Let’s turn our thoughts today to the subject of happiness and finding inner peace. What’s your go-to method for achieving balance and harmony in life? Does the discipline of writing help you stay balanced and impact your mood in a positive way, or is it more like a daily chore?

And if you need some inspiration along those lines, please enjoy Ray Bradbury’s “Zen in the Art of Writing”.

https://youtu.be/YnVPFPCuuJc

Writing without revising is the literary equivalent of waltzing gaily out of the house in your underwear. — Patricia Fuller 

By PJ Parrish

Copy editors, bless ‘em. Good ones are hard to find and hard ones are even better to find.

Over the course of thirteen books, numerous short stories, magazine articles, and a 25-year stint in newspapers, I’ve had my share of copy editors — good, bad and indifferent. I was even one myself for a brief time, until I realized I was better at seeing the forest instead of the trees, so gave that up for becoming a dance critic.  But I have a deep and abiding respect for great copy editors. They have saved my bacon on more than one occasion.

When we signed with Thomas and Mercer for our most recent book, I was wary. Was the quality of editing for this Amazon imprint going to be as a good as we were used to from the “traditional” New York houses?  Turns out it was better…four, count ’em four…different copy editors went over our manuscript and each brought a special talent to the project and improved our book. One fellow had lived most his life in San Francisco so he was able to double-check all our locations and landmarks there. Another woman had once been a dancer so she honed in on every detail of our heroine’s arts background.

Working with them made me remember one of my first copy editors, who was so good that I still remember with fondness — Wendy the Word Wonk.  Her name really was Wendy. I tacked on the rest out of deepest respect for her talents because I really love folks who really love words.

But before I tell you about Wendy, let’s back up a moment. Here is one major truism I have learned about publishing: When you write a book, you have only five chances to not end up looking like the world’s biggest fool:

1. Write the best book you can.
2. Rewrite that book how ever many times it takes to cleanse it of all the cretinous prose, dumb mistakes and smelly cheese.
3. Have a great line editor who makes you go back and de-cheese it some more. Even if you have to hire one yourself. Especially if you have to hire one yourself.
4. Luck into getting a great copy editor, who has your back. Or again, hire one.
5. And finally, read your galleys carefully.  And if you are self-publishing, I’d even go so far as to print out your final manuscript justified and formatted to look like a real book, then treat it like a galley and find your mistakes. There is something about looking at your book in this final form that makes the sly mistakes and typos jump out in high relief.

Obviously, no. 1 is most important. For all practical purposes, your only real last best chance is No. 4. The copy editor. She is the last gas station on Highway 95 between Las Vegas and Searchlight. He is the last butt in the car ashtray after you’ve just gotten off a four-hour flight. She is the one who tells you your skirt is caught in your pantyhose when you walk out of the bathroom. He is the one who tells you when to zip your fly or button your mouth.

When you get to the galley stage, it is too late. The copy editor is all that stands between you and the abyss of hackdom and reviewers on Amazon who cackle that you don’t know the difference between “its” and “it’s.”

So, back to Wendy the Word Wonk and her unheralded ilk (I think that’s the right word…where’s Wendy when I need her?)

Wendy corrected our lays and lies without being smug. Because she is a fellow Michigander, she knew the difference between Mackinaw and Mackinac. She respected our idiomatic dialogue. She double-checked our use of foreign languages without being snide. (When I was writing romance, I had a British editor who scribbled in the margin of my manuscript: “Considering this author’s lack of command in English, I don’t think we should trust her French.”)

Not only did Wendy help us keep our dates, ages and eye colors straight, she raised a couple plot questions we hadn’t thought much about, which technically wasn’t her job, but that of the line editor. Once we did think about her polite but pointed questions, we went back in for a final critical rewrite that made the plot stronger.

But copy editors being the eccentric souls they are, Wendy did bring up some questions that we — or any other writers in their wildest dreams — would never expect to encounter. Like…

Is underwear plural or singular?

