Dismantling Writer’s Block

Writer’s block.

I don’t believe in it.

Okay, I’ll hedge that a bit.

All writers have moments when the words don’t come, or they have to be pried out of our brains like candy out of a three-year-old’s grasp. I do acknowledge that fact. Those moments are not fun.

Those moments are always uncomfortable, even anxiety-provoking.

“Writer’s block” is a great excuse when you need one.

But I’ve learned that when I run up against the dreaded blank-page-combined-with-blank-brain syndrome, rather than “try harder,” I need to dig deeper.

For me, writer’s block is a symptom, not a disease. It almost always shows up when something else is wrong.

I’ve run up against it twice in the past couple of weeks. The first time, I was working on revisions to a book length manuscript. The rut began to form when I tried to revise in accordance with a critique partner’s suggestions. Mind you, there was nothing at all wrong with her suggestions; I understood and agreed with them. And yet the more I tried to comply, the deeper the rut became, until I was stuck.

When I finally stepped back and reevaluated, I decided to trust my own instincts and disregard the advice. The floodgates opened. Ta-da! No more writer’s block.

The other instance was when I was trying to write a post for a guest blog appearance. I got so tied up in how awesome all the other guest-bloggers were (and how hard it was going to be to compete with them) that I couldn’t think of a subject to write about. Fear of the unknown kept my fingers off the keyboard, with that blasted cursor mocking me.

And then I recognized what I put in parentheses in that paragraph.

I know better than that! At a simple decent-human-being level, or at the level of maturity befitting the color of my hair, I know better than to compare myself to others. And at the level it matters most, as a Catholic Christian believer, I know that we are all given the exact gifts God wants us to have. I can entertain exactly zero envy over the other bloggers’ humorous or clever or passionate posts. Once that flash of insight came, I was able to write.

Here are some of the tools for dealing with writer’s block I’ve discovered over the years, none of them my own, by the way. I credit the many authors who traveled ahead of me with these ideas!

1.       Give yourself permission to write badly – and then write. The words you tap out on your computer are not etched in stone. You can delete what doesn’t work later, so just start putting words on paper, so to speak. I’ve often started out with “I have no idea what to write next, but I have a sense that such-and-such character might do/say this, or that plot idea might happen.” Within a few sentences, it usually morphs into something I can work with. The unanticipated gift of this method is that I often discover a gem that livens up the story.

2.       Get out of your own way. Figure out what’s wrong. If there are underlying issues, acknowledge and face them. If fear has you paralyzed, stare it in the face and then stomp over it. We are all insecure. We all fear failure, success, taking a risk, criticism, making a commitment. Deal with what ails you, and then write anyway. If there’s something wrong with the manuscript, try writing the scene from a different character’s perspective or go a different direction for a while.

3.       Change your scenery. Get up and walk away from the computer. (I can’t tell you how many times a solution came to me as soon as I shut down the laptop and stood up!) Even better, go outside. Smell the flowers. Let the sunshine warm your face. Listen to the raindrops on the street, the leaves, the roof. Go to a museum, or a movie. Go to the zoo and watch people watching animals. Go to the mall and make up outrageous stories about the people walking by.

4.       Get physical. Go for a walk or a hike. Dance. Play a game of tennis or hopscotch or go for a bicycle ride. Anything to get the blood flowing in your muscles—and in your brain.

5.       Write something else. Write a thank you note or an email or an honest-to-gosh real live, old-fashioned letter! Free write, or use a writing prompt. Write fiction if you’re stuck on a nonfiction piece, and vice versa. Interview your characters; ask them what they want you to know.

6.       Do something creative with your hands. Draw or paint a picture. Do it with your non-dominant hand. Make a quilt square or embroider the beginning of a pillowcase design, if you like fabric arts. Cook something really yummy from scratch, and enjoy the aromas and textures along the way. Garden, whether it’s indoor or outdoor. Write something longhand. Try that with your non-dominant hand!

7.       Engage with another human being. Hey, we’re writers. It’s a solitary activity. Sometimes we forget how much we need to connect with others. Take a break and play with a child. Talk with your spouse and make eye contact. Volunteer, officially, or just lend a helping hand. Go out for coffee with a friend, or invite another family over for dinner.

