Mark Rubinstein's Blog, page 43
October 14, 2012
Keeping It Fresh
I’ve been promoting Mad Dog House lately. This involves podcasts, radio interviews, and TV interviews. The slots have been time-limited to at most, seven minutes. That’s not much time to discuss something as complex and rich as a novel—at least not Mad Dog House, which has different levels and raises questions about love, loyalty, violence, right and wrong, family, commitment, and about escaping the past.
I’ve been asked to prepare a list of questions about the novel since usually, the interviewers haven’t read it. So I prepared a roster of stimulating questions.
It was clear however, that the time allotted would permit me to speak only in sound bites. After all, how much can one say if seven questions are asked in six minutes? I realized that if I stuck with a “script” it would soon grow stale and sound canned. So, what could I do?
It seemed clear that keeping the interviews fresh could be as important as making an interesting presentation. So, before each one, I’d think up a new question to put a different slant on the novel. Otherwise, a rehearsed and rote quality could permeate my words, even my tone. These things can happen without our even being aware of them.
A strange thing happened. By thinking up new angles, I began seeing more layers of meaning in the novel; things I hadn’t realized before. The novel took on new depth for me, and the interviews became more interesting for me--and more important, for the audience. They became more of an exploration. And I avoided the ennui I’ve often heard permeating the voices of authors being interviewed for the twentieth time about their novels.
So the bottom line is: keep it fresh—for yourself and the audience. Don’t take the easy way out and answer the same canned questions again and again.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, Mad Dog House (October 23rd)
I’ve been asked to prepare a list of questions about the novel since usually, the interviewers haven’t read it. So I prepared a roster of stimulating questions.
It was clear however, that the time allotted would permit me to speak only in sound bites. After all, how much can one say if seven questions are asked in six minutes? I realized that if I stuck with a “script” it would soon grow stale and sound canned. So, what could I do?
It seemed clear that keeping the interviews fresh could be as important as making an interesting presentation. So, before each one, I’d think up a new question to put a different slant on the novel. Otherwise, a rehearsed and rote quality could permeate my words, even my tone. These things can happen without our even being aware of them.
A strange thing happened. By thinking up new angles, I began seeing more layers of meaning in the novel; things I hadn’t realized before. The novel took on new depth for me, and the interviews became more interesting for me--and more important, for the audience. They became more of an exploration. And I avoided the ennui I’ve often heard permeating the voices of authors being interviewed for the twentieth time about their novels.
So the bottom line is: keep it fresh—for yourself and the audience. Don’t take the easy way out and answer the same canned questions again and again.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, Mad Dog House (October 23rd)
October 10, 2012
Tough Guy Goes Cover Girl
I came from a tough, Brooklyn neighborhood where fist-fighting was a way of life. Readers of advanced copies of Mad Dog House have often asked if my protagonist, Roddy Dolan, is a version of myself.
A number of TV appearances have been booked coinciding with the release of Mad Dog House. Therefore, I’ve been advised that if I don’t want to look like a corpse on the screen (especially in HD) I should wear makeup.
Having no idea about such matters, I consulted a cosmetologist. She had a lovely little storefront arrangement with a large picture window facing the street. All passersby had a view of the goings on inside.
I sat on a high stool with an oval shaped mirror facing me. There were roses, and shades of pink and ochre everywhere. Make-up lights surrounded a mirror, just like in movies depicting a leading lady’s dressing room.
The consultation began with Kristine, the cosmetologist, emphasizing that the the lesson would involve the simplest application possible; there would be nothing complicated. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the make-up application began with something called “Fringe Benefits,” some kind of skin toner. So far, so good. Next, she demonstrated (by doing half my face) how to apply "concealer" around my eyes, near the lashes and in any small crevice. I did the other side.
Manipulating this tiny brush near my eyelashes and lids felt completely alien. It involved delicate strokes. The only times I’d ever held a brush in my hand were to paint a wall. Kristine picked up on my discomfort and said, “Don’t feel overwhelmed. It would be as if I was trying to learn to clean a rifle.” That reassured me, but only temporarily.