Here is the paragraph from our book as we wrote it:

Last night, she had washed out her underwear in her room and put them on the heating unit to dry, but they had fallen off during the night and were still wet.

This was her suggested version:

Last night, she had washed out her underwear in her room and put it on the heating unit to dry, but it had fallen off during the night and was still wet.

This set us thinking…

In almost every Thesaurus reference to underwear, there is an ‘S’ added to the word — shorts, long johns, panties, drawers, bikinis, undies, woolies, bloomers, flannels, thermals, skivvies, boxers. Despite the fact the clothing in question is, indeed, a single piece of fabric.

Is it because panties have two holes for two extremities that we perceive it to be plural?

“She picked up her panties and put them on.”
“He took off his boxers and tossed them to the bed.”

This sounds right to us because this is how people think. But that leads us to an even more perplexing question: How come a bra, another single-piece item, which also holds two separate body parts, becomes an IT when we think of it in every day usage? Or what about a jock strap, which is similar but, technically speaking, holds three body parts?

“She took her bra off and laid them on the bed.”
“He took off his jockstrap and flung them into the corner.”

Whoa, what kind of image does that put in a reader’s head?

Now our particular problem maybe have come from Wendy’s perception that our character had washed both pieces of her underwear, not just her panties. And referring to a set as IT may have been more appropriate, even though we still prefer THEM.

In the end, that’s what we opted for and Wendy let us win that battle. But here at the Kill Zone, we are here to serve your writing needs. And since we writers do love our rules, we leave you with this:

The Crime Writer’s Rules About Underwear

1. Clothing with two sleeves or arm holes are an It.
2. Clothing meant to hold two pieces of the anatomy are an It.
3. Clothing designed for three (or more appendages) are an It.
4. Clothing with two legs or leg holes are a Them.

Except, of course, for a girdle, which is an It. We think. But that’s only a problem for you historical writers out there, thank goodness.

By Larry Brooks

The film Arrival, starring Amy Adams as an off-the-charts brilliant but melancholy linguist with military intelligence chops, was released to theaters this weekend to stellar reviews and decent a box office.

Why, as novelists, should we care?

To state the obvious, we are storytellers. Which means we have a soft spot for good stories, period. That and the fact that critics actually liked it better than audiences is telling (93 to 82 percent on Rotten Tomatoes)… this is one smart story with strings that don’t necessarily all tie up nicely at the end.

It is my contention (one of many) that as authors working deeply in genre-driven storytelling (as opposed to, say, Goldfinch or something by Jonathan Franzen, both of which/whom are scary wonderful, but not exactly ideal models for what we’re up to), we can learn a lot about storytelling from quality films in our chosen genre.

Especially when it bends the laws of story physics and lives to play another day.

The Arrival is a virtual buffet of learning in this regard.

The film is technically science fiction (very cool hovering alien spaceships occupied by creatures that look like a cross between an octopus and a circus elephant), but so much more. Before we dig in here, check out the trailer, which certainly doesn’t model the precise linear structure of the film, while absolutely selling it as a conceptual proposition.

Great stories often show up that way in trailers. Sell the concept, close the deal with the premise.

While risking bumping up against a spoiler here, let me say that the ending is a polarizing proposition.

You’ll either love it, or be confused to an extent you can’t quite recommend it. A writer’s ending, rather than from the desk of some Hollywood suit. It’s truly trippy, to say the least, and while in retrospect is cleverly and abundantly foreshadowed (within the trailer, as well), I dare say you won’t see it coming. And when it lands in your lap it’ll stir what may perhaps be a deeply buried agenda as a writer—to speculate on the true nature of things in our world. Indeed, in our universe.

While there is indeed a bona fide genre out there called speculative fiction, closer thought reveals that almost all fiction is speculative in nature, which sort of blurs the lines on the playing field of whatever genre we are working within.

This being one of the things this film models for us.

Two other key aspects of craft are modeled in the film, as well.

First: the power of a killer concept.

This film is nothing if not off-the-charts conceptual (a visual feast, at that), while remaining one of the more character-driven and achingly emotional films you’ll ever see in this or any other genre.