Rather than a curse, writer’s block can be a blessing. Listen to it. Let it tell you what you need to do, or not do.

Just don’t let it be an excuse to keep you from your passion.

How do you identify writer’s block? What strategies do you employ to get past it? What have you learned from it?

 

 

Community! Find it in Unexpected Places!

I took up a swimming challenge at our local YMCA in January, and I’ve had plenty of time while plowing through the H2O to contemplate. One of the things that came to me recently – and which I did not anticipate – was what swimming (or any solitary sport), writing, and faith have in common.

Did you notice the word solitary? Swimming is singularly solitary, because your face is in the water and the opportunities for interaction are pretty limited. This is true for writing, minus the face-in-water part. It’s an internal activity. Faith comes down to one’s core beliefs, which is, by definition, extremely individual.

What I never expected to discover with swimming is community – and yet it is there. Maggie, Ann, and Linda show up at roughly the same times I do for laps. They bring smiles, enthusiasm, and energy which all rub off on me. (Hopefully, I bring the same to them!) They also challenge me to do more than I ever thought possible, both in distance and in perseverance.

This is what a faith community does for us, as well. While we are responsible for nurturing our own growth, its potential is exponentially expanded when we share our faith with each other, and deepened when we gather to worship as community.

Writing communities can be powerful agents of support and encouragement, too. Because of the solitary nature of writing, it’s important to connect with other writers, whether through online venues such as Catholic Writers Guild, or through face-to-face opportunities.

So how is one to find these opportunities? The question of finding critique partners has come up a few times recently in the CWG blog. It’s not always an easy question to answer. The first step is to find writing groups. You’re here, so you’ve discovered this wonderful community. There are some forums for critique groups; check them out and see if they are a good fit. Also, participate in the live and online Catholic Writers Guild conferences whenever possible, and consider saving up for the annual writing retreat. Opportunities abound within this group!

Beyond CWG, check with your library or a nearby college for local groups. Google writers, authors, or writing groups in your area. (I recently found two groups in my area that I had no idea existed; you might be surprised!) Attend a local or regional writing conference, even if it’s not in your genre. You might connect with another author and decide to trade manuscripts for critique. Sometimes critiques are raffled off as writing fundraisers, or are offered as an extra benefit at a workshop. While this last idea isn’t as likely to result in long-term relationships, you will get some insight on how to improve your writing.

Many special interest associations exist, and most have local chapters. Check out American Christian Fiction Writers (which is focused on the Inspirational market and has a slightly different audience than the Catholic Writers Guild), Sisters in Crime (misters are welcome to join), or Romance Writers of America®. RWA® has a wide variety of online special interest chapters, one of which might address your genre, although all are focused on writing some variation of a Happy-Ever-After ending. Mystery Writers of America has an associate membership level for unpublished writers.  SCBWI, Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, is a gold mine of information for writers of children’s and young adult literature.

You might want to try out Critique.org, an online group that runs on critique exchange. No cost is involved, other than your time in exchange for someone else’s. Or consider an online writing class. One of my critique partners built a years-long critique relationship with a fellow writer she has never met in person. You can find class offerings on Announceonlinewritingclasses, a yahoo group. (Be judicious. When I first discovered online classes, I signed up for several at the same time, not realizing how much time and energy they can take. The cost adds up, too, but if you only sign up for the ones that really apply to your interests and level of expertise, it’s possible to develop a critique relationship with a like-minded author.)

For more on critique and critique groups, see my CWG post from May 22, 2012.

How have you found a writing community that meets your needs? How did you find Catholic Writers Guild? My guess is that many of us came from other groups; share what was best about them!

Balance in Fiction Writing

Balance.

A few days ago, Ellen Gable Hrkach posted a great blog on common errors to avoid in writing fiction. One item she mentioned got me to thinking, namely too much dialogue.

What’s ‘too much’?

A lot of times that depends on the genre you’re writing. Clearly, screenplays and graphic novels rely almost exclusively on dialogue.

Novels, however, require a blend of narrative, description, introspection and dialogue. The ratio of one to the other changes with both prevailing ‘style’ and with genre. Novels written a century ago utilize long passages of description and flowery stretches of dialogue, whereas the trend today is for faster, tighter construction in all areas, especially dialogue.

