Larry Brooks's Blog, page 7

And So We Hand The Microphone Over… to You

January 2, 2018

by Larry Brooks

Writing is very much a momentum business.

You know this, I’m sure… you begin a project, you may at first struggle to find the heart of the story, or your voice… you keep at it… it just doesn’t feel right… and then, as you go deeper, it begins to click… and suddenly you are unstoppable.

Sometimes it clicks from the first page. The opportunity here, and what I’m writing about today, resides in understanding the true nature of, and sources of, the intentional act of going deeper, and what that looks like.

It may not involve a keyboard or a notepad at all.

When we read about or hear about writers who have experienced this sequence of experience, it can be easy to hear the wrong things. You might hear that it’s perfectly fine to just scribble away until you randomly sink into a rhythm, without understanding that the pages written prior to that sinking-into moment will probably need a rewrite, or at least a rethink.

Or without comprehending what just happened when that moment arrived.

Or, you might believe that this is an inevitable sequence of events, the nature of the game itself. The only writers who say this – and there are legions of them – are those who experience storytelling and writing that way, without allowing that some writers, even those more successful than they are (who often aren’t as loud about it), do it differently.

Those who sit down to write without a clear or vetted story premise in their head, without understanding that a draft undertaken from an incomplete vision are, in fact, engaging in long-road form of story visualization.

And yet, other options remain available, and they are not remotely an inferior means to the same end.

Often, when you can’t find your voice, it’s because you haven’t found your story.

Break that sentence down. Because when you truly know that it means, doors open before you.

When you soldier on, in search of but not quite yet in command of your story… while telling yourself it doesn’t feel right because – and here’s where you may be kidding yourself – it isn’t your voice that’s the problem… know that this is not the universal conventional wisdom on how this is done.

Rather, it is the seductive easy road that too often leads to the edge of a cliff.

Of all the things that empower us to excellence in terms of writing in context to something – in context to your experience, in context to something you’ve read, in context to what you know – the most effective contextual basis of all is when we write pages in context to what we believe to be the best story that has landed in our mind’s eye.

In other words, when you’ve moved on from the search for the story into the realm of development of the story you’ve finally committed to.

This connects to two of the most misunderstand, and thus often toxic, pieces of supposed writing wisdom floating around out there: that you should just write… and that you should write everyday.

Neither may be the best strategy if you haven’t found your best story yet.

This is where we say: writer, know thyself. For many, the best investment of time you can make is to sit yourself in front of a window with a nice view and lose yourself in the contemplation of story ideas, options, variables and alternatives. Don’t move from that spot until you have a compelling dramatic proposition, can visualize a character that will allow readers to access the story emotionally, that asks the reader to engage rather than observe, that isn’t about something as much as it is about something happening, that calls the hero from one state into another, which is an action state, which is propelled by motivated and empathetic stakes and complicated by formidable antagonism, often in the form of a villain or foil, and finally raises your hero up to confront and step into an unlikely and even unthinkable catalyst of resolution, returning only then to a life that is different than what it was when the story began.

You can nail all that down before writing a single page. If you will allow yourself the time and license to do so.

If drafting pages is indeed your richest turf for story development (all of the above), then you may be on solid ground doing so behind a keyboard. But if you don’t really begin to sing until the story is solidly on rails that are leading somewhere rich and meaningful, then just writing and writing every day is like mowing the golf course before you actually begin to play on it.

Nothing wrong with practice. But practice your sentences and writing scenes that don’t connect isn’t quite writing a story… at least yet. At least until it becomes about a story that has announced itself to you as the story you are telling.

Because writing, per se, is just as much about staring out a window to find the compass heading, pitfalls, nuances and opportunities of a story is every bit as much at the core of the work as being hunched over a keyboard, hoping that the next page might shine a light on what hasn’t yet occurred to you.

Know this, too, if you believe that spontaneity and genius comes only when your fingers on home row. The best spontaneous and creative moments come from within the pages of a story that is already cooking, rather than one that is waiting for the burner to come on.

So here’s the bottom line question, one that defines where you reside on the learning curve. And if it catalyzes an emotional response, might just help you understand the next phase of your journey.

What do you know about storytelling… and what do you know about your story?

The highest ground of storytelling becomes available when those two things are in coexistence in your playbook: the principles of the game itself – with an understanding that you aren’t seeking to invent those principles, but rather, than you understand your job is to leverage them – and a game plan for the story you are setting out to create that has been fueled by that understanding.

This is strategic writing. Versus reactive writing.

Trust me, once you feel the rush of unleashing a fully vetted story strategy into your story world, you’ll understand what it really means to find bliss in the work of writing itself. Rather than the frustration of plowing through the pages without a compass, or an end-game.

Or worse, not knowing good from bad or bad from ugly, because you still think any and all story ideas are worthy. They are not.

Stay tuned here in 2018 as Art and I take a deep dive into both sides of that proposition – the nature of stories that work, broken down into clear and accessible detail, including the processes that will make them work for you… and how to apply them to your premises and story plans developed in context to those criteria, no matter how you render them to the page.

Are there any specific aspects of story craft and process that continues to elude, confuse or frustrate you? Are you conflicted with conventional wisdom that seems to contradict what you believe, or know, or have heard some famous author say?

Please let us know so we can focus there. The great thing about principles, rather than mythologies, is that they are provable and can be pointed to, and they are effective even in small doses. Let us know where you are on your journey, so we can help get you to the next level on the wings of knowing, rather than not knowing what you don’t know.

Sudden bestsellers and one-hit-wonders happen, because exceptions sometimes trip and fall into a pot of gold. But an enduring career… that is always the product of an author who knows.

 

 

The post And So We Hand The Microphone Over… to You appeared first on Storyfix.com.

A Boot Camp Opportunity with Art Holcomb

December 19, 2017

by Art Holcomb

You know me . . .

You’ve read my posts here on StoryFix and many of you have taken my seminars, so I know I can speak plainly with you.

So, let me ask you a question:

Are you happy with your progress as a writer?

I spend so much of my time as a writing teacher and mentor dealing with this seemingly simple question. But over the years and through working with hundreds of students, I know that it really goes deeper than that.

The real questions at play here are:

· Are you finishing what you start every time?

· Do you have the skills you know you need to succeed?

· Are you afraid to face your rewrite?

· Afraid to actually send your work out into the world?

· Are you getting the valuable critique that you need to really improve your writing?

I believe that, for the vast majority of aspiring writers, the answer to this is a resounding NO!

But here is the secret that you need to know.

It’s not your fault.

You’re out there working alone, hoping that your story will succeed. Books can help, but not enough. “Top Ten” lists and writing tips from the internet never go far enough to make a difference.

And hope itself will never be enough.

You simply cannot learn to write well without valuable guidance.

Why? Because writing is a craft – a set of skills and experiences that can only come through training.

And what you really need is:

· Real and valuable instruction on the craft of writing.

· Timely feedback on your work to keep you on-track and on deadline.

· A community of writers with whom you can share your successes and problems.

· And a system to get your work done right, on time, every time.

Simply put, any writer who does not have access to these four things may spend YEARS writing a story that never had a chance to succeed in the first place.

Now . . . is that you?

Have you been trying to do this all by yourself without help or feedback? Spinning your wheels and getting nowhere?

Years ago, I started offering my seminars because I found so many of you in this exact situation.

I found this intolerable and so should you . . .

And so, we have done something about it.

From January 8th to February 16th, we are offering THE SUCCESS BOOT CAMP for writers. A six-week, internet-based course designed to give you the skills you need to succeed by leading you through the writing process.

During the six-week class, you will:

· Write and complete three (3) stories for publication.