A moment later, came the application of the "base." A huge, thick thing called a kabuki brush was swept in gentle circles beginning at my hairline, over my ears, down my neck and covered every square inch of my puss.
When that feat of feminine dexterity was accomplished, we moved on to something called a “bronzer” which came with yet a different brush. I was told to use an infinitesimally small amount (delicately, of course) lest I end up looking like George Hamilton.
So…for TV appearances, I won’t look like something out of The Night of the Living Dead. And hopefully, I won’t look like a clown in the Ringling Bros. circus.
What won’t I do for Mad Dog House?
Mark Rubinstein
Author, Mad Dog House
A number of TV appearances have been booked coinciding with the release of Mad Dog House. Therefore, I’ve been advised that if I don’t want to look like a corpse on the screen (especially in HD) I should wear makeup.
Having no idea about such matters, I consulted a cosmetologist. She had a lovely little storefront arrangement with a large picture window facing the street. All passersby had a view of the goings on inside.
I sat on a high stool with an oval shaped mirror facing me. There were roses, and shades of pink and ochre everywhere. Make-up lights surrounded a mirror, just like in movies depicting a leading lady’s dressing room.
The consultation began with Kristine, the cosmetologist, emphasizing that the the lesson would involve the simplest application possible; there would be nothing complicated. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the make-up application began with something called “Fringe Benefits,” some kind of skin toner. So far, so good. Next, she demonstrated (by doing half my face) how to apply "concealer" around my eyes, near the lashes and in any small crevice. I did the other side.
Manipulating this tiny brush near my eyelashes and lids felt completely alien. It involved delicate strokes. The only times I’d ever held a brush in my hand were to paint a wall. Kristine picked up on my discomfort and said, “Don’t feel overwhelmed. It would be as if I was trying to learn to clean a rifle.” That reassured me, but only temporarily.
A moment later, came the application of the "base." A huge, thick thing called a kabuki brush was swept in gentle circles beginning at my hairline, over my ears, down my neck and covered every square inch of my puss.
When that feat of feminine dexterity was accomplished, we moved on to something called a “bronzer” which came with yet a different brush. I was told to use an infinitesimally small amount (delicately, of course) lest I end up looking like George Hamilton.
So…for TV appearances, I won’t look like something out of The Night of the Living Dead. And hopefully, I won’t look like a clown in the Ringling Bros. circus.
What won’t I do for Mad Dog House?
Mark Rubinstein
Author, Mad Dog House
October 8, 2012
Wild and Weird Crimes and the New Rudeness
I’ve been reading crime fiction and observing a great deal about the genre lately.
It seems there’s more and more blending of crime novels with horror, the occult, with paranormal events, romance, and science fiction. The genres are coalescing.
It seems to coincide with the proliferation of computer generated imagery in action-packed thriller movies. We’ve all watched scenes in which actors engage in amazing feats of skill far beyond any human capabilities (I’m not talking about Spider Man or the other media cross-overs from comic books to the silver screen). I’m referring to the computer-generated imagery (CGI) in so many thriller films these days.
I guess the blending of book and movie genres makes sense in the context of the cross-pollinating technologies that are part of our lives.
Everything blends and streams: your cell phone; your computer; your television; your iPad; Twitter; Facebook; Goodreads; laptops; IMs and texting--it all merges into an ever-expanding, increasingly-integrated information highway. There are very few stand-alone technologies now, which coincides with the increasing role of near-magical gimmicks and technologies in many novels and movies.
Much of it is great; some is not-so-good.
We’ve all seen people in restaurants not talking to each other as they press the pads on their smart phones, texting and e-mailing others. It’s as though they fear they’ll miss out on what other people (who aren’t even there) might be saying as opposed to talking with the one’s they’re with! (A friend calls it FOMO—Fear Of Missing Out). It’s part of our culture in which some people have cell phone conversations (loudly) on elevators, in doctors’ waiting rooms, and in restaurants, completely unaware they’re intruding into other peoples’ space. It’s been termed The New Rudeness.
So, while the blending of genres and technologies can be fine, some isn’t so great. What do you think? Please feel free to comment.
Mark Rubinstein,
Author of Mad Dog House (October 23rd)
It seems there’s more and more blending of crime novels with horror, the occult, with paranormal events, romance, and science fiction. The genres are coalescing.
