“The only time you really fail is when you don’t learn from the experience.” – Chuck Norris
What did you learn about your writing—or yourself—in 2023?
Author Archives: James Scott Bell
My Favorite Writing Reminders
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
Some years ago I make a list of the things I wanted front-of-mind as I wrote. Here is that list, with some added commentary.
EMOTION! That’s what your readers want! YOU must be moved in order to move your readers. WRITE WITH EMOTION!
One of the first truths about writing fiction I picked up from Sol Stein. He emphasized that the best fiction was first and foremost an emotional experience. You can have a clever plot with all sorts of twists and turns, but if the readers don’t care about the characters emotionally, it’s all for naught.
One of the things I do before I write a scene is get myself into the mood of the scene. The best way for me to do this is listen to music. I have several playlists made up mainly of movie soundtracks. If I’m going to write suspense, I’ll put on some Bernard Herrmann (Hitchcock’s favorite). If it’s deeply felt emotion in the character, I’ll choose something another movie, like A River Runs Through It or October Sky. And so on.
Better to put too much emotion in first draft, and cut back, than not enough and puff up.
Further, if I really want to capture strong emotion, I’ll open up a fresh doc and just write intensely and fast, forgetting grammar, sometimes producing a page-long sentence. Then I sit back and choose the best nuggets. Sometimes it’s only one line, but it’s one I wouldn’t have come up with without overwriting.
Major in conflict: Physical and emotional.
We all know conflict is the engine of fiction. This is just a reminder to keep piling on the trouble.
Always write lists of possibilities. Search for originality.
When it comes to making a choice of where to go in a scene or how to describe something, I’ll make a quick list of possibilities, pushing myself to avoid the clichés and stereotypes. It doesn’t take long to do this and the payoff is well worth it.
Write with eyes closed for description.
Before describing a location, I’ll close my eyes and let my imagination roam around like a movie camera. What is it showing me? I keep looking for original items. One “telling detail” is better than a dozen standard images.
Unanticipate. What would readers expect? Don’t give it to them.
Be aware of what the average reader might think will happen next. Then don’t do that thing!
STAY LOOSE! Always be learning the craft, but when you write, write fast and loose. Like Fast Eddie Felson plays pool.
You all know I believe in craft study. I credit it for my initial breakthrough and whatever success I’ve managed to have. But when I’m doing the writing itself, I don’t think about anything other than the emotion and conflict in front of me. Fast Eddie Felson is the character Paul Newman plays in one of the great American movies, The Hustler. When he has his big showdown with Minnesota Fats, which comes at a great personal cost, he says he’s not going to play it safe anymore. “Fast and loose,” he says, and proceeds to run the table.
When in doubt, freak the character out.
This is sort of a corollary of that famous Raymond Chandler idea that when you don’t know what to do next, bring in a guy with a gun. Do something that rattles the character’s world, turns things upside down.
Start a scene a bit later. End it a bit sooner.
This works wonders for readability and page-turning. Look at your chapter openings, and see if you can jump into the scene a beat or two later. Instead of setting up with description, give us dialogue and action. You can always drop back and describe later.
Then look at your chapter endings. See if you can cut the last line or two, or even paragraph. The feeling of momentum will prompt the reader to keep going.
Showing two conflicting emotions in a character heightens the tension and deepens the scene.
Often we give a character an emotional response that is rather predictable. Not that it is necessarily wrong. But, as with unanticipation, try to work in another emotion, unexpected and in conflict with the first. Readers are really drawn to emotional cross-currents. You will create a moment that is highly original.
SUES: Something unexpected in every scene, even if it’s just one line of odd dialogue.
Again, what makes for a boring or forgettable fiction experience? It’s when a reader subconsciously guesses what will happen next…and it does.
But when they are surprised, their interest skyrockets.
You can find a spot in every scene to drop in something they don’t see coming.
One of my favorite ways is to have a character say something that seems so off the wall that it doesn’t fit, then find a way to have it make sense.
There you have it. My favorite reminders. What about you? What would you add to this list?
Reader Friday: Public Domain
The Mouse formerly known as Mortimer.
Steamboat Willie, the first Disney synchronized-sound cartoon, is now in the public domain. The 1928 short features Mickey Mouse (whom Walt was going to call Mortimer, until his wife voted thumbs down). Anyone can now use this version of Mickey…but not the later one where he’s put on a little weight and sports white gloves. You also can’t imply that your use is sanctioned by Disney corporate. The rules are spelled out here. A list of some of the prominent works now open to all is here.
Here’s something to look forward to: Seventy years after your death, your works will enter the public domain. So let’s go to a day in the future when a browser with a virtual reality headset happens across one of your books and decides to look up who you were. What would you like your short bio to say? Put it in the form of “[Your Name] was a writer known for ____” and go from there!
We’ll Be Back
It’s a Wonderful Spice: Minor Characters
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
’Tis the season for Christmas spice. Starbucks has reissued the ever-popular Pumpkin Spice Latte. All over the land people are dipping into their children’s college fund to buy the brew.
It’s also the season for Christmas movies. It’s been a tradition in the Bell family to gather around the hearth…I mean TV…after the Thanksgiving meal to kick off the season. Not with football, but with a classic Christmas movie. Doesn’t matter that we’ve seen it many times before. We’re always delighted, and there’s a good reason for that. I shall explain anon.
But first, here are our top three: Miracle on 34th Street (1947 version only), A Christmas Carol (1951 Alastair Sim version), and It’s a Wonderful Life.