· Receive written notes and feedback from an expert novelist on each story.

· Get guidance through the rewrite process.

· Be shown how to submit that work to publisher eager to find your stories.

· Be taught a proven system for getting your work done simply and quickly every time.

There will be a weekly seminar that you can listen to at your convenience, as well as video instruction from some of the best writers in the business. And we’ll show you the same techniques that famous writers have used to learn their craft over the past century – that is, learning the skills of the novelist and screenwriter by learning to write short pieces that will receive the critique you need to improve every aspect of your writing. And we’ll all join together on conference calls to discuss our experiences and learn from our fellow writers.

And we’re lucky enough to be joined by Howard V. Hendrix, award-winning author of seven novels and countless short stories, who will be providing the expert notes for each writer!

In all, a boot camp to make you a better writer – all in six week – from the convenience of your own computer.

This boot camp is the same tool I use in my private practice to help new writers begin their careers, now available to you.

We start on January 8th. And since you have joined us on some of our other seminars, we’re offering the boot camp to you for $495 (usually $695 – that’s nearly 30% off).

We only have a limited on spots left and we will be closing enrollment on January 1st.

So – if you’re interested, reply to this email (aholcomb07@gmail.com) and we’ll personally be in touch right away.

We’ve had great success with this series in the past and some of our past students will be joining us to help you along.

You owe it to yourself, your dreams of writing, and the fans that are out there just waiting for you, to join us now.

Think of it – by the end of spring, you could have stories under submission and valuable tools to use to improve your writing . . .

. . . by the beginning of summer, everything can change for the better.

Remember – time and space are limited. Respond today and we’ll get you started.

I really look forward to having you join us.

Keep Writing!

Art

*****

Note from Larry: I wholeheartedly endorse and applaud anything Art puts out for writers seeking to elevate their craft and reach their highest potential. His stuff is some of the best in the business.

To be clear, the “we” in this announcement refers to Art and his support team, rather than an Art-and-Larry joint venture. Both of us will continue to provide training and coaching products and opportunities for Storyfix readers/writers seeking a higher level of craft understanding, and both of us will support each other as our individual projects come forth.

One of the things we are partnering on, right here and now, is wishing you all a wonderful, safe and creatively productive holiday season. Get ready for more killer content and training in 2018.

The post A Boot Camp Opportunity with Art Holcomb appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Pillar #2 – The Need for a Constant Mentoring Presence

December 12, 2017

By Art Holcomb

For a while now, I’ve been talking about the six pillars of education needed by all writers to succeed.

Pillar #1 was all about the need for high-quality craft educational information.

But the next pillar is something that most writers know in their hearts they need but never believe that will ever have a chance to get – a constant mentoring presence in their lives.

Now I can talk about all the things a mentor can offer: directions, support, and honest critique. But all those things become meaningless unless you can get the one thing that we all absolutely must have sometimes . . .

Answers to our questions – when we need them.

Let’s break that down . . .

ANSWERS:   Your job is to CREATE.  Let that concept settle in for a minute.

Writing is all about you taking your native talents and using them to make connections that are unique to you – and then presenting them to the world.

Your writing is unlike anything anyone else is doing.

Because of that, your journey as a writer is unique.

And there will be plenty of times when you hit a road block or become lost. It is at those moments when answers are the most important thing in the world to you.

Here are some of the questions I face regularly – even after forty years of writing:

Why isn’t this working?
How can I say this better?
Am I reaching the reader?
What am I really trying to say?
What is the truth I’m seeking?
What does my work say about human nature?
What the Hell am I doing here?

And here’s where a good mentor can help you.  They will know which questions to answer and which one to let you seek out for yourself.

. . . TO YOUR QUESTIONS:  Now, in almost every case, your questions will not be my questions.  Certainly in the beginning, we seek similar information; if this wasn’t true, there would be no reason for books, seminars, classes and even StoryFix to exist. But your journey is unique and therefore your questions will be unique.  And perhaps, most importantly, it is vital that you really understand – truly understand – the answers you get.  That is when a personal mentor is valuable – they can make sure you really get it before you move on.

. . . WHEN YOU NEED THEM:  The right answer is no good to you if it comes too late. We all know that feeling when we are stalled and have no idea what comes next.  A simple word, a brief explanation, the right direction at a critical moment, is all we need sometimes to get us on our way.  The ability to ask that question and get the right answer when you need it can make all the difference in the world.

MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE

In my writing life, I have had many writing mentors:

My sixth grade teacher, Pat Hanzad, who first recognized my abilities and encouraged me to express myself on paper.
Sal Orlando, my high school English teacher, who absolutely hated everything I wrote for him.
David Gerrold (of Star Trek Tribble fame), my first real writing teacher, who first showed me what I could really accomplish.
STAR TREK Showrunners Brannon Braga, Rene Echevarria and others at Paramount Pictures who trained me over the sixteen years I worked with them.
And people like comic book legends Len Wein and Jim Shooter, and my great friend – the science fiction novelist Howard V. Hendrix – who were always there with guidance and support.

In each case, I had a personal relationship with the people who helped guide my career.

And that made all the difference.

Books and seminars can really help.  Classes and conferences can be inspirations.  But a personal relationship with a mentor means that you are never on this journey alone.

Through this relationship, you see that writing really is an apprenticeship rather than a long, lonely trek through a vast and endless desert.

HOW TO FIND A MENTOR

It may seem daunting, but mentors are out there waiting for you…

Use what you already have:  Do you already know a writer who has had the kind of success you’d like to have?  Is there someone in your circle who has the knowledge you seek? Take them out for coffee and ask whether you can pick their brain.  Be respectful at all times, but the best writers know that we didn’t get here on our own – others helped us along the way.

We can never repay them for that kindness, but they might be more than happy to help you as a way of paying those people back.

Join a community: The more you mix with successful writers, the more opportunities you will find. Online Facebook groups can be a great way to meet other writers. Local critique groups, classes, conferences and other educational opportunities can give you a way to making personal connections and find great mentoring relationships.

The key thing is to always:

Seek out writers who are more successful than you,
Be respectful and professional when you approach them and
Be honest and genuine.

Take a DIRECTED class or webinar: If you have a need to work on your dialogue skills, for example, find a class that focuses on that single issue and you will see your crafts skills multiply.  But always be sure that you are concentrating on specific and targeted skills sets.  A general class may be interesting, but one that is designed to meet a specific need will be much more helpful.  Places like The Writer’s Store and others available online can get you started.

Hire a consulting mentor:  There are hundreds of writing teachers like myself and Larry who work with developing writers to help move them to the next level of their careers.  Sometimes all you need is a quick conversation for some much needed assistance or direction, or some concentrated time spent working on specific issues like dialogue, plot, emotional impact or career guidance. However your needs manifest themselves, there are people out there to help you.  Larry’s information and services is listed on the site, and you can always reach me at aholcomb07@gmail.com for more information about my seminar and consulting services.

And finally, drop us a comment here:  Larry and I are always looking for ways to serve you better.  If there is a topic that you’re interested in, or a question that we might answer, it could be of interest to other writers and could make for a good post on StoryFix. Feel free to send me an email with your idea and we can see what we can do!

NEXT TIME: We’ll talk about the third pillar of writing:  The Short Feedback Loop.

Until then – Keep Writing!

Art

******

In addition to Art’s contact information (above), you can learn more about his courses and consulting/mentoring programs on his website. 

Also, you may recall Larry has offered an evolving series of affordable story analysis programs, with different focuses, in addition to his video training programs. The latest evolution will be announced next week, when Larry’s next post goes up.

 

 

 

The post Pillar #2 – The Need for a Constant Mentoring Presence appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Story Structure: Is It Formulaic?