It seems to coincide with the proliferation of computer generated imagery in action-packed thriller movies. We’ve all watched scenes in which actors engage in amazing feats of skill far beyond any human capabilities (I’m not talking about Spider Man or the other media cross-overs from comic books to the silver screen). I’m referring to the computer-generated imagery (CGI) in so many thriller films these days.
I guess the blending of book and movie genres makes sense in the context of the cross-pollinating technologies that are part of our lives.
Everything blends and streams: your cell phone; your computer; your television; your iPad; Twitter; Facebook; Goodreads; laptops; IMs and texting--it all merges into an ever-expanding, increasingly-integrated information highway. There are very few stand-alone technologies now, which coincides with the increasing role of near-magical gimmicks and technologies in many novels and movies.
Much of it is great; some is not-so-good.
We’ve all seen people in restaurants not talking to each other as they press the pads on their smart phones, texting and e-mailing others. It’s as though they fear they’ll miss out on what other people (who aren’t even there) might be saying as opposed to talking with the one’s they’re with! (A friend calls it FOMO—Fear Of Missing Out). It’s part of our culture in which some people have cell phone conversations (loudly) on elevators, in doctors’ waiting rooms, and in restaurants, completely unaware they’re intruding into other peoples’ space. It’s been termed The New Rudeness.
So, while the blending of genres and technologies can be fine, some isn’t so great. What do you think? Please feel free to comment.
Mark Rubinstein,
Author of Mad Dog House (October 23rd)
October 4, 2012
Feeling What You Write
I’m writing a scene about an older man who recalls his days as a kid. He’s thinking about how he would go to the schoolyard, alone, and practice basketball endlessly, shooting shot after shot through the late wintery afternoon until fatigue set in as darkness fell.
I recalled my own experience and updated it.
The kid plays one-on-one against Michael Jordan (in his fantasy) and throws one shot up after another. Each time he scores he hears the crowd’s deafening roar. He’s filled with the thrill of success against the world’s greatest superstar.
I conjured the feeling of the ball leaving his hand, rolling off his fingers, arcing through the cold wintery air; his breath’s vapor, and the feeling of ice crystals forming in his nostrils. I felt the burn of the cracks in his fingertips from the ball handling on a frigid day. I had to recall--really, revivify--the feeling of leaping into the air for a jump shot, the spring in my legs, watching the ball loop toward the rusty rim. And I re-experienced the kid’s elation as the ball swished through the net. Another two points! Another triumph!
In essence, I had to relive those moments of my youth, both the realities and the fantasies and everything about the experience--and the writing process forced me to recapture the sight, smell, sound, and the very feel of these things as I wrote about them.
In a very real way, writing from the heart involves capturing feelings. It’s really a sensory experience.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, "Mad Dog House" (October 23, 2012)
I recalled my own experience and updated it.
The kid plays one-on-one against Michael Jordan (in his fantasy) and throws one shot up after another. Each time he scores he hears the crowd’s deafening roar. He’s filled with the thrill of success against the world’s greatest superstar.
I conjured the feeling of the ball leaving his hand, rolling off his fingers, arcing through the cold wintery air; his breath’s vapor, and the feeling of ice crystals forming in his nostrils. I felt the burn of the cracks in his fingertips from the ball handling on a frigid day. I had to recall--really, revivify--the feeling of leaping into the air for a jump shot, the spring in my legs, watching the ball loop toward the rusty rim. And I re-experienced the kid’s elation as the ball swished through the net. Another two points! Another triumph!
In essence, I had to relive those moments of my youth, both the realities and the fantasies and everything about the experience--and the writing process forced me to recapture the sight, smell, sound, and the very feel of these things as I wrote about them.
In a very real way, writing from the heart involves capturing feelings. It’s really a sensory experience.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, "Mad Dog House" (October 23, 2012)
September 26, 2012
How Being a Writer Changes Your World
When I began writing novels, I noticed my perception of things began changing. I no longer saw or listened the way I formerly had. Actually, my awareness of the world around me became enhanced.
