Timeless Writing Advice

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Louisa Parr (1848 – 1903), via Wikipedia

I’m a fan of Gutenberg.org, which comes out with digitized versions of public domain works every day. I get their alerts, and the other day was interested to see On The Art of Writing Fiction, published in 1894.

It’s a series of chapters written by various authors, one of whom was Louisa Parr, an English novelist of some repute. I found her advice rather contemporary. Here is some of it:

To start, then, we will suppose that you are the possessor of a story which for some time has dwelt in your mind, and has taken such a hold of you, that you are engrossed with the plot and the actors in it. These creatures of your brain become so familiar to you, that they stand out in your imagination like real persons. You give them names, you invest them with qualities, you decree that they shall be happy or miserable, and, having sealed their fate, you are seized with the desire to make others acquainted with them.

Here Mrs. Parr advises the writer not sit down to write a novel until “possessed” of the potential story. That means both plot and characters, to the extent that you are “seized” by the desire to bring both alive on the page. I think she’s on to something. Unless and until you are “possessed” or “seized” by the story possibilities, you’re not going to bring anything original or vital to the page.

For some of us, setting out to write without a plan often leads to that state of possession—and should, if we’re to keep on going. For others, myself included, a time of brainstorming and writing a “white hot” document gets us to that place faster. It may also tell us we’re not ready to start that novel (without writing 20k words first).

Too frequently the young writer is not content to set down what is to be said with the straightforward simplicity that would be used if this story had to be told vivâ voce. There is a desire to explain, to digress, to elaborate. It is thought necessary to tell the reader that this person is very clever and witty, that that one is stupid and odious, much in the same way that a child draws some strange creature, under which it writes, “this is a cow—this is a horse.” We smile at its being necessary to inform us of what we ought to see for ourselves. Yet it is the same in fiction—the dramatis personæ of your tale should themselves discover to us their idiosyncrasies, and by their actions and conversation reveal to the reader their dispositions and characters.

This is great and modern advice, such as we dispense on TKZ frequently in our first-page critiques. It’s warning against the dreaded info dump. Better to “act first, explain later.”

Starting with the supposition that you have well thought out your plot, have conceived your characters, and some of the situations in which they are to be placed, my advice is that you endeavour to give a graphic relation of your story in words to a friend, so that you may hear how the arrangement of the incidents and events stand…

Interesting! A bit of market research to see if you’ve got enough for a complete story. When I was in film school the writer-director Paul Schrader came up for a lecture, and told us would-be screenwriters to gather some friends, make them spaghetti, then tell them your story and see if their “butts start to move” (meaning, they’re getting bored). I’ve never tried this because I don’t like talking about my story-in-progress with anyone. That’s why I’ve never been in a critique group. But I’m not dead set against them, either. What do you think?

About the length of a novel it is best that you should not trouble. When you feel that you have told all you have to tell, the book should come to an end. New pens should know nothing of padding, which is distasteful to every good writer and reader.

Hey, sounds like the discussion we recently had here.

If you are a true author your creation will have become very dear to you, and in launching it into the world you will suffer a hundred hopes and fears, and, perhaps, disappointments.

We’ve all been there! She ends with this:

The clouds of distrust are certain to cast their shadows over you, but if you have the assurance that you have spared no pains, that you have given your best, do not fear that they will overwhelm you; there is a moral satisfaction in having done good work which no one can rob us of.

There really is “moral satisfaction” in knowing you’ve done the best you can with what you have (this was the legendary basketball coach John Wooden’s definition of success).

I’ve never quite bought the idea of “Do what you love, the money will follow.” Rather, if you love what you do and work at it, day by day (and when you love it, such work is fun and satisfying) then the dough will rise. Maybe not enough to buy a yacht, but surely enough to fund a latte habit and a buy some writing books.

Comments welcome.

 

20 thoughts on “Timeless Writing Advice”

  1. Great find.

    Loved this: “It is thought necessary to tell the reader that this person is very clever and witty, that that one is stupid and odious, much in the same way that a child draws some strange creature, under which it writes, “this is a cow—this is a horse.”