December 5, 2017

By Larry Brooks

Talking to writers about Story Structure is like trying to sell religion (how’s that for a polarizing opening analogy?). Sometimes, no matter how logical you present it, you can’t change someone’s mind. You never stood a chance.

Some writers will never believe story structure – the traditional 3-act paradigm, even with a drill down into its subtleties – is anything other than formulaic. And that “formulaic” is a bad thing.

Politics, too. Just sayin’. I know you’ve been there, talking to someone who won’t hear you, and you walk away shaking your head.

Let me flip that. It’s like trying to sell science. Proven, irrefutable fact.

In either case, there are those who will embrace it – sooner or later, if for no other reason than they are tired of failing – and find their lives to be orders of magnitude more… clear.

Today’s post is for those writers.

Here’s the unexpected truth behind this paradoxical issue every writer must face:

It actually is formulaic. And in a good way. A way that gets you published.

That’s the part some writers resist. That there is something beyond their pretty sentences and deep thoughts that makes all the difference in the world.

There are two liberating understandings here, stuff that most writers don’t get to, especially if they judge and discard the structure proposition at the mere mention of the word.

Some writing teachers don’t even get this. Which means, you may not have encountered this framing device before. Confusion ensues because the debate really isn’t about the existence and essential nature of story structure, but rather, the debate is about the story development process… which is all over the map.

Structure is not process. It is outcome.

When – if – it finally sinks in, the mist lifts, doors fly wide open and the angels weep. It happens when you consider story structure from this unassailable and rarely spoken truth: it is formulaic, and largely a given, within genre fiction. Learning this is, for some, for many, the core essence of the writing journey.

If you try to reinvent the structure of a genre novel, you will likely crash and burn. Every revision strategy offered to you will seek to bring back into alignment with the same principles of structure… that were available to you from square one.

Need an example? You write a spy novel in which the spy isn’t given something to do until page 210. That’s a rejection slip, no matter how brilliant your 209 pages of backstory.

By definition, genre fiction is formulaic for a reason: because readers buy these novels because they know what they are getting. They want what the genre promises.

They want the formula.

But when it comes to so-called “literary fiction,” structure becomes a more flexible, less discernible part of the story proposition. The author is free to, basically, invent the form and function of the story on their own terms, from within their own process.

But structure isn’t just about plot. Character, and the arc that demonstrates it, is a structural issue, as well.

Here’s a shocker: a huge percentage of literary novels follow the structural principles – the same principles that drive genre stories – that have become the foundation of my own teaching and understanding (not that I invented them, that’s certainly not true: rather, like all writers must at some point if they are to succeed, structure is discovered, then explored, then mastered).

Not long ago a Storyfix reader sent me this observation about a Pulitzer Prize winning novel:

“I’m currently reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt , a literary novel and one of the most beautifully written and nicely observed ‘character’ novels I’ve read in a long time. But here’s the thing. The first plot point? Bang on target!”

Another skeptical writer sent this:

“After downloading “ Story Engineering, “ I went on to read Neil Gaiman’s “ The Ocean at the End of the Lane ” which seems like a very “literary” novel. And I was delighted when, at the 25th percentile, I discovered the First Plot Point; at the 50th percentile the Midpoint emerged, and then at the 75th percentile the dramatic Second Plot point showed up. I had my doubts… I’m amazed that I hadn’t ever noticed this before… now that I see it, I cannot un-see it. My writing is forever changed and empowered.”

Why do some literary novels end up here? Because structure, as a universal architectural principle of storytelling, works. It doesn’t matter that the author has never heard of a first or second plot point, it matters that, however they got there, they reached the point where the story works, where it is optimized.

And when that happens the principles of structure will be visible in the story. Very much in alignment with the generic architectural (sequential) model that describes them.

The question isn’t whether the principles of structure are evident – trust me, they are… in virtually every published genre novel and a huge percentage of literary novels. This includes thrillers, mysteries, sci-fi, fantasy, historicals, and most obviously of all, romance and all its sub-genre variations. Take a hint from the previous italicized word: published. If you’re writing a genre novel that is not built upon the expected structural paradigm, odds are it won’t be published. Which is not to say it’s not any good, but it may no longer be commercial within the intended genre.

Yep, it’s true. It’s a formula, in a business in which that is a dirty word. 

Somebody has to say it. I just did.

And yet, seeking to understand it and apply it within your own work is, for many writers – a great many – the very career milestone that evolves that writer from someone who believes suffering isn’t optional, that chaos and chaotic first drafts are certain and even a right of passage, to one that pours their art and heart and soul into a framework that is, while flexible, largely already defined and waiting for me.

An understanding of structure can turn a first draft into what is, for writers in blissful denial, a fourth or fifth draft, qualitatively.

Understanding structure can cut a decade or more off your learning curve. Structure isn’t process, unless you want it to be (which is true for many authors). Rather, it is an inevitable outcome for any process that is functional, if not efficient.

Writing a whole bunch of drafts of a novel is the epitome of inefficiency. Ask Lee Childs – he gets structure, which is why his first drafts are a quick polish away from final.

Is he genius? Certainly. But part of that genius is the degree to which he gets the essential nature of story, in a structural sense.

In fact, we can conclude that to some extent, structure becomes a choice we make.

Structure is the canvas for our stories.

All great paintings are rendered to a canvas. Unless they are brushed onto walls (vandalism comes to mind) and mugs and urns and roof tiles, in which case they aren’t mainstream art after all. Art, maybe, but probably not something you find in a gallery (or, applying the analogy, in a bookstore).

The second level of truth I promised is this: the true nature of structure is something that runs very deep. Deeper than most care to dive. It is a four-part (across three traditional “acts”) evolution of the context of a story, as viewed from the perspective of the protagonist. It is the nature of the hero’s journey in a story. What you do within those four parts – within being the key word here – is entirely yours to create… which is why, once again, this really isn’t formula in a derogatory sense after all. Writing within a structural awareness becomes the art of fitting your story within the boundaries of the canvas that will deliver it.

Nobody ever won a game by hitting or kicking or throwing the ball out of bounds.

A story is setup… the hero is rendered human as we see them encounter a problem or challenge… that hero then searches and wanders through darkness, danger and failure a the problem escalate and the stakes loom large… the hero evolves into a problem solver and warrior who summons courage and cleverness… and then, in a way of the author’s choosing, the hero resolves the story.

That’s it. That’s structure. Four sequential parts defined and differentiated by context. With a whole boatload of missions, definitions, milestones, nuance, and application variability, enough to make it anything but formulaic, at least in the way deniers and the naive use the term.

If you’d like to hear a killer analogy for this, one that might jar you into taking a closer look at the structure proposition, look to the right here on this Home page (if you’re reading this on email, click on the title to go to the Storyfix site), and watch the video available in the little window in the middle column (click it to go full screen). It’s a bonafide 30-minute writing workshop (with over 37,000 views on YouTube), with the aforementioned analogy at about the 25-minute mark (which you can skip to if you’re impatient with listening to me talk).

The truth is out there.

The question isn’t whether structure exists in a form that you don’t really need to create for yourself – in the same way that an athlete doesn’t create the playing field or the painter doesn’t create the canvas – or shouldn’t play too loosely with (though it is flexible). The question isn’t if it’s formulaic or not… the question is…

… will you see it? Will you know it when you see it?

Once you do see it, when you understand what classic story structure is, form and function, you can’t miss it in the novels you read.

And you shouldn’t ever again miss it in the novels that you write.

*****

On another note… remember my post a couple of weeks ago discussing and recommending the movie Lady Bird? (If you missed it click HERE; it’s not at all about the wife of an ex-President, by the way).

