zapata.

Your metadata, the nuts-and-bolts info about the book, is very clear. Word count, genre, and two details specific to your genre: that this book is told in one POV and it’s not part of a series.

Katherine Parker doesn’t have dreams, she has plans. They include: perfectly balanced macronutrients; workouts, scheduled in fifteen minute increments; and, one day, rowing for gold in the Olympics. Her plans do not include getting dumped by her jerk-of-a-boyfriend right before her World Cup final. Kath loses by a mile. Then she’s promptly kicked off the team and out of the only home she’s ever loved–the Olympic training center.

Here, we run into a hitch I call “did-not-didn’t.” Tell us what Katherine does do/have/want, rather than opening with the opposite and switching, which jars the reader. Plus, the boyfriend’s clearly a jerk from context. How about this instead:

Allison’s revision: Katherine Parker’s perfectly balanced diet and meticulously scheduled workouts are going to take her to row for Olympic gold. But when her boyfriend dumps her right before her World Cup final, Kath finishes last and gets kicked off the team and out of the only home she’s ever loved—the Olympic training center.

Your next paragraph:

Okay, new plan. With only half a summer to win back her spot–and zero bandwidth for love–Kath returns to her hometown. Unfortunately, she’ll have to train alongside a gaggle of high school rowers and their coach, Adrian Crawford. And Adrian has opinions. Like, instead of supplement-stacked smoothies, he thinks rest days should be spent with corn dogs and mini golf. Worse, he has wide shoulders that even a rower would envy and, when he looks at Kath, he sees more than lists and neuroticism. Perfectly laid plans in tatters, Kath finds herself falling for this full-hearted coach. But if she’s serious about the Olympics–and moving back to the training center–how can her future include Adrian?

The “Okay” diminishes the stakes that are about to be beautifully set up! She’s got a ticking clock, a compelling reason to be in close proximity with the love interest, and a compelling reason not to get together. Perfect romance setup, and this also reveals some of the book’s snappy, contemporary voice.

As a former national team member and resident of the Olympic Training Center in Lake Placid, New York, I bring authenticity and passion to this project. I now live in Sacramento, California with my husband and fun-loving cockapoo. This novel would be my debut.

Great bio. I’d take out “authenticity and passion” because those are a bit Insta-influencer-y to say about oneself, but overall, it’s tight, smart and intriguing.

Let’s take a look at the revised query you wrote after paid feedback. In the new query, the opening paragraph is the same. There’s a small adjustment at the end of the paragraph with the set-up:

Kath bombs the race. Then, she also loses her spot on the national team, her residency in the Olympic Training Center, and all of her remaining sponsors.

But in the original, “the only home she’s ever loved” suggests backstory and existing conflict in Kath’s life. That she doesn’t have much of a support system, which raises the stakes. Losing sponsors means losing income, but what the reader cares about is her heart. But what if we work them into the second paragraph?

Allison’s revision: With only half a summer to win back her spot–and zero bandwidth for love–Kath returns to her hometown. Without sponsors to foot the bill, she’ll have to train alongside a gaggle of high school rowers and their coach, Adrian Crawford.

Now she has a reason to train with high schoolers. More of the revised query:

It’s about as hopeless as a cracked hull.

Ouch. This sounds like an older voice. A gee-shucks voice.

That is, until she’s given a deal to train under Adrian Crawford, her hometown’s high school coach who’s in the running for an elite-level job. If Kath can give him an unbiased evaluation–and get top three at Pan Ams in two months–USRowing will give her the spot back.

Her deal, his job, her evaluation, and a race and a time span and an organization—plus, these are all calculated, business decisions, not romance. They belong in the book but aren’t needed in the query.

Unfortunately, Adrian loves to veer off plan. Like, instead of grinding out laps in an inlet, he has Kath enduring open-water waves. And instead of smoothies and stretching, he thinks rest days should be spent with corn dogs and mini golf. Worst of all, Kath isn’t so irritated by these disruptions. In fact, for the first time in a long time, she’s actually happy.

In this paragraph, your revision uses a nice technique—the conflicts between them are a little more directly related to character. We’re seeing what he does that makes her crazy instead of what he thinks.

Yet, falling for this full-hearted coach is a terrible idea. Love, after all, got her into this damn mess in the first place. Also, Kath is reviewing him for a job. Finally, she’s supposed to be serious about the Olympics and moving back to the training center. So, how can any of her future plans include Adrian?

“Damn mess” = double ouch. And listing four of Kath’s reasons as equally important makes none of them important.

Strategically, to sell a book, this query is still reasonably solid. We’ve got conflict and stakes, and the evolution of the relationship is clear.

But it’s not your voice.

The same details—lost race, high school training environment, hot coach-she-can’t-fall-for are in both queries. But one sounds like fun contemporary romance and one sounds dated.

You already know which query to use, with a couple of tweaks, so I’ll answer the question you didn’t ask:

Did I waste my money?

Nope.

Paying for feedback is a great idea for those who can afford it. When I was querying, I bid at charity auctions in which agents who otherwise didn’t do query critiques donated their services. And agents and editors do give conflicting advice, because their taste differs. Someone’s great haircut is someone else’s nightmare.

But any feedback is valuable. When you receive it, pay attention to your own reactions. What makes you think, “Oh yeah, I hoped that would work but it didn’t?” What makes you push back? Then analyze why. Why should the query/sentence/story be your way and not the other way? What can you do more of in your writing to support that choice?

Even feedback we disagree with is valuable—if we take that next step.

—Allison K Williams

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