So I guess just mashed two facets of craft together (precisely what the film itself does)… encouraging us to think big where concept is concerned… while showing us how deeply characterized a high concept story can and should be.

The other—you knew I’d land on this one—is story structure.

The trailer is nearly all about the concept, while foreshadowing the rest of the premise as an afterthought (because, as you know, it’s not a story until something goes wrong… or as Jim Bell quoted to us not long ago, until someone shows up with a gun).

But unlike some trailers (all of which, by the way, almost without exception, show The First Plot Point of the story somewhere within; trailers become one of the fastest tools writers can use to cement their understanding of this essential story milestone), the moment when something goes wrong doesn’t show until the 2:02 mark.

Literally, that’s when someone with a gun shows up.

In this story, though, it happens at the midpoint of the movie, not the First Plot Point. And yet, it colors within the lines of both in terms of the principles that define them.

This is liberating while perhaps slightly fogging for writers who have learned the FPP as the moment when something goes wrong, thus launching the hero down the core dramatic tunnel of the story (everything prior to that moment being a setup for it).

In Arrival, fully half the movie is a setup for what turns out to be the Key Inciting Incident… which again is, quite literally in a normal sense, when something goes wrong. At the midpoint, in this story. Watch the trailer again, and note how everything changes at the 2:02 mark. The setup, as conceptual and compelling as it is, suddenly becomes dramatic, because everyone is now in danger. Before that, they were only worried about being in danger.

The core dramatic story (when bad guys come into play) starts right there… when the guns show up.

Just to be clear, the film does deliver a true and accurately placed First Plot Point (also in the trailer, at the 1:02 mark) following the first-quartile setup narrative. This is when Amy and her crew actually venture into the spaceship for the first time.

Everything is different from that point on—the narrative shifts into a new, more dramatic context—which is the purest mission of that particular story milestone (the FPP).

Except, in this case, the FPP simply escalates the tension without introducing the core dramatic element of the story (which is usually an expectation of the FPP… just not in this film). That contextual shift (danger danger danger) happens at the midpoint, when (spoiler warning, that is in the trailer, very clearly so, in fact) the military steps in and tries to hijack Amy’s higher purpose and turn the whole thing into an existential global emergency.

Here’s the great news for structure cynics and advocates alike:

The whole storytelling enchilada remains a flexible, author-driven proposition.

Yes, you still should seek to change and escalate your story with a First Plot Point that lands somewhere before yet near the first qaurtile turn (page count or running time, same standard for both)…

… but you don’t necessary need to clarify the presence of an antagonist (hint at it, at least, yes, absolutely). You can continue to escalate tension and foreshadowing until the midpoint, relying (as this film does) on the power of your evolving concept.

Then bring out the guns.

The midpoint, used this way, would be absolutely the last exit ramp for the story to take that requisite turn into more focused dramatic lane, via the introduction of the core dramatic arc (antagonist/conflict-driven; in this story, there is virtually no conflict in play at all for our hero until the midpoint, other than a paranoid military handler and, of course, those twelve massive scone-like spaceships literally hanging around).

My hope is that this alone—trailer and explanation—helps expand your grasp of story structure at the level of principle. Seeing it in play is always the best way to wrap you head around it…

… so here you go. Head to multiplex with notepad and timer in hand. Because The Arrival is a story clinic that just might blow your writerly mind as it expands it.

*****

Click HERE for information about my soon-to-be released “hardcore training for serious authors.” Freebie and discounts, too.

By John Gilstrap

I know I promised last post that I would talk about dialogue this week, but I got distracted and had a hard time taming the post.  Next time.