How do you know if your manuscript has a good balance? Part of this comes down to voice, that elusive factor that makes your work yours. However, we’ve all had the experience of reading a book and finding ourselves skipping over passages, maybe even pages. If we skip too much, we’ll put the book down – and if that happens, we may never pick it up again.

Not good, if you’re the author.

Next time this happens, stop and analyze why you lost interest. Chances are there was too much of one element on the page. Too much description. Too much internal monologue, or perhaps too much narrative. Sometimes too much dialogue, but if that’s problematic, it’s more likely because the ‘voices’ of the characters are too similar. They need to be so distinctive that the reader knows who is speaking. Even so, if they go on for pages, the reader may tire. (For more on dialogue, click here.)

One helpful technique is to analyze your manuscript for the different elements and highlight the pages. Margie Lawson teaches a method for this in her Deep Editing classes. Choose different colors for narrative, description, emotion, dialogue, and internal thought, etc., then go to town with your highlighters (or crayons, or whatever your inner child wants to play with!). If one color dominates a page, revision might be in order. One of my critique partners occasionally says of my work, “This section has too much yellow.” Since we’ve both taken Lawson’s class, I immediately understand what the problem is. My work flows better if the page has a rainbow of colors. Another application of this technique is to apply your highlighters to one (or more) of your favorite published books.

Keep in mind there is no ‘one size fits all’ in fiction. Thank God! Otherwise, reading would get boring! Check out a wide variety of books to see how other authors manipulate the elements that create story.

For instance, action novels such as Lee Child’s Reacher series use lots of dialogue, but it’s nearly all less than one line long. Child also uses relatively long stretches of description/narrative, and he tends to go with one or the other at any given point. His books are effective, powerful, and popular.

Debbie Macomber takes a more blended approach in her wildly successful women’s fiction and romance novels. You will find narrative, description, introspection and dialogue on nearly every page.

Many authors are exploring screenwriting classes, some for the challenge of breaking into a new field, but most for a better understanding of both story structure and use of dialogue. While this is an excellent strategy for honing of specific elements, written fiction is more effective and more engaging when the entire spectrum of tools are used to create the final product.

The subject of balance also touches on pacing, which is a topic deserving of its own post. Narrative, description, and interior monologue can slow the pace—although skillfully applied, they can ratchet up the tension until it is unbearable. Dialogue tends to speed things up.

As you can see, there isn’t a cut-and-dried answer to ‘how much is too much’. But a willingness to analyze and evaluate your writing will always make it stronger. Look at your work with an eye toward what you want to accomplish in a given scene. Learn to use all the tools in your toolbox. Buy books on the craft of writing. Review them once in a while. Take classes. Be open to feedback from trusted colleagues, and then decide how (or if) you will apply their advice.

Find the best balance for your story and your voice.

Have you struggled with this aspect of writing? Do you have tips to share? Please do!

Gotcha! Hooks: What They Are and How to Create Page-Turning Fiction

What’s a hook??? I admit to scratching my head over that term, and for a much-too-long time. I would hear it when people were discussing top-selling novels; I’d see it in articles about the craft of writing. It was a frequent comment from my critique partners. “Not much of hook there, Leslie.” (Insert visual of me scratching my head. Again.) They tried to explain it to me: Leave the reader hanging at the end of the chapter. An unanswered question. A cliffhanger.

Well, that was all fine and dandy, except I didn’t get the concept. Until our critique group got down to business and I began to evaluate other people’s unfinished work. Over time, I began to recognize when the end of a chapter or scene felt flat. I began to see how they worked through the process. And then when I saw what my fellow writers did to spice up the work, it finally began to make sense. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place for me when I read James Scott Bell’s Elements of Fiction Writing – Conflict & Suspense.

The basic idea is to end a chapter with the character facing peril of some sort, whether an internal conflict or an external plot development. The higher the stakes for the character, the better. In fact, Bell suggests the character must face death in some form – physical, psychological or professional. Of course your story isn’t filled with melodramatic, overblown situations, but each character must have something crucial at stake in each scene. By setting it up so someone is forced to face failure at some level, and then leaving the conflict unresolved, you create a hook.