For instance, in a restaurant, I began noticing how people talked to each other; their body postures; their use of cell phones (or not); their voices; the restaurant’s ambiance; the music; the bar scene; and the people who bellied up to the bar; the tone of the waiter and of people ordering dishes; how the food smelled, and its taste. I made a mental inventory of how a particular wine felt on the tongue, how it blended with the food, and many other sensibilities that were formerly not particularly within my conscious awareness.
On a train, I studied people’s faces—-their facial expressions, the sizes and shapes of their heads, their ears, noses, hairstyles, skin tone, wrinkles, their clothing, the materials they read, whether they looked fatigued, or bored, or content. I tried to guess what they did for a living based on their appearances.
When walking by a river in my town I stood on a small footbridge and watched the water, wondering how I would describe the look and sound of the roiling water as it neared a bend. I noticed how the sun reflected off the water’s surface and how the changing angle of light altered the river’s appearance. I asked myself how I would describe what I was seeing in words.
I began watching, listening, and feeling things more carefully, and made a mental inventory of these sights, sounds, smells, and perceptual qualities, sometimes consciously and at other times, without being particularly aware of this enhanced awareness.
It was clear that the demands of a novel--of putting thoughts, feelings, descriptions, sights, sounds, and smells directly onto the page--forced me to become more perceptually aware of the world around me. It’s a good thing.
So in a very real way, when you’re a novelist in any genre, your perceptions become greatly strengthened, and hopefully, become part of your craft.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, “Mad Dog House” (October 2012)
For instance, in a restaurant, I began noticing how people talked to each other; their body postures; their use of cell phones (or not); their voices; the restaurant’s ambiance; the music; the bar scene; and the people who bellied up to the bar; the tone of the waiter and of people ordering dishes; how the food smelled, and its taste. I made a mental inventory of how a particular wine felt on the tongue, how it blended with the food, and many other sensibilities that were formerly not particularly within my conscious awareness.
On a train, I studied people’s faces—-their facial expressions, the sizes and shapes of their heads, their ears, noses, hairstyles, skin tone, wrinkles, their clothing, the materials they read, whether they looked fatigued, or bored, or content. I tried to guess what they did for a living based on their appearances.
When walking by a river in my town I stood on a small footbridge and watched the water, wondering how I would describe the look and sound of the roiling water as it neared a bend. I noticed how the sun reflected off the water’s surface and how the changing angle of light altered the river’s appearance. I asked myself how I would describe what I was seeing in words.
I began watching, listening, and feeling things more carefully, and made a mental inventory of these sights, sounds, smells, and perceptual qualities, sometimes consciously and at other times, without being particularly aware of this enhanced awareness.
It was clear that the demands of a novel--of putting thoughts, feelings, descriptions, sights, sounds, and smells directly onto the page--forced me to become more perceptually aware of the world around me. It’s a good thing.
So in a very real way, when you’re a novelist in any genre, your perceptions become greatly strengthened, and hopefully, become part of your craft.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, “Mad Dog House” (October 2012)
September 21, 2012
Paulie Walnuts, the Terminator & My Novel
A few people who have read advanced copies of MAD DOG HOUSE (due out October 23rd) have commented on the number of references to popular culture in the novel. They even asked if I’m a pop culture freak.
The answer is: not really, but I find that certain references to popular culture can be a shorthand way of conveying vivid images to the reader. And they can enrich the read and enliven it, if they tap into a common thread of awareness--if they’re not used too frequently. (I’m thinking of Brett Easton Ellis’s novel, "American Psycho").
We all know what comes to mind when we hear or read the iconic names of certain people, or beloved television shows, or famous movies. They've become embedded in the popular consciousness and woven their way into our culture.
The Sopranos, Bada Bing!, Paulie Walnuts, The Terminator, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Night of the Living Dead, George Clooney, The Twilight Zone, Fringe, Donald Trump, the Bellagio, Field of Dreams, Leave it to Beaver, and many others are soaked in meaning and imagery.
They convey not only an image, but an atmosphere, a sense of time and place, maybe even a period of recent history, along with a sense of nostalgia--all of which can be conveyed colorfully and can strike a familiar chord with the reader.