Pictured below is the reviewer’s grade and synopsis for the film in this week’s edition of Entertainment Weekly. They give it an A-minus, which is rarefied air.

If you haven’t seen Lady Bird, know that this is truly a “writer’s film” – delightful, funny and moving… and you’re missing something special if you don’t.

And by the way… Lady Bird is a great example of classic story structure, at the apex of its intended contextual principles, unfolding before your writerly eyes.

The post Story Structure: Is It Formulaic? appeared first on Storyfix.com.

The Six Pillars of Your Writing Education

November 28, 2017

By Art Holcomb

I’ve been a writing teacher for a very long time.

I started in the 1990’s with a small group of students and, today, I teach classes and seminars in-person and through the internet to people throughout the U.S., in eleven different countries in four different languages.

And, unfortunately, I see the same problems everywhere I go.

What we do, as writers, is separate and lonely.  We write and dream and hunger for the kind of information and guidance that we need to move forward – to level up, as we talked about last time.

I think you are some of the lucky ones – because you’re here . . .

You found Larry and StoryFix and you’re beginning to see that not all craft information is the same.

There are some sources, like StoryFix, which are dedicated to getting you what you absolutely need to learn your craft and thrive.

It would be fantastic if every site could be like this one.

But the internet can be an unending stream of junk information which, at best, is weak regurgitations of classic insights and, at worst, is misleading and harmful.

But that’s even not the biggest problem.

The absolute worst thing I’ve found is that many writers are led to believe that this never- ending diet of craft McNuggets is all they need for success.  That this diet of informational fast food is enough to move them to the next level and show them the path to achievement in writing.

This is simply not true.

This is misleading.

And you deserve much more.

How I began here.

I came to Larry and StoryFix in 2011.  I was already a successful working writer. But I was so moved by what Larry had to say that I sent him a note, telling him that I thought he was on to something very special with this site and his books.

He was kind enough to invite me to guest post and I have need here off and on ever since.

What made this possible is that we were of a very similar mindset.

What drives us both are these two separate concepts:

The need to get real craft information into the hands of writers ready to hear it – and actually use it – and…
The need to fight back against the well-meaning but damaging information that fills the internet.

So – here it is.

So that there is no misunderstanding about where I‘m coming from, here is a list of what I believe you REALLY need for success as a writer – what I call the Six Pillars of Success:

High Quality Craft Information
A constantly available Mentoring Relationship
A short Feedback Loop
Real, Effective Accountability
An ever-improving Process
Access to Deep Writing

Pillar #1 – High Quality Craft Information

There is a reason why Aristotle is revered amongst writers.

Why Joseph Campbell and Robert McKee are honored names.

And why you come back to StoryFix – and Larry Brooks – time and time again . . .

Because we all are thirsty travelers crossing an unending desert.

From an informational and craft standpoint, the internet – your main source of information about writing – is filled with hacks, tips, secrets, and top-ten lists, all from well-meaning (and sometimes not so well-meaning) writers wanting to share their knowledge with you.

Here are some standards by which you could judge any piece of information you’re considering.

Is it MEANINGFUL? Does it make sense to you on a craft level? Is it there to make you writing better or is it touted to make your writing easier? Is it appropriate for your level right now? Does it sound like the writer is trying to impress you, rather than seriously help you?

I’ve been writing all my life and one thing has been as true today as it have seen for the last 40 years . . .

Good writing is not easy. It is troubling and difficult.

Why? Because it is meant to be.

And anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.

All art must come from some deeper place, and the talent that you seek does not lie on the surface.  Like gold in the ground, it requires hard work and digging to access.  This frankly is because all good things are hard to achieve.

If you find writing to be easy, simple, breezy and completely enjoyable, it’s very possible that you’re not even scratching the surface of what you can accomplish.

Is it VALUABLE? Will this information lead you to write something that is unlike anything you’ve ever written before? Can it help you to get published and build an audience? Can you instantly see that what you are able to do with this information is as good as what you see in books, movies, short stories and stage plays? When you share your work with others, are they clearly moved by your words?

Whether it’s for publication or merely for exercise, will this information help you to become a better writer?

Is it RARE? Quite simply, will it help make your most recent piece of work the best thing you have done to date? Is it clearly, and instantly better?

That, in a nutshell, is what you want in all the craft information you are considering.

Whether you’re getting the information from a post, a book, or a seminar like one of mine, you want to be ever moving forward. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you can already recognize the difference between information that tells you something that you can really use, and something that simply tells you something you’ve heard many times before.

So, you need to develop some real radar about what is useful and what is not.  In the weeks ahead, we’ll try to help you develop that sense, and teach you to fill your individual tool boxes with valuable tools and insights.

Next time, we’ll talk about Pillar #2 – The need for a positive mentoring relationship in your life.

Until then, just keep writing.

Art

The post The Six Pillars of Your Writing Education appeared first on Storyfix.com.

The Writer’s Balance

November 24, 2017

A guest post by Stephanie Raffelock

It takes courage to get up every day and write. You have to love what you are doing and you have to believe in yourself to do it.  It’s humbling for me to be the perpetual student of craft and of story. And sometimes on a good day, the best that I can muster for my life’s passion and purpose is insecurity and a lot of caffeine to meet the real and self-imposed deadlines.

The thing I know for sure about writing is this: Muses and inspiration tend to be sporadic at best, and unreliable at worst.  The courage part of writing is working it everyday, anyway. Don’t think I haven’t dreamed about how a dry martini or other consciousness altering accutromonts might stave off the existential loneliness of writing. Unfortunately those things are unreliable too. So how does one buck up and balance the solitude, the glacial speed of professional career development and the other demands of this art form?

When In Doubt, Serve:

I have two mission statements for my writing life.  One, I’ve already stated– get up every day and write.  The other is to find ways to be in service to writers through support, encouragement and educational resources. The second part of my mission statement has provided me membership into a large literary community.  And that is where I find balance.

Support:

Attend local library events. Intellectual gatherings that foster ideas and creativity are essential, and can inform your writing.  Support independent bookstores. Get to know the clerks in these stories and talk to them about your favorite genres. Get recommendations. Create an ongoing dialogue. What sells? What’s the most popular women’s fiction? Have you discovered anyone new that I should know about?  Don’t wait until you want your self-published books on a shelf in their store.

Encouragement: 

None of us can hear positive comments enough.  It’s important to honor the writers in your community. Look for what’s good in other people’s work and share that–we all get enough serious criticism. Celebrate the person who got an agent. Celebrate the one who self-published. And celebrate the individual going to their first writing conference.  These are shared successes and here is where true inspiration comes from.

Education:

Share your talent, skills and abilities with your community. Do you have time to read a book to a group of kids at the library, the bookstore or an assisted living center?  Can you make recommendations for good writing books with authority — because you’ve actually studied the book yourself and it’s helped you? I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve recommended Larry’s books to writers that I knew were struggling to figure out that damn novel format, and each time that I did, I knew I was doing that fellow writer a solid.  Are you continuing to educate yourself through constant reading? I like to read independently published writers, small press writers who aren’t household names but have wonderful stories to tell. It’s important to know what truly moves you and not just what’s trending.

Here’s the Bottom Line on Balance:

Writers think way too much about what they can get. Can I get an agent? Can I get a book contract? Can I get a hundred likes on my author page?  To be truly balanced as both a writer and a person, “what can I give” needs to be part of the equation.