Hooks come from disaster (Bell’s death) looming, occurring, or simply being implied. The hook can be expressed through dialogue, as a plot twist, as emotion, or via action. The hook can be an actual question, although I’d caution you to use that technique sparingly. I read a book once that ended every chapter with a question, and it felt like old-fashioned middle grade fiction. It didn’t work so well in an adult novel. Whatever method you chose to create a hook, take care to do it in a way that doesn’t leave the reader feeling manipulated. That usually has the opposite effect from what you intend!

One of the most common errors is the form that many of us learned in school: To write each chapter with a beginning, a middle, and an end. This works for nonfiction, but if you want a fiction reader to say “I couldn’t put it down!”, try ending the chapter a paragraph or two early. You’ll be surprised at how well this simple technique works. Then use that bit as the beginning of the next scene.

Go to your personal library of favorite books, or to the library or bookstore. Page through your favorite authors’ work and read the last paragraph of each chapter. You’ll get a solid sense of what creates a hook in short order.

It’s always a question that leaves the reader wanting—no, needing to know what happens next??? Whatever you do, don’t answer the question until the end of the book! Well, you can answer bits of it as you go along, but don’t answer the main question of the book until the end.

Hopefully, the result will be an ocean full of readers happily chasing the hook you’ve dangled – and saying, “That book was so good, I couldn’t put it down!

How do you define a hook? What’s your approach to creating one? Share your favorite technique!

Tag! You’re It! Writing Dialogue in Fiction

 “Hi, Beth,” waved Justin.

“Why, Justin, I haven’t seen you since our high school prom six years ago, the one where our mutual friend, Erik, got suspended for spiking the punch,” gushed Beth.

“Ho, ho,” chortled Justin. “Those were the days! He went on to become a successful, if whacky and innovative executive with an online social network. What have you been doing since then?” he queried.

“As you know, my family life was difficult and I had many obstacles to overcome, but I triumphed by speeding through college in record time, completing my undergraduate, double major degree in only two years, and am graduating from medical school next week,” Beth elaborated.

Are you bored yet? Grinding your teeth and wanting to throw this story across the room? I am; it was painful writing it!

Good dialogue can carry a story; conversely, badly written dialogue can sink one faster than the Titanic’s spectacular and ignominious end. Many resources are available, from Renni Browne and Dave King’s Self Editing for Fiction Writers, Second Edition to Write Great Fiction: Dialogue by Gloria Kempton, and more. If a good book on the craft of writing dialogue doesn’t reside on your shelf, I strongly suggest you consider acquiring one.

Let’s examine this fragment to see why it’s so grating. There are four issues here: dialogue tags, stilted language, indistinct voice, and information dump.

Dialogue tags are the words we use to indicate that a character is speaking. When I wrote the first draft of my first novel, I spent hours dreamily staring into space while trying to conjure the cleverest dialogue tags ever. My characters retorted, snorted, coughed, shivered and quivered their lines. After reading the above example, you can see how awful it was!

In reality, you only need a few simple guidelines.

1. Use the word ‘said’ whenever necessary. It’s an almost invisible word to the reader, whereas all the chortles, queries, etc. do nothing but draw attention to the author—not the story. The author should be entirely invisible, and your goal is to keep the reader engrossed in the story, not yanked out by strange word choices.

2. Keep in mind that physical actions are not involved in uttering speech. Rather than succumb to the temptation of using the action as a tag, use it in a separate sentence as a ‘beat’ that reveals body language and moves the story forward. For example: Justin pulled up short when he recognized the woman approaching him. A spurt of pleasure shot through him, and he waved. “Hi, Beth!” (Note how this example could go any number of directions. Maybe he wanted to avoid her, but couldn’t; maybe his response is anger over an unresolved conflict. Whatever the case, the greeting becomes much more complex and compelling.)

3. If only two persons are involved in a stream of dialogue, omit tags entirely. This works especially well when the characters’ voices are so different that it is obvious who is speaking by their speech patterns. But don’t be afraid to add an occasional beat to keep it clear for the reader.

Which leads us to stilted language and indistinct voice.