Honorable mention goes to: Die Hard, Lethal Weapon (both, of course, take place at Christmastime), Home Alone, A Christmas Story, The Santa Clause, and Elf. If we’re feeling particularly silly, we’ll pop in Ernest Saves Christmas.
What is it about these movies that warms the cockles of the heart? [Note: The cockles of the heart are its ventricles, named by some in Latin as “cochleae cordis”, from “cochlea” (snail), alluding to their shape. The saying means to warm and gratify one’s deepest feelings.] Of course, most of it is the story itself, uplifting in its own way. A Christmas Carol tells us no one is beyond redemption. It’s A Wonderful Life literally spells out: No man is a failure if he has friends. Die Hard: One New York cop is better than a whole a gang of European terrorists. Etc.
But there’s something else in the best of these movies. I call it the spice of fiction: minor characters. Like nutmeg on your nog or cloves on your honey-baked ham, they up the pleasure. Let me give you three examples.
Thelma Ritter as the ticked-off mother in Miracle on 34th Street
This story has a great premise: What if a department store Santa was the real Santa Claus?
The main characters are perfectly cast. Edmund Gwenn as Kris Kringle won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. Maureen O’Hara was never lovelier; John Payne shows off his light comedy chops; and little Natalie Wood is, as they used to say, cute as a button.
The film is filled with spicy minor characters: the judge overseeing Kringle’s mental health hearing (Gene Lockhart); his political advisor (William Frawley); Alfred, the Macy’s janitor whom Kringle befriends (Alvin Greenman). There’s even one bit in one scene that never gets old. Mrs. Shellhammer (Lela Bliss), the wife of the head of Macy’s toy department, has been plied with “triple strength” martinis by her husband, hoping to get her to consent to having Kringle move in with them. She is completely blitzed as she tries to talk on the phone. Cracks us up every time.
My favorite, though, is the great character actress Thelma Ritter in her very first film role. She’s shopping at Macy’s and lets her little boy chat with Santa. The following ensues:
Later, she tracks down Mr. Shellhammer and compliments him on this “new stunt” they’re pulling. Sending people to other stores! “Imagine a big outfit like Macy’s putting the Christmas spirit before the commercial.” She tells him she is now a dedicated Macy’s shopper.
Kathleen Harrison as Scrooge’s charwoman in A Christmas Carol
Scrooge, of course, mistreats those around him, from his meek clerk Bob Cratchit, to his nephew, to the two gentlemen collecting for charity:
“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”
“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?” said Scrooge.
“Both very busy, sir.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
And then there is his poor domestic, Mrs. Dilber, whom he underpays and overworks. But on Christmas morning he is a changed man, and Sim spectacularly shows us the transformation. But almost stealing the scene is Miss Harrison:
Bert and Ernie serenade George and Mary in It’s a Wonderful Life
No, not the Sesame Street characters. Bert the cop (Ward Bond) and Ernie the cab driver (Frank Faylen) are friends of George Bailey (James Stewart). George and Mary (Donna Reed) have just gotten married, but George has to stop a run on the Bailey Building and Loan by using all the money he has saved up to take Mary on a honeymoon. Offscreen, while the crisis is being averted, Mary—with the help of Bert and Ernie—arranges for a honeymoon night in an old abandoned house she’s always loved. The astonished George arrives. It’s raining. The house leaks. But there’s a fire and a record player going. That would be a nice, romantic scene on its own, but the addition of Bert and Ernie serenading makes it perfect:
Spend time with your minor characters this season. Make them unique. Allow them to surprise you. Spice up your WIP.
Merry Christmas
Prospero Año y Felicidad
And we’re out. See you right back here on January 1, 2024!
Your Book Means Something
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
In her excellent recent post Kris wrote:
I know you’re tempted to dismiss theme as mere enhancement. Le cerise sur la gateau, as the French say. But it’s essential. Try this experiment: Write the back copy for your work in progress — three paragraphs at most. Ha! Can’t do it? Well, you might not have a grip on what your story is about at its heart. Now often your theme doesn’t show itself until you’re well into your plot. Well, that’s okay. But when it begins to whisper, listen hard. Good fiction, Stephen King says, “always begins with story and progresses to theme.”
No matter what you do, your book will have a theme (or meaning) at the end.
Because your characters carry a theme. Always.
Do the good guys win? Justice will triumph.
Do the bad guys win? Justice is a myth. (This is the theme of Woody Allen’s Crimes and Misdemeanors.)
So: you can set out to say something, or can wait to see what you’re saying. But say something you will.
As Viktor Frankl puts it in his classic book on the subject, “Man’s search for meaning is the ultimate motivation in his life.” It is a subconscious reason readers pick up books. In the fictional search, they also are exploring their own inner territory.
Vision
Develop a vision for yourself as a writer. Make it something that excites you. Turn that into a mission statement—one paragraph that sums up your hopes and dreams as a writer. Read this regularly. Revise it from time to time to reflect your growth.
Root that inspiration in the world—your observations of it, and what it does to you. “I honestly think in order to be a writer,” says Anne Lamott, “you have to learn to be reverent. If not, why are you writing? Why are you here? Let’s think of reverence as awe, as presence in and openness to the world.”
If you stay true to your own awe, your books cannot help but be charged with meaning. That’s not just a great way to write. It’s a great way to live.
What Theme Is
Theme is a statement about life. It can be implicit or explicit, subtle or overt. But it must come through fully realized characters engaged in a believable plot. Otherwise the book will come across as a thinly veiled essay, sermon, or jeremiad.
Now, there is nothing wrong with “message fiction.” In message fiction an author says