Here’s a personal illustration: This past summer, my book was making the publisher rounds, courtesy of my wonderful literary agent.  She had said to me, “Stephanie, I just know that the right publisher is out there for this book.”  Two months later she sent me 35 rejection notices. And although most of those rejections were filled with encouragement, praise and support, because there was no forthcoming book deal, I was crushed.  This happened two days before the writer’s conference that I attend every year in Portland.  I had wanted to enter that conference, a woman triumphant, but instead, I walked through the door with my head down and my tail dragging.  But that only lasted for about five minutes.

I sit on the Board of Directors for that particular conference (Willamette Writers.) I direct the Young Willamette Writers program and there were lots of people depending upon me that weekend.  So my attention shifted quickly because I had 16 kids to chaperone through the writer’s conference. Sharing in the excitement of being in service to those kids took the sting out of the loneliness and rejection that come with the writing territory.

What drives me, satisfies me and keeps me going as a novelist in the becoming, is that I do the work; I am as authentic and truthful as I can be; and I have balance in how I give my talents back to the world.  You don’t have to wait to be a published writer in order to live the writing life. And to me, part of the writing life is what you give back.

It is only in the authentic fullness of life and gratitude for the gifts we are given that we become better writers, and better people. So, by all means make writing the goal. Constantly search for the sweet spot that is that ineffable quality of voice that makes good writing so compelling. Continue to study and practice all of the time. And balance all of it with the joy of what you can give.

Stephanie Raffelock is an aspiring novelist who writes about the transformational forces of life. She served an internship at The Boulder Daily Camera, and has been published in The Aspen Times and Quilter’s Magazine. She is a regular contributor on SixtyandMe.com as well as a contributing writer for The Rogue Valley Messenger.  Stephanie is the Youth Programming Director for Oregon’s Willamette Writers, and maintains a board position with Southern Oregon University’s Hannon Library. You can reach out to her at stephanieraffelock.com and @Sraffelock.

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Note from Larry: given it’s the Thanksgiving weekend, I wanted to share a bit of good news, for which I am thankful.

You may remember my little side project last year, a relationship book entitled Chasing Bliss. Earlier this year it was named the winning entry in the Relationships category at the 2017 Next Generation Indie Awards.

If you’re looking for an awkward moment in your life among friends and family, write a book on relationships. I could do a reality show on that one.

The book’s website is HERE.

The post The Writer’s Balance appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Another 2-Hour Writing Clinic, This Time on Scene Writing

Another learning opportunity – and one heck of an entertaining experience – awaits writers in the form of Lady Bird, a character-driven film currently in major release, starring 2-time Oscar nominated actress Saoirse Ronan and written/directed by the poster-child of character-driven movies, Greta Gerwig (best known as an actress, though she quietly has 10 film writing credits, and may just score Oscar nominations here for writing and/or directing).

I almost didn’t see this movie. While I applaud Gerwig’s many acting successes, her films haven’t proven to be my preferred cup of tea. But when Rotten Tomatoes gave Lady Bird a 100 % critics score (90 % from viewers), and because I’m a big fan of Ronan (most of us first saw her in The Lovely Bones, one of my favorite novel-to-film titles), I got out of my own way and found myself lost in the film from the opening scene (see clip below).

Here’s why I recommend this film to writers: it exemplifies two things that are high on the degree-of-difficulty attributes of story.

Scene writing: While it’s easy to simply get lost in this narrative, the scenes will keep you smiling and nodding. Each scene resides within the arc of the story as a unique dramatic unit. Unlike many character-centric stories, each scene contributes massively to the exposition, depositing something that builds on what precedes it, while setting up that which follows it.

Many of the scenes – more than most – will surprise you with a twist, either to the character or to the exposition. And while you’ll laugh (hard) at many of these antics, you’ll also have to manage your emotions, which are always at the forefront of the mission of each and every scene.

2) Concept/Premise: The premise here is light on conceptual weight, something I like to emphasize, if nothing more than because it’s really hard to bring a non-conceptual story alive.

Here’s the pitch: the story follows a socially-awkward girl through her senior year of high school in Sacramento, CA, showing us the stressful relationship she has with her controlling mother (played by the wonderful Laurie Metcalf, best known from her role in television’s The Big Bang Theory).

Not exactly a must-see proposition.

And yet… it sizzles on the screen. Not just because of Ronan’s riveting performance (get ready for her third Oscar nod from this), but because of Greta Gerwig’s ear for dialogue and nose for the journey of transitioning from child to young adult.

Check out the trailer below, you’ll see these very things manifesting within these two and a half minutes. After you see the film, chip in your thoughts below.

Enjoy. And learn while you’re at it. I know I did.

Larry

The post Another 2-Hour Writing Clinic, This Time on Scene Writing appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Navigating These Four Writing Dichotomies Will Dramatically Increase Your Effectiveness and Efficiency as a Writer of Fiction

by Larry Brooks

A four-part primer on how to compete at the highest levels of the writing game.

The word dichotomy isn’t one you hear all that much in the writing conversation. At a glance it sounds more apropos to a discussion about insects or surgery – “I’m having a dichotomy next week but my insurance won’t cover it…” – and yet, when you drill down into these truths, you’ll find pure gold if you allow yourself to think that deeply.

Sometimes, deeper thinking is precisely what we need as novelists. Because when we write from the seat of our pants, that becomes the diametric opposite of deep thinking. Some writers advocate the opposite: don’t think, just write.

If your seat of the pants is highly schooled on what it takes to make a story work, then by all means, have at it. That “highly schooled” criteria may be the difference between you and the established novelists who love to brag that this is how they develop their stories (and even then, it’s a fuzzy, inaccurate description of what is really going on).

Just consider the anatomical source of your voice when your seat-of-the-pants is doing the talking.

Feel free to right click on the word dichotomy, right here and now, and then click on synonyms within that sub-menu, and you’ll get a feel for where this is going.

Too often writers accept the first thing they learned, or the easiest thing to access (cluelessness defaults to just making shit up), or what Famous Writer X says (almost always applying to their own process, which may not be the optimal process for you) as unassailable conventional wisdom, when in fact, too often, those things are half baked and half true, or just plain toxic.

“Just write,” for example. You’ll hear that, a lot. But beware. Because it’s only half true, and for far less than half of the writers who hear it. You get to decide which half of that proposition serves you.

In this series I’ll introduce four of these liberating differentiations, and explain how harnessing these nuanced understandings will make you a better storyteller… immediately. They are:

               Concept vs. Premise

               Character vs. Plot

               Process vs. Product

               Structure vs. Random/Episodic Meandering

Today, by way of launching this four part series, we’ll cover…

Part 1: Concept vs. Premise

Have you ever heard someone describe their story idea and thought to yourself, dang, that’s a killer story. And yet, it may not even be a story yet. This happens all the time.

Or maybe you didn’t think that. And yet, what you heard might indeed turn out to be killer story idea.

For example, if two decades years ago a writer would have said to you, “My story is about a paranormally gifted kid who goes to a school for children just like him,” that may or may not have registered with you as the ignition spark for the hottest story idea of the last half century.

Notice that it’s still up to the writer to make it so.

The idea – the concept – is merely a landscape for the story. The rocket fuel for it. Consider, though, that rocket fuel without a vehicle – the rocket itself – it just a tub full of smelly liquid.

If concept is the fuel, then premise is the vehicle.

It is the marriage of concept and premise that becomes a bonfire of potential in the hands of an author who renders it to the page in a way that leverages all the available tools of the craft.

So when you hear a “story idea” – or more apropos, when you have one that excites you – you need to ask yourself this: what is it? Is it an idea, a story, a concept or a premise?

The newsflash for many is that all four of those are contextually different things, different phases of the story development process. This truth is rendered complex and confusing by the fact than an idea can take the form, or at least the label, of any of the other three.