The best way to avoid stilted language is to read your dialogue out loud. If it feels or sounds awkward, change it. Each character should have distinctive speech patterns, too; make sure the words and delivery you choose remains authentic to the individual character. As you read the dialogue out loud, it should be obvious which character is speaking at any given time. Let’s make Justin a Texas cowboy and Beth a California Valley girl (yes, I know I’m dating myself, but it’s an easy ‘dialect’ to show for our purposes).

Now we have: A spurt of pleasure shot through Justin when he recognized the woman approaching him on the sidewalk. He whipped off his ten-gallon hat and waved. “Howdy, Beth! I ain’t seen you for a coon’s age.”

Beth, preoccupied with her Smartphone, lifted her gaze. A smile wreathed her face and she squealed. “Ohmygosh! Justin! It’s been, like, too-too long! Since high school?”  As you can see, these two wildly different styles will never overlap in dialogue. Not all characters will be such polar opposites, but if you give each character a distinctive voice, whether through style (i.e., women tend to use longer sentences, while men tend more toward brief statements) or specific verbal traits, it will strengthen both their characterization and their dialogue.

A word about foreign words and idioms: a little goes a long way. If your character is fluent in French and sprinkles French phrases into her speech, limit those to one every few pages. If a character’s speech is very back-woodsy and old fashioned, pick one word to highlight that pattern and write the rest in ‘regular’ English. For a southern drawl or an Irish brogue, use that as a descriptor outside of the dialogue and use word choice and placement to reinforce the pattern. Trust your reader to catch on. They will.

Last: information dumps. This is where characters bring in information that the author wants the reader to know but doesn’t have an organic way to get it across. Hence, awkward dialogue that no one in real life would use, such as: He went on to become a successful, if whacky and innovative executive with an online social network.

When you find those in your writing, ask yourself if the information is truly important. If so, is it crucial at this point in the story? If yes, then find a more relaxed way to get it into the story, either as internal dialogue (Beth’s mind went back to the last time she’d seen Justin. The high school prom. The one where Erik had been suspended for spiking the punch. “Justin! It’s been years!”), or in more natural sounding dialogue (“Justin! It’s been years!” Beth’s face heated at the memory of their high school prom. “I’m still embarrassed at how I acted after—“ She broke off her sentence, and Justin, grinning, finished it for her. “After  Erik spiked the punch.”

Dialogue can make your story sing, and those who can do it well often do well on other aspects of the craft. As a plus, the more of your story you can tell via dialogue, the better the structure will be, so it’s worth the effort to improve your skills in this area.

What are your tricks or tenets about writing dialogue? This has been a quick and dirty, and by no means comprehensive look at writing dialogue. Please share your experience!

 

 

Critique – Tips on how to do it well

Critique – a word that often scatters writers like a firecracker tossed into a flock of sparrows! But it doesn’t have to be that way. Since critique groups are forming in the Catholic Writers Guild forums, this is a good time to talk about critique, namely, how to be a good critique partner.

Many writers shun critique groups – “I don’t want to write my book by committee” they say, or “My voice will become muddled, maybe even lost”, and worst, “Someone will steal my ideas”. But my experience, both in art and in writing, is that those fears are largely unfounded.

A good critique group will understand and strengthen your voice, your story.  They will support, encourage, and challenge you to produce the best writing of which you are capable.  No downsides here! So how do you make your critique group a strong one, even one of the best?

Let’s start at the beginning. Critique is not criticism. That’s so important it bears repeating: Critique is not criticism. Critique is an honest, considered response to writing, and always includes a suggestion for improvement, with the caveat that the author may choose to accept or reject the suggestion. It’s still their work, not yours. A good critiquer doesn’t hesitate to applaud writing that inspires or touches, either. We all need to hear the good stuff!

Honesty, never brutal and always delivered with respect, is crucial. These attributes must be integral to your group, or there is no point. Ego (pride) needs to be parked at the door, and humility exercised in both giving and receiving critique.

Keep in mind that no one knows everything about the craft of writing. In my group, one person has a superb sense of story structure, another of grammar, another of characterization and motivation, and another of beautiful sentences and word choices. Take all of those qualities, list the opposite weakness, shuffle, and dole out weaknesses to those same members – and there you have it. Our group. The person whose strength is story structure is abysmal at spelling and grammar; the one who has characterization nailed has a hard time with structure. And so on. Capitalize on each others’ strengths, admit your weaknesses, and be open to comments.