If you say that a particularly evil woman reminds you of the Wicked Witch of the West, doesn’t that conjure an instant image?
You never run out of contemporary popular culture references because new ones pop up every day. Let’s face it; a contemporary novel should be contemporary. It should touch on what's happening here and now.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, MAD DOG HOUSE
(available October 23rd as an e-book and trade paperback everywhere)
The answer is: not really, but I find that certain references to popular culture can be a shorthand way of conveying vivid images to the reader. And they can enrich the read and enliven it, if they tap into a common thread of awareness--if they’re not used too frequently. (I’m thinking of Brett Easton Ellis’s novel, "American Psycho").
We all know what comes to mind when we hear or read the iconic names of certain people, or beloved television shows, or famous movies. They've become embedded in the popular consciousness and woven their way into our culture.
The Sopranos, Bada Bing!, Paulie Walnuts, The Terminator, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Night of the Living Dead, George Clooney, The Twilight Zone, Fringe, Donald Trump, the Bellagio, Field of Dreams, Leave it to Beaver, and many others are soaked in meaning and imagery.
They convey not only an image, but an atmosphere, a sense of time and place, maybe even a period of recent history, along with a sense of nostalgia--all of which can be conveyed colorfully and can strike a familiar chord with the reader.
If you say that a particularly evil woman reminds you of the Wicked Witch of the West, doesn’t that conjure an instant image?
You never run out of contemporary popular culture references because new ones pop up every day. Let’s face it; a contemporary novel should be contemporary. It should touch on what's happening here and now.
Mark Rubinstein
Author, MAD DOG HOUSE
(available October 23rd as an e-book and trade paperback everywhere)
September 19, 2012
Why a Novel Grabs Me
We’ve all had the experience of reading a novel and feeling caught up, not only in the story, but in the characters. Conversely, we’ve all read novels that are a chore to plow through and unless we feel some compulsion to finish what we started, we thrust them aside. I’ve been fortunate enough to have had more good reading experiences than bad or boring ones. Yes, it’s partly a matter of having an interest in one genre or another, but I’ve enjoyed novels that are not usually on my preferred landscape of reading.
And I’ve wondered why a novel can grab and hold me to the point where I’m sorry the read is coming to an end.
First, there’s the story itself. It just resonates with me on some profound level. It taps into something deep within me--perhaps the situation in which the protagonist finds himself, or the twists and turns of the plot manage to fire up my imagination and spur me on to the next page, and the next. It’s probably the child’s wish to know What happens next? I don’t think that should be underestimated.
But more than the plot (which can be crucial) is the construction of the characters populating the story. This is especially true about the main character(s). I have to care and feel for the protagonist. It must matter to me what happens in his or her life. If he feels fear, I must have the same feeling. If she feels lust, so must I. If he’s in a terrible jam, I want to sweat along with him. If she feels devastated about something, I want to understand and feel (to some lesser degree, perhaps) the same way. In other words, I want to identify with that person and be inside his or her head and heart while the person negotiates the rigors of the plotline.
Part of what I’m saying is that the novel must tap into some universal (yet personal) experience. It must reach out from the page and clutch onto some human commonality that exists for all of us. After all, we’re all different, but we’re all a bit the same, too. When a novel grabs and resonates with me, it’s usually because I can say to myself (or feel, without even articulating it) I’ve felt that way…I’ve felt exactly that way. When that happens, the author has grabbed me by the heart and throat and captured me.
Of course, there’s language and dialogue. I’ve always admired writers who can use gorgeous, yet unpretentious language when describing people, or a house, or landscape in the course of telling a story. It lends richness to the read, and the scenes come alive; I can see and hear and even smell what’s on the page.
Then there’s dialogue. When a writer’s dialogue is crisp and real, when you can actually hear the characters talking to each other, the novel really works. A novelist once said to me, “Dialogue isn’t really what people say to each other. It’s what people do to each other with words.” I think that’s very true. Each word spoken in a novel should connote action, or intention, or in some way add to the story’s narrative drive, its arc…its meaning.