This week, inspired by the classic John Miller piece posted a little while ago about guns and cordite and stuff, I thought I would continue the theme with a post about bullets and their behavior.  Let’s start by recognizing that virtually everything you’ve ever seen on television regarding bullet behavior and the damage they cause is wrong.  No matter how tough a tough guy is, if he’s been shot in the leg and his leg is broken, he cannot walk on it–except maybe if it’s a fibula (ask John Wilkes Booth about that).  Remember all those heroes of our youth who were “only” shot in the shoulder, and then were back in action by the epilogue with his arm in a sling?  Well, here’s what a shoulder joint looks like:

There’s no place for a bullet to go that would not shatter a bone or three.  Not to mention the complex arrangement of blood vessels in there that are just waiting to get torn up.  Torn blood vessels bleed.  If the bleeding can’t be stopped, the victim dies.  Blood loss is the primary cause of fatalities when bullets are involved.

The Myth That Caliber Equals Stopping Power

Here’s a selection of common pistol bullets:

From left to right, the bullets are .410; .38 Police Special; .45 ACP; .40 ACP; 9mm Luger; .380 ACP; .25 ACP; .22 Long Rifle.  The ACP suffix stands for “automatic Colt pistol” because that was the first firearm to use that shell casing design.  The decimals refer to the diameter of the bullet at its widest point (and remember, the bullet is the nosecone atop the shell casing), measured in inches.  A .45, then, is 45/100 of an inch at its widest point.  You’ll also see bullets measured in millimeters.  Thank NATO for that.

And here is an assortment of rifle bullets:

From left to right: .300 WinMag (Winchester Magnum–a sniper round); 7.62mm; 5.56mm (used in M16s, AR15s; M4s); 4.6mm (used mainly by Special Forces and specialized units); .22 Long Rifle.  Without getting too deeply into gun porn, it’s important to note that two of these NATO rounds–noted by the metric measurement–have caliber equivalents: 7.62mm=.308 caliber; 5.56mm=.223 caliber.

Note, then, that both of these bullets are .22 caliber:

So, there’s more to bullet energy than caliber.  The amount of propellant and the weight of the bullet, usually measured in grains, have a lot to do with the lethality of a bullet.  The rest of the lethality equation has everything to do with shot placement.  A small bullet, properly inflicted, will do more harm than a poorly aimed big bullet.  Ronald Reagan and George Wallace were both critically wounded by that little bitty .22 long rifle round, and Bobby Kennedy was killed with one.

Kinetic Energy

Most modern bullets travel at supersonic speeds.  Since the speed of sound represents the speed at which air molecules can get out of each other’s way a bullet in flight creates a pressure wave at its nose, and because Mother Nature abhors imbalance, that positive pressure at the nose creates a negative pressure at the tail.  When a bullet hits a person, the pressures surrounding the projectile do an enormous amount of damage to surrounding tissues.

Here’s a slow motion video of a 9mm pistol bullet impacting ballistic gelatin, which is designed to simulate the consistency of human flesh:

See how that wound channel opens and snaps shut?  Imagine that all of that energy was being absorbed/inflicted on a liver.  Getting the bullet out is far from the most pressing emergency in many bullet wound cases.

Here’s a similar video showing the damage inflicted by a .308/7.62mm rifle bullet:

So, yeah.  A bigger, heavier bullet traveling at a much greater speed causes a heck of a lot more damage.  The reason you’re able to see such pronounced spiraling in that video is because the bullet is a hollow point, which is designed to open up on impact.  This is what a hollow point bullet looks like before it’s fired:

The common alternative to a hollow point is a full metal jacket, which looks like this:

While the hollow point undoubtedly inflicts more damage upon the person it hits, the true purpose of the bullet’s design is to prevent over-penetration, where a bullet intended for a bad guy would not travel through-and-through to hit the good guy standing behind him.

We talk about research quite a lot here at TKZ, and I recommend that  anyone who writes about this stuff in their stories take some time to visit your local gun store or go to a gun show.  You’ll find lots of very nice folks who love to talk about all things firearms related.  Many gun stores will let you rent a gun and fire it on their range.  If you’re not comfortable handling them, no problem.  They’ll be happy to help you out.

Just remember rules:

1. Assume that every gun is loaded, even when you’re certain it is not;
2. Never point the muzzle at anything you’re not wiling to destroy; and
3. Don’t touch the trigger until you’re sure you’ve acquired your target.