When a writer attempts to write a draft from an idea/concept that is not yet installed within a viable premise, this becomes the prototypical tormented writer situation. Any draft written from that subset of required awareness is nothing other than a means of searching for, ferreting out, the premise. As opposed to the enlightened writer situation, which is the case when the difference between concept and premise is fully understood.

The goal is to assure that you are the later. That you are an enlightened writer.

This becomes a vernacular issue, one that is exacerbated by some of the most experienced and even famous writers (and reviewers, as well, who mangle these terms on a regular basis). It isn’t that they don’t know the difference, it’s that they have melded them into one starting block criteria, without understanding that the new, emerging writer requires more clarity.

To make my point, let me resort to a ridiculous example.

You’re going in for a medical procedure, and you know in general what the problem is, and what the procedure is, but the terms you use to describe it sound like this: Well, I have a hormone imbalance, one of the hormones is too high and other is too low, and they’re going in to take out the thingy that produces it and put me on some medicine – can’t recall what it’s called – to make up the difference in the right proportions.

Is that wrong? Not at all. But is it a functional starting point for the person who is actually going to do the procedure on the patient? Same answer: not at all. Because it is both incomplete, imprecise and largely, because of it’s over simplification, useless.

Chances are that, in saying that, your listener – part of your golf foursome or the guy in line behind you – isn’t going to ask for more details. And yet… what if your doctor was this imprecise and perhaps confused about the exact terms and parts and substances involved?

Unthinkable, right? Well, as the author of your story, you are the doctor in this example, not the patient. Later, after your book is successful, you can stand in front of a room and adopt a faux-humble context that claims you never really knew where your genius idea came from.

You either knew, or you didn’t. And if you didn’t, and the book is nonetheless successful, that genius you are bragging about probably spent a decade writing the sixteen drafts required to finally hit all the right notes.

Concept versus premise: even your favorite author and everyone in your critique group may use the terms interchangeably. Trouble is, you may not be able to get away with it.

Even better, you shouldn’t want to get away with it. Because life is too short, and novels are too complex, to rely on blind luck or some inner instinct that you can’t describe.

So what is the difference?

An idea, a concept, and even a premise – none of those are a story.

At least, they aren’t if they are properly labeled within your process.

And if you accept than a concept and a premise – both of which might be the story idea – are different, which they absolutely are, then you can leverage the power of each to combine them into a whole that exceeds the sum of the parts.

They are like strength/speed and accuracy are to athlete shooting or throwing a ball. Without both, you can’t play in the big leagues.

Concept is very much an idea.

In fact, it is often the first form of a story idea that strikes you. Rarely is the story idea a premise, though sometimes the idea arrives as a vision for a character.

Concept is a framework for a story, a proposition for the playing field and contextual or literal setting for a story, without it being a story yet. Before you add a character and a plot.

The concept for the Harry Potter books is.. simply stated, Hogwarts – a school for paranormally-gifted children. It becomes the playing field, the landscape, for all the Harry Potter stories. For all of those stories… eight novels, totaling eight different stories told from one concept, and one macro-arcing storyline that is born for that same single concept.

Episodic primetime dramas on television are all driven by concept. Take the show Castle, for example, which ran for seven seasons. One concept: a famous author works with a New York detective squad to solve crimes, applying his sense of the criminal mind (as demonstrated in his novels) to the work in the real world. From that one concept comes 182 different premises… one for each episode.

The best example I know: Superman. The proposition of Superman. Alien child crash lands on Earth, is raised by human parents, grows up to demonstrate super-human powers.  If you stopped there, and simply chronicled all that… you would not have an effective story. Yet.

Because there isn’t a premise on the table… yet. Because a concept, that concept, is not the premise.

One of the ways to distinguish between the two is to understand that a rich concept can give birth to more than one – multiple, in fact –story. A great concept can become the baseline proposition for a series.

The Hunger Games, all three books and four movies, stem from one concept. Which began as an idea that expanded into that story landscape, and which expanded even further – by adding a hero, a dramatic proposition, stakes and antagonism – into separate premises, one for each book, one for each movie (which were adaptations of those initial three premises).

The upside of this understand empowers you to avoid using a draft to find your premise. When your concept has already fueled a premise that meets the criteria for a story (see the previous paragraph), your draft actually has a shot.

But not until.

*****

Click HERE to learn more about the definitions of concept and premise, and how to apply them to your story development process. Use the Search function (right-hand side of this home page) to find other posts on concept and premise.

Click HERE to read a post from a published novelist (Carrie Rubin) who recently sat through my full day workshop on this topic, and was moved to write about what it felt like to go home and apply this perspective to her work.

And click HERE to access a 90-minute video tutorial on this topic (see video #4 of the five shown on this menu).

Next up in this dichotomy series: character vs. plot.

The post Navigating These Four Writing Dichotomies Will Dramatically Increase Your Effectiveness and Efficiency as a Writer of Fiction appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Level Up: A Master Teacher Uniquely Frames the Writer’s Journey

by Art Holcomb

A quick thanks to Larry for making me feel welcomed as we join forces to make STORYFIX into THE premier site for writers anywhere.

For those of you who don’t know me: I’ve been a working professional writer for more than forty years and have been successful at selling stage plays, more than 150 comic books (including The Avengers and The X-Men), screenplays, animation and non-fiction. I sold my first stage play at the tender age of thirteen and I worked with all four modern Star Trek TV shows (TNG, DS9, Voyager and Enterprise). In recent years, I continue to write screen and stage plays, and have dedicated my time to teaching and training screenwriters and novelists through private coaching and my audio training seminars.

In all – and like Larry – I’ve worked hard to make sure that you have the educational information and insights that you need and demand so that you can move ahead in your writing career.

But what exactly does that mean? 

How can we chart our progress as writers? Are sales and self-published works enough to consider ourselves a success?

I believe that writing is an apprenticeship – a profession that requires hard work and dedication, as well as several failures along to way to drive home the points of this craft.  There are actual levels of success in writing, as there are in any other profession and, before we move on, we should talk about those a bit. Because modern-day info-nuggets like hacks, top-ten-lists and secrets to writing are common, but could never be enough to really train you to be a writer.

For our purposes here, let’s divide the career path of a writer into four groups, not unlike those stages your hero may go through in the course of his or her story.

They are:

THE ORPHAN: This is where we all start. We all began with a desire to write but little idea what that means. Perhaps we discovered the emotional satisfaction of writing when we were young and found that getting our words down on paper was a great way to deal with the ups and downs of teenage life, and learned just how our mind and soul worked through the mirror of writing. We tried – and found – that the art of creating could make us feel happy and fulfilled in ways we never knew before.  Words gave us our voice and thereby our power.

In this stage, we had:

HEARD that there were books and blogs
SEEN the ads for classes and seminars, and
WONDERED whether there were conferences and gatherings of like-minded writers . . .

. . . and we continued to write.

THE WANDERER:  This, then, is the LEARNING stage of writing: You fully accepted the Call to Action that your passion demanded. You learn that there are rules to the art and you begin to build your own highly personal writer’s tool box, adding new insights and techniques with every word you wrote. You start to look critically at your writing, and finally gather the nerve to show it to other for comments. You actually completed your first works at this stage and made the stunning realization that you have more than one story inside you. You could not wait to see your work in print or on the big screen. You’ve perhaps made at least one sale by this time and have found a real hunger for more. You could almost feel your future book in your hand and could not wait to see your name on the cover and in reviews.

It’s here that you first become frustrated with your work and started learning that the true art comes in the rewriting – not the first draft.

At this stage, you:

BEGAN READING the books and blogs
WENT to your first conference
TOOK the classes and seminars. . .