Now that we have an idea of some desirable qualities of a critique group, what next? Establish ground rules. The first one should always be: Try the group out, give it a fair chance, and then if it’s not a good fit, feel free to leave, without hard feelings. If it’s not working, gracefully bow out and seek a different situation.

Next, agree upon a schedule for meeting and for number of words submitted. Ask each member what type of critique they want, i.e., the forest (for instance, structure) or the trees (perhaps copy edits), then tailor your remarks to their needs. Our group has four members; we meet in person once a week; we aim for about ten pages per person; and since we meet on Tuesday, we expect words to be emailed to the group by Sunday evening so we have adequate time to look at the work. Occasionally someone has no words to submit, and that’s okay, although if two weeks go by, the other members begin to nudge and encourage productivity. Support and accountability all rolled into one package!

This, of course, requires that we commit to both writing the set number of pages or words and to critiquing roughly thirty pages per week for each other. Commitment to the group and the process is key for success. Obviously, an online critique group will be a bit different, but ground rules and commitment still apply. Remember that purely electronic communication is lamentably prone to misunderstandings, so overexplain your comments until a pattern of trust has been established.

In my group, we all write very different sub-genres of fiction, but that is not an obstacle. If we stick to the basics, we’ve discovered we can offer plenty to each other even if we don’t read young adult, for instance, or write in first person. You may choose to critique only with authors in your own specific genre, and that’s fine. But if you choose to critique with authors of other types of writing, you owe your partners the willingness to step outside your comfort zone so that you can understand the conventions of their choice.

A word about bad critique groups. There are as many reasons for failed critique relationships as there are combinations of personalities. Hallmarks to watch out for are the rare member who feels that s/he knows it all, or runs roughshod over the feeling of others. Jealousy is sometimes a factor, as is insecurity. There’s a difference between honesty and harshness. Good critique will generate great conversations, so if critique shuts down communication between members, it needs to be addressed.

Sometimes it’s hard to hear valid critique, and sometimes it’s hard to sort out valid critique from mean-hearted critique. The best advice I’ve ever heard? Learn to say “Hmm. Interesting point. I will think about that.” Then, when emotion has settled, review and perhaps seek another opinion before deciding how to proceed.

Overall, critique partnerships can catapult the level of your writing up a level or two in a very short time. You’ll learn a lot from critiquing your partners’ work, too, which will translate to better writing on your part. Partners can help troubleshoot and brainstorm. And as Catholic writers, we have a unique opportunity to practice the virtues of patience, compassion, humility, kindness, and love within the setting of critique. Honesty, respect, and commitment will help shed light on the errors we are too blind to see in our own work – and that is a very good thing.

What questions or concerns do you have about forming or joining a critique group? Do you have experience or advice to share? What do you hope to gain from the Catholic Writers Guild critique groups?

Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh, my! Tension, Conflict, and Suspense – Creating Compelling Stories

One of the most fundamental techniques of fiction writing is skillful creation of tension, sometimes referred to as conflict. Our favorite authors hook us on page one with a character so compelling that we read further to find out what happens. The character is engaging, with likeable traits that endear them to us, even if they have rough edges or find themselves in untenable situations that force a choice, a decision they wouldn’t normally make.

Therein lies a clue to a story that draws a reader in. Tension. Conflict. A mystery, a question, something out of the ordinary, an event that pushes the character out of their ordinariness. Suspense. What happens next? And why does the reader care?

Tension can be internal or external. Events that influence a character’s life are external (think plot). What goes on inside the character’s mind is internal – and don’t we all identify with (and love) characters who struggle with their own doubts yet persevere and triumph in the end? Stories have more depth if the character must face both types of conflict. Literary fiction often focuses more heavily on the internal, while suspense and thrillers lean toward the external, but the very best of any genre incorporates both.

Take some time – ten minutes or an hour – to think about your characters. What drives them? What are their core beliefs? What do they want (both their conscious goals but also their unconscious, deepest desires)? What obstacles exist to their attaining those goals? Can you come up with a Goal-Motivation-Conflict statement for each character? (Below, based on Debra Dixon’s book, Goal, Motivation and Conflict) How about doing this for an internal GMC as well as an external GMC? The best GMC statements pit the main characters against each other on all levels, with a worthy adversary throwing even more wrenches into the works. An extremely successful author friend (Katie McGarry) adds one more twist: in order for the hero/ine to achieve their highest goal (usually the internal, unconscious goal) they must sacrifice the thing that they initially thought meant the most to them.