I know that in the end, it’s a personal thing, a choice--people have preferences formed by their individual natures, their backgrounds, and by their cultures. But a good novel can transcend these constants, can grab you and drag you to another world--it can make you live there and experience what that world is all about--at least for the few hours you spend reading the novel.
That’s what grabs and holds me.
And I’ve wondered why a novel can grab and hold me to the point where I’m sorry the read is coming to an end.
First, there’s the story itself. It just resonates with me on some profound level. It taps into something deep within me--perhaps the situation in which the protagonist finds himself, or the twists and turns of the plot manage to fire up my imagination and spur me on to the next page, and the next. It’s probably the child’s wish to know What happens next? I don’t think that should be underestimated.
But more than the plot (which can be crucial) is the construction of the characters populating the story. This is especially true about the main character(s). I have to care and feel for the protagonist. It must matter to me what happens in his or her life. If he feels fear, I must have the same feeling. If she feels lust, so must I. If he’s in a terrible jam, I want to sweat along with him. If she feels devastated about something, I want to understand and feel (to some lesser degree, perhaps) the same way. In other words, I want to identify with that person and be inside his or her head and heart while the person negotiates the rigors of the plotline.
Part of what I’m saying is that the novel must tap into some universal (yet personal) experience. It must reach out from the page and clutch onto some human commonality that exists for all of us. After all, we’re all different, but we’re all a bit the same, too. When a novel grabs and resonates with me, it’s usually because I can say to myself (or feel, without even articulating it) I’ve felt that way…I’ve felt exactly that way. When that happens, the author has grabbed me by the heart and throat and captured me.
Of course, there’s language and dialogue. I’ve always admired writers who can use gorgeous, yet unpretentious language when describing people, or a house, or landscape in the course of telling a story. It lends richness to the read, and the scenes come alive; I can see and hear and even smell what’s on the page.
Then there’s dialogue. When a writer’s dialogue is crisp and real, when you can actually hear the characters talking to each other, the novel really works. A novelist once said to me, “Dialogue isn’t really what people say to each other. It’s what people do to each other with words.” I think that’s very true. Each word spoken in a novel should connote action, or intention, or in some way add to the story’s narrative drive, its arc…its meaning.
I know that in the end, it’s a personal thing, a choice--people have preferences formed by their individual natures, their backgrounds, and by their cultures. But a good novel can transcend these constants, can grab you and drag you to another world--it can make you live there and experience what that world is all about--at least for the few hours you spend reading the novel.
That’s what grabs and holds me.
September 12, 2012
More About Dialogue
Picking up where I left off in my last post, there is something else about dialogue that can be tricky--the use of "tags."
When I began writing fiction, I used tags frequently, and learned from my editor that they were completely unnecessary.
An example of a "tag" is, "Don't go there," Mary said angrily.
Generally, they're descriptive terms such as "angrily" or "sadly" or other such adverbs that are unnecessary if the dialogue is powerful and well done.
Another way of saying this is: Let the dialogue speak for itself.
If Mary is angry or sad, let those feelings come through in the words themselves or in the physical description of Mary as she utters the words. There's really no need to append the adverb to the description of Mary's words. Often, in a back-and-forth conversataion between two characters, there's little need to add, "she said" (another form of tag) since the reader can follow who is saying what to whom.
A good deal of dialogue in a novel is self-explanatory, and it can be written as though it's a play. You don't have to feed the reader the feelings; they should be evident based on the situation and words themselves.
When I began writing fiction, I used tags frequently, and learned from my editor that they were completely unnecessary.
An example of a "tag" is, "Don't go there," Mary said angrily.
Generally, they're descriptive terms such as "angrily" or "sadly" or other such adverbs that are unnecessary if the dialogue is powerful and well done.
Another way of saying this is: Let the dialogue speak for itself.
If Mary is angry or sad, let those feelings come through in the words themselves or in the physical description of Mary as she utters the words. There's really no need to append the adverb to the description of Mary's words. Often, in a back-and-forth conversataion between two characters, there's little need to add, "she said" (another form of tag) since the reader can follow who is saying what to whom.
A good deal of dialogue in a novel is self-explanatory, and it can be written as though it's a play. You don't have to feed the reader the feelings; they should be evident based on the situation and words themselves.