. . . and you wrote.

THE WARRIOR: By now, you have finally gone ALL IN! You have chosen your form, and have read all the great writers in your genre. You may have lain awake aching over the fact that you fear you may never be as good as them. You have begun submitting regularly and have written several manuscripts that no one will ever see as you work to build your craft, moving from the traditional role of apprentice to the position of journeyman. By now, you have made several sales and have begun to gather a real following of fans. You are firmly in the CRAFT of writing now and can see on the horizon the level of ARTIST waiting for you. You have seen the wider possibilities of your stories, created worlds in which a multitude of stories could be told, and have move solidly from Writer to Creator.

At this level, you:

STUDY the books and blogs
WORK the conferences
LOVE the many classes you take

and you write…

THE ARTIST: By now, years have passed and your name is known to thousands.  You start receiving fan mail. You are finally writing the works that you were born to write and creating deep emotional stories that inform, delight and evoke real and lasting emotions in your fans. You’re asked to speak at conferences and your body of work is such that you believe it’s time to start giving back to a new generation of Orphans, Wanderer and Warriors. Your books have an honored place on the bookshelves of writers everywhere and younger writers study you and long to write as well as you do.

At this level, you:

WRITE the books
SPEAK at the conferences
TEACH the classes –

. . . and you write!

Can you identify your level?

In the coming months, Larry and I will be talking about different things, sometimes talking about the same things in different ways, but our mission is always the same: to offer quality craft information to you – to cut through all the static of the Internet and the marketplace, to offer information that is meaningful, valuable and rare.

And we’ll talk about each of these levels individually – and what it will actually take for you to LEVEL UP!

In all, we want to talk about the things that no one else is talking about.

So, the next few posts are going to be special:

Today, we talked about the levels and stages a writer goes through. Next time, I will talk about the REAL reasons you have yet to accomplish what you want to accomplish.  There are aspects to your writing life that are missing – I call them the Six Pillars of Writing.

In the coming months, you’ll see us talk about the pitfalls and traps that modern writers – like yourself – face every day.  We’ll explore the fundamentals in a new way and ask you to write the absolute best story of your life. And we’ll discuss in detail both how to best create a novel or screenplay from a single idea – and how to resurrect an abandoned or problem story once and for all.

And I’ll bring you Tales from Hollywood and expert information from editors, agents and professionals.

So stay with us and you won’t be disappointed. Many of you have been here for while, perhaps years, and to you we commit to raising the bar even above the high level this site has always aspired to reach.

There is always learning to be had.

In all, it’s going to be a wild ride.

And, as always, just keep writing!

Art

*****

Next Up: “The Career-Making Dichotomies of Storytelling,” from Larry.

We’d like to hear from you. Contact us if you have something specific you’d like us to cover, or to offer this readership community. We can’t promise we’ll get to everything (because there is a hierarchy of urgency to all of this), but we promise to address the things that really make a difference.

Contact us at: storyfixer@gmail.com.

The post Level Up: A Master Teacher Uniquely Frames the Writer’s Journey appeared first on Storyfix.com.

Text, Lies and Old Tapes – The Secret to Elevating Above the Writing Multitudes

An Essential Post of Monstrous, Manifesto Proportions

I’m on fire about this topic. I’ve written various iterations of it, sometimes using the words “The Lie” within the title. I even have a little ebook by that title. It’s an attention grabber, one that some writers take as a challenge to disprove, because hey, that’s the way they do it. And if they do it, how can it possibly be a lie?

This site is about both process and product. But you’ll always be clear on which side of this dichotomy you are dealing with, and you’ll get the clearest, most succinct and actionable accounting of the parts and parcel and structure of a novel available anywhere, from anyone.

Beginning in November, Art Holcomb will be joining Storyfix as a regular contributor (he already has over two dozen posts here on Storyfix; use the Search function to the right to check them out). Art is perhaps the best teacher of process I’ve met, and his stuff works because it is based on a keen understanding of what a story needs to do, in what order, using specific techniques, standards and benchmarks to elicit specific reader experiences and engagement.

Meanwhile, I’ll be here writing about the cogs in the story machine (as will Art; likewise, I’ll weigh in on process, as well, beginning with the post you’re reading now), the nuts and bolts and rivets and cylinders and belts and nuances that put drama and character into motion within our stories.

Together, our goal is to leave no stone unturned for writers who want to learn this craft from the inside out, instead of just waiting for lightning to strike from a good idea.

Today’s post (see below) first ran on WriterUnboxed.com a few months ago.

Read it here, then go to that site and check out the interesting comment thread. Including the guy who claims anything he’s ever heard about writing that’s useful could fit on a 3 by 5 card.

That’s what I’m talking about. That guy. Propagating The Lie.

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The Well-Intentioned, Feel Good Untruth About Writing Compelling Fiction

Welcome to The Big Lie

By Larry Brooks

There’s a quiet rumor circulating among newer writers that professional authors know something they don’t. And that those famous A-listers (B-listers, too) aren’t giving it up.

This may very well be the case. Not so much as a conspiracy, but from a lack of an ability to convey—or a willingness to admit—that what they do can actually be explained, or that it can be taught and learned.

Too often they say this instead:

“I just sit down and write, each and every day, following my gut, listening to my characters, and eventually the magic happens.”

And so, hungry writers who hear this may lean into the belief that the craft of writing a good novel is inexplicable. That it’s something we are born with, or not. It is purely an issue of instinct. Maybe even that your characters actually talk to you.

The nights can get pretty long if you’re waiting to hear voices.

The real dream killer takes wing when writers conclude that there really isn’t anything to know at all. Rather, that you get to make it all up as you go.

And thus the Big Lie is born.

There actually is an enormous wealth of principle-based learning to be discovered and assimilated about how to write a novel that works. And there are folks out there teaching it, albeit with different models and terminology… all of which tends to coalesce into a singular set of interdependent truths.

Maybe it’s not a lie when someone repeats what they believe to be true. But belief, especially about the underpinnings of writing fiction, doesn’t make something true.

It may indeed be true for them. But not necessarily true for you.

Clarity requires understanding the differences.

There is no default best way to write a story, nor is there a prescribed path. Anyone who tells you that organic story development is superior to structured, principle-driven story development, including outlining, is wrong, regardless of their belief in that position.

And vice versa. Both are issues of process, and only that. They are choices, rather than an elevated version of conventional wisdom.

But with finished stories, any division between process and product vanishes. At that point, when you deem a draft to be final, what is true for one writer is suddenly true for all.

Clarity awaits in understanding the difference not only between process and product, but between rules and principles, as well. Rules apply to neither, while principles empower both.

Whether by intention, as a product of instinct or pure blind-ass luck, the efficacy of fiction is always driven by a set of core principles. They are not something you get to make up as you go. Rather, they are discovered as you progress along the learning curve.

Not all authors recognize the inherent opportunity in that moment of discovery. Sometimes they need to see the principles at work within someone else’s story… which is the most validating teachable moment of all.

The Author Who Can’t Tell Us Anything

In a recent author profile appearing in Writers Digest Magazine, an 11-million-copy bestselling author confessed she has no idea how she does it. Clearly, after two movie adaptations on top of her book sales, the numbers prove her wrong.

But not knowing how she got there isn’t saying she doesn’t know what it needs to look like when she does. The numbers prove that, as well.

So what is she hiding? Is she lying, is she confused, or is she truly without a clue?

Probably none of the above. Rather, her contention is simply proof that, as it is in many forms of art and athletics and academics, doing and teaching exist as different core competencies, only rarely shared within one practitioner.