Fill in the blanks: Sally wants ____  because ____, but ____. John wants ____ because, but ____.

Notice, this looks like the back copy of a book – and it can also serve as the basis for a pitch, either verbal or written. It also serves as a down-and-dirty template for your book, if you write without an outline.

Once you’ve come up with a general idea for your story, you can use this technique for each scene in the book. In each scene, make sure you know what’s at stake for the Point-of-View character. What does the character have to gain or lose? Make it a crucial goal (James Scott Bell refers to it as ‘death’, a risk of personal or professional failure of grand magnitude), then get right to it, using dialogue, action, reaction. Add obstacles, and let the character go to battle.

But the secret to end-of-scene suspense is…to cut away, to leave the scene before ‘the answer’ is revealed. Leave the character in a quandary, the question unanswered. Or introduce a new complication, complete with a hefty cost to the character.

These questions, both at the beginning of a scene and the end, are called ‘hooks’ for an obvious reason. Like fish, we are lured into the story, and get ‘hooked’ so it becomes difficult to put the book down. (As I glance at the bedside clock and mutter Just one more page…, then look up again a half hour and thirty pages later, realize how short on sleep I am going to be, and mutter Just one more page again! Don’t tell me you’ve never done that!)

Other strategies for managing tension include word choice and sentence structure. Choose each word carefully, to reflect the exact mood you’re trying to create. Smooth, languid words setting the stage, perhaps, then more active words leading up to an explosive eruption of emotion or action. Stretched-out, descriptive sentences for the set up; short, fast ones for the pay off.

As with all great writing techniques, there are caveats. Don’t ‘make stuff happen’ just to make stuff happen. The plot needs to unfold in a way that is authentic for the book and for your voice. Resist the urge to overdo. Hooks, suspense, tension, conflict – these can all be very subtle. Trust your reader to understand without spelling it out or hitting them over the head with it.

Tension boils down to posing a question, grappling to find an answer, then ending with another question. Do it enough times, and you have a book – a gripping book that the reader stays up way past bedtime to finish.

And that’s the kind of book you want to write!

RAH-RAH ROOTING FACTORS! How to make your readers love your characters as much as you do.

What’s one of the biggest reasons you keep reading when you pick up a new book? Think about it for a moment. For me, it’s characters who are interesting, multi-dimensional, unpredictable…and likeable. Yet this is an element many of us struggle to achieve. One of the most common phrases in rejection letters is “I just didn’t connect with the character(s).”

So, what does that mean to us, as fiction writers? It means we must draw our readers into the story with the very first sentences, and to get them invested in the characters well before the end of the first chapter, maybe by the end of the first page. This is a tall order—especially when we read our favorite authors and marvel at how easy they make it look.

I don’t know about you, but I can see my characters vividly in my mind’s eye, and am truly astonished when my critique partners don’t fall in love with the characters. Passionately! As an author, it is incumbent upon me to portray those characters with all the tools at my disposal. I’d like to share a technique that is simple, yet extremely effective.

Rooting factors. Yes, as in rah-rah, go hero/ine! These are characteristics that show your hero or heroine in an endearing light. Details that allow the reader to bond with them…to root for them. What you’re after is any trait that is positive, but especially universal ones like humanity, vulnerability, generosity, etc.

As Blake Snyder says in Save the Cat, an excellent resource on screenwriting, the opening scene is critical. We must give the reader a reason to like our hero or heroine, even if (or especially if) they have rough edges or have a lot of growing to do through the book. In Snyder’s example, the character swerves from his purpose (which can be dark or suspenseful or comic) in order to do a good deed…i.e., save the cat from certain calamity. This demonstrates our hero’s kind side, and when he goes on to shock or distress us with his struggles, we recognize that he is a good person who has been forced into an untenable situation. And we root for him!