    When editing my own or collaborative work, it is inevitable that there will be some sentence(s) that I mark through with the note “Unnecessary. Trust the reader to get it.” Hard not to RUE when first drafting.

    • You’re so right about RUE when we start off, BK. We think the reader has to know everything, or most of what we do….which, of course, they do not. Indeed, it’s more pleasure for them to withhold and create a bit of mystery.

  2. Fascinating post, JSB.
    I don’t mind writing those 20,000 words first. To me, it’s about the same time spent as the planning, mulling, brainstorming, possession. Things come together for me when they’re visible on the page/screen.

  3. “Timeless advice” worked in 1894 and will still work in 2094, if people are still reading by then.

    Re: Critique groups. They helped me a lot and I’m fortunate to have been in mostly excellent ones (toxic ones are deadly–avoid at all costs). They foster accountability, guide the writer toward what works and away from what doesn’t work, and point out blind spots when we’re too close to the story.

    Thanks for sharing Mrs. Parr’s advice, Jim.

    • Will we even be speaking in 2094, as opposed to grunting?

      Glad your critique group experience worked for you, Debbie. It must be hard for a new writer to determine when a group is helpful, and when not. (Hey, maybe a future post for you?)

  4. It’s amazing to me how modern her advice feels, as you noted. Truly it is timeless writing advice. She, you and Coach Wooden are absolutely right about that moral satisfaction about a job well done, a job which is the *thing* we can control, unlike the reception of a work and how much money it may or many not earn.

    Critique groups can be useful for providing feedback on novels. But for the kind of thing Parr is discussing, a brainstorming writers group (or a critique group which also brainstorms) can be very helpful. I founded one in 2013. One member will send a synopsis and notes for what they have in mind, including a short outline if they have one, and then the group will meet and have a back-and-forth discussion and Q&A with the writer. It’s very synergistic. The idea is to not critique, but rather engage with the idea.

    I picked up this model while in author Kij Johnson’s novel writing workshop in 2013. She called it “fishbowling” because the group is looking at the idea swim in the bowl of the workshop.

  5. Thanks for sharing this, Jim. 130 years after On the Art of Writing Fiction was published, Ms. Parr’s wisdom is still relevant, and it reminds us that words live forever, so we should be thoughtful in our writing.

    “there is a moral satisfaction in having done good work which no one can rob us of.” A great lead-in to my TKZ post for tomorrow: The Meaning of Success

  6. I love this. We’ve been at the hospital this weekend and I thought about writing all day yesterday while I watched Hubby sleep but all I’ve been managing is journaling, which is still writing.

    Blake Snyder advised pitching to people in libe at Starbucks. I do it when people ask me what I do. They ask me what I’m writing. I tell them. I know in one sentence whether I’ve got something or not.

    I prefer strangers to friends in pitching. Our friends love us. We have to capture strangers.

  7. Thanks, Jim! I love this post. Especially this: About the length of a novel it is best that you should not trouble. When you feel that you have told all you have to tell, the book should come to an end.

    Such a logical concept. 🙂

    This post gives me hope that the current characters crowding the gate in my mind just might have a story to tell. I guess I’d better schedule a round-table with them.

    Happy Sunday!

  8. I have been “seized” with my soon-to-release new thriller. Downright obsessed, actually. Hence why you haven’t seen my name in the comments much lately. Now that I’ve completed my third read-through, I can finally begin to let it go. The possession is worse with some storylines. Don’tcha think? This one nearly killed me — but I can’t wait to write the next one!

  9. JSB: That good advice then is good advice now is something, well, good to know. I also feel less isolated knowing that, like me, you have never belonged to a critique group. I’ve always thought it better to pay a gun-for-hire professional freelance editor for commentary. Other writers have too many “agendas,” conscious and otherwise for me to be confident in what they say about my stuff. Thanks for this wise post.

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