One might also cynically suggest that this actually proves one doesn’t require any core knowledge to knock a story out of the park. You just need to put in the time, and eventually your instincts will kick in.

Maybe. It happens. But usually it is more complicated than that.

Whether they know it or not, teachers who never circle around to the core principles of fiction as a part of the creative process are peddling the Big Lie.

They will defend their seat-of-the-pants blind process vigorously from behind a keynote podium, yet they have no explanation beyond the principles—which they aren’t talking about—that led to their own writing success.

It’s like your kid designing a paper airplane. It flies, even though Junior knows nothing about aerodynamics. And while you might think this proves the other side’s point, it doesn’t. Because the complexities of a novel that works are more like a Boeing airliner than a paper airplane from kindergarten.

As writers, we don’t know what we don’t know.

When I started writing about writing, I ran into a guy on an online forum who proclaimed this: “I never outline. It robs the process of creativity and the possibility of discovery. It takes the fun out of it.”

So says… that guy. Who is in it for fun.

This may be true… for him. This absolutely is not—it never has been—a universal truth you should apply to your own experience… at least until you should.

The things we don’t know become the learning we need to seek out and discover and understand before we can begin to truly wrap our heads around fiction as a profession. Writing itself is certainly a viable part of that journey, but it is not what unlocks the secret of that journey, in and of itself.

That forum guy was talking about his process, irresponsibly framing it as conventional wisdom. But there are no universal truths when it comes to process, other than it needs to take you somewhere, and that yours might indeed be what is holding you back.

Story doesn’t trump structure. Just as structure doesn’t trump story. Because they are the same things. Both are extreme ends of a process continuum that, if and when it works, takes you to the exact same outcome. Anyone telling you differently is actually talking about their own preferred process, and if they don’t clarify that context then they are propagating the Big Lie.

And thus a paradox has been hatched.

So if not everyone agrees, how then do we pursue the core craft we need to write a novel that works, whatever our process? Even if the folks we admire and look to for answers claim they don’t?

Take the common advice to just write.

Depending on the degree to which the writer commands the core principles, it may be like telling a medical student to just cut. “Just write” is half of the answer, for half of the problem, applying to half of the writers who hear it, sometimes long before they should even consider it. Any more than a first year medical student should consider removing a spleen from anything other than a cadaver.

Because just write is advice about process, not product. Yet when Stephen King advises us to do it, who dares question him… even when they should?

Such advice, framed as truth, becomes yet another part of the Big Lie.

Welcome to the writing conversation.

This seems to be how the entire writing conversation—blogs, books, how-to articles, workshops, conferences, keynote addresses, famous writer profiles, writing groups, critique groups, and (God-help us) writing forums—is framed. And yet, collectively, combined with practice and a seat-of-the-pants ability to assimilate skill and truth as it collides with what we would rather deem to be mystical and elusive, there are things that actually do define the journey of learning to write a professional-caliber novel.

Look in the right places and you will indeed encounter specific principles, propositions, processes, expectations, categories, models, trends and risks that the more experienced writer understands and weighs—perhaps only at an instinctual level, but they exist nonetheless—and that over time the effective writer builds their work upon. Most of them being issues with which the newer writer struggles.

Knowing where you stand relative to these core truths can save you years of exploration and untold buckets of blood seeping from your forehead. Some writers toil for decades without ever truly hearing these truths, or assimilating it if they do.

This is because The Lie is loud, downing what it is you truly need to hear and understand. Because even within The Lie, those truths are at work behind a curtain of hubris or ignorance, sometimes both.

Here is a framework for your learning curve, in a nutshell.

These six things rationalize the consideration of craft itself.

Not all story ideas are good story ideas. Not all of them work. You can’t sit down and write anything you want and expect it to be saved by your brilliant prose. A worthy story idea needs to seed the landscape for the things that do, indeed, cause a fully formed story to work. There are principle-driven criteria in this regard that will inform your story selection instincts, which in turn will help you sort out which is which.

While I have no data for this other than a collective consensus among agents, editors and those who do what I do… consider that half of all rejection can be explained with a recognition that the story idea, at its most basic conceptual level, may be inherently weak. Regardless of how well the story is written or how talented the writer.

A manuscript that seeks to discover the story enroute is at best a draft, and almost never a fully-formed, publishable novel. To label such a draft final, without rewriting it from the context of a fully-discovered story, is to condemn it to compromise.

There’s nothing wrong with using drafts as a search and discovery process. It’s called “pantsing,” and it works for many. It also sends many others to an early writing grave, because they don’t recognize it for what it is: a story search process, one of many that are available.

When the story is finished, and when it works, process ceases to count for anything. The exact same criteria for excellence apply to the end product, regardless of the process. You need to write with an ending in mind if you want the journey toward that ending to work.

Genre fiction is not “all about the characters.” Some gurus say this… they are wrong, or at best only partially right. Genre stories are about how a character responds to a calling, to the solving of a problem, via actions taken and opposition encountered, thus creating dramatic tension that shows us the truest nature of who they are.

In other words, genre stories are driven by plot. And a plot doesn’t work without a hero to root for and an antagonistic force to fear. In any genre, conflict resides at the heart of the fiction writing proposition.

It isn’t a story until something goes wrong. Carve this into the hard plastic that surrounds your computer monitor.


A story isn’t just about something. Rather, it is about something happening. Theme and setting and history and character need to be framed within the unspooling forward motion of the narrative along a dramatic spine, driven by things that happen, rather than a static snapshot of what is.


Structure is omnipresent in a story that works. Structure is, for the most part, a given form, not a unique invention to fit the story you are telling. This is the most often challenged tenant of fiction, and the most enduring and provable. Exceptions are as rare as true geniuses.

Structure is not remotely synonymous with formula. But the lack of structure is almost perfectly synonymous with finger painting.

The sooner you get these six truths into your head (among others, including the drilled-down subsets of each principle), the sooner you can truly begin to grow as a storyteller. And when you do, you may find yourself saying this: “Dang, I wish I’d have understood this stuff earlier in my writing journey, instead of all these years of sniffing around the edges of it, believing the wrong things from the wrong people.”

The truth is out there.

But not everyone is talking about it. Because the truth is less mysterious and glamorous and self-aggrandizing than the notion that successful writing is a product of suffering for one’s art.

Hiding beneath the under-informed meme of “there are no rules,” some writers, in the pursuit of that suffering, settle on accepting that few or none of those truths exist. That truly, good storytelling is simply the product of possessing a sense of things. That there are no criteria or expectations.

The only part of this that is true is when a sense of things refers to the degree to which the writer has internalized those six principles and all of the subterranean layers of them that exist.

Let me just say it outright: before you sit down to write a novel the way that Stephen King or James Patterson or the author giving the keynote address writes one, make sure you actually can do what they do and know what they know.

Intention is not the primary catalyst of success.

Some of the best novels, and novelists, are outcomes of a process that makes too little sense, and/or takes decades of blood, sweat and tears, and even stretches the boundaries of the principles themselves.

Rather, it is in the application and nuanced manipulation of what is known to render a novel compelling. Talent is nothing other than an ability to see it when you finally land on it, and to pursue it with awareness. Within genre fiction especially, this set of story forces is established and easily visible. It explains why James Patterson and Nora Roberts and a long list of other novelists can bang out six or more novels in a year, even without a co-author… because they know.

Principles can be taught, and they can be learned.

And certainly, there are gradations in the application of them, in the midst of contradictory opinions about all of it colliding loudly within in the writing conversation itself.

Those gradations and shadings are the art of writing a story. The raw grist of what makes a story tick, however, comprises the craft of writing one.

Know the difference, and you’ll begin to see through The Big Lie.

 

 

 

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