This is what keeps readers turning the pages, this ‘liking’ the characters. Go to your favorite novel. Right now. Open it up and analyze the first chapter for characteristics that are likable (and therefore create a bond with the reader). Chances are, you’ll find a fairly long list.
Be careful to salt these rooting factors in carefully. They must be organic to the story and the writing. This should never be a laundry list. “The heroine was feisty, yet compassionate, and she was bluntly honest without being cruel, and her moral compass never wavered.” No. Work the rooting factors into the normal activities of the character’s world. Use dialogue and action to show why the character deserves the reader’s investment.

This is a particularly effective technique for characters who may not be all that likable at the beginning of the story, those who have a long way to go before they learn their life lesson or earn their reward. They have legitimate flaws. That’s what makes them interesting. But they also have some innate goodness that allows the potential of redemption. Here’s a secret regarding the villain: the most compelling villains have some good traits, too. After all, the worst part about villains is that we can see ourselves in them.

Here’s an example from my current work in progress. I have a potentially difficult task. My heroine has just been released from prison and is looking for a job. In the first sentence, she demonstrates a deep level of respect for her fellow man when she murmurs “Excuse me” to a pedestrian who bumps into her. And she does so without regard to the discomfort, even anxiety, the other person’s proximity causes her—which demonstrates her vulnerability and humanity. What’s not to like about our heroine, right off the bat? A page later, she picks up a plastic bag out of concern that small animals might get trapped in it. Her prison history, while central to the story, is not revealed until the end of the chapter. And by the time the reader gets there, hopefully s/he is so invested in the character that they are willing (and eager) to read further.

Here’s your homework assignment: Reread the first chapter of your current work. Can you ramp up rooting factors for your characters? See what you can do, and if it improves the work. It has mine, and it took me four years too long to figure out. I hope it’s not as long for you!

Rejection: A thorn by any other name still stings…

Ouch.

I don’t care who you are, rejection hurts. But as writers, we all experience it, so it behooves us to learn to deal with it.

It’s tempting to pitch a fit, sulk, or even threaten to quit writing altogether. But when we take a look at these responses, it’s clear they are self-sabotaging…and ultimately ego driven.

This is what I’ve learned about rejection. It’s not about me. It’s about the needs of the publisher, or timing, or the quality of the writing – but it’s never about me, the author (unless I’ve made such an @$$ of myself that no one wants to work with me, no matter how brilliantly I write. But you’re too professional for that!)

Some factors that lead to rejection are out of our control. If a publisher just signed a contract for a story involving a blind golfer, and my story is about a blind golfer, it’s unlikely they’ll buy mine, even if it’s more brilliantly written. Or the editor hates stories about blind golfers. Or the editor just got sued by a blind golfer. Or… Well, you get the idea. None of these are within our control, so we cannot take the rejection personally, even when it’s unlikely we’ll ever find out the underlying why.

The other two reasons are within our control. Maybe I’ve pitched my epic poem about a blind golfer to a house that doesn’t publish poetry. Do your homework. Use Writer’s Digest or other resources to see what a specific publisher is looking for. Read your target publisher, then tweak your work to fit their needs and style.

Finally, maybe the quality of the work is an issue. (Ouch, again!) I look back on my initial submissions and cringe at the amateurish mistakes I made. Yet, at the time, I thought my work was brilliant! We all need to continually work on improving our craft, no matter our level of experience. Read books on craft. Check your local library. Take online classes, get involved in the CWG forums, the CWG online conference, or a writing group. Volunteer to judge contests. (That’s a real eye-opener, a glimpse into an editor’s life.) Find or create a critique group; it’s much easier to see someone else’s blunders, and eventually you’ll learn to recognize and fix those weaknesses in your own work.

If you’ve done all those things and still get rejected, what next? Bounce back. Is there is a lesson in a particular rejection? Learn it. Don’t give up. Keep writing. Keep submitting – but don’t beat a dead horse. If a project doesn’t sell, either re-work it or move on. Keep a positive attitude. Thomas Edison invented the light bulb on his 1000th try. He did not view the first 999 attempts as failures, rather as the 999 ways to not make a light bulb. Each step was necessary for his eventual success. Each rejection we receive brings us one step closer to our success.

What are your favorite ways to deal with rejection? How do you turn rejection into a positive element in your writing life?