September 11, 2012
Writing Good Dialogue
The question comes up about when to use dialogue instead of describing something in a novel. That can be a tough choice, but let your instincts guide you. Occasionally, a description works better, while sometimes the words spoken by characters convey a great deal more than a long-winded description.
Good dialogue can be difficult for many writers. The novelist Diana Chang once told me, "Dialogue isn't just what people say to each other; it's what they do to each other with words."
That's very true. Every word uttered by characters in a novel should--in some way, large or small--impact the story, or clarify the character saying those words. Or, dialogue should shed light on the relationship between characters.
Every word or sentence must connote action (past, present, or future) relating to the story so it has the buzz of drama.
To keep dialogue realistic-sounding, I find it helpful to read it aloud, as though I'm acting out a play or movie. You might be surprised how hearing the words can help you sense whether or not dialogue is authentic-sounding, or sounds stilted and not true to life.
Speaking of hearing dialogue, I find watching movies very helpful in giving me a sense about dialogue. Of course, in a movie, the action, music and the actor's body language add to the dialogue's drama.
But when your audience is a reader, he or she supplies all the accessories through imagination. And there's nothing more powerful than that.
Good dialogue can be difficult for many writers. The novelist Diana Chang once told me, "Dialogue isn't just what people say to each other; it's what they do to each other with words."
That's very true. Every word uttered by characters in a novel should--in some way, large or small--impact the story, or clarify the character saying those words. Or, dialogue should shed light on the relationship between characters.
Every word or sentence must connote action (past, present, or future) relating to the story so it has the buzz of drama.
To keep dialogue realistic-sounding, I find it helpful to read it aloud, as though I'm acting out a play or movie. You might be surprised how hearing the words can help you sense whether or not dialogue is authentic-sounding, or sounds stilted and not true to life.
Speaking of hearing dialogue, I find watching movies very helpful in giving me a sense about dialogue. Of course, in a movie, the action, music and the actor's body language add to the dialogue's drama.
But when your audience is a reader, he or she supplies all the accessories through imagination. And there's nothing more powerful than that.
September 10, 2012
Book Review: Endless Summer
I usually don't read paranormal novels, but I tried ENDLESS SUMMER. I wasn't disappointed. Christopher Petersen has written a poignant story that touches the heart. The Rileys are a loving family. Will and Joan, and their young children, Joshua and Rachel,go to a New England beach for a summer vacation. Joan has an interest in ghosts and spirits, while Will lovingly chides her about this. Their banter is clever and loving.
Strange things begin happening, and the days take on a certain sameness, coupled with a bit of amnesia for what happened the day before. The days are gorgeous, the sun brilliant, and the reader becomes slowly aware that the Rileys' experience has an open-ended strangeness, one that's slightly creepy, yet suffused with love and caring, as are the relationships among the family members.
I don't want to go into too many details and rob the reader of the pleasure, poignancy and suprises that wait (no spoilers). Let me say that as the book neared its conclusion, tears welled up in my eyes. This is not your usual "ghost" story meant to scare or horrify. Not at all. It is a straightforwardly written tale that probes the immeasurable depths of human love, understanding and acceptance of what life offers us. It's a gem of a novel and I recommend it to anyone who craves a deeper understanding of life, love and committment.
Mark Rubinstein, author of MAD DOG HOUSE
Strange things begin happening, and the days take on a certain sameness, coupled with a bit of amnesia for what happened the day before. The days are gorgeous, the sun brilliant, and the reader becomes slowly aware that the Rileys' experience has an open-ended strangeness, one that's slightly creepy, yet suffused with love and caring, as are the relationships among the family members.
I don't want to go into too many details and rob the reader of the pleasure, poignancy and suprises that wait (no spoilers). Let me say that as the book neared its conclusion, tears welled up in my eyes. This is not your usual "ghost" story meant to scare or horrify. Not at all. It is a straightforwardly written tale that probes the immeasurable depths of human love, understanding and acceptance of what life offers us. It's a gem of a novel and I recommend it to anyone who craves a deeper understanding of life, love and committment.
Mark Rubinstein, author of MAD DOG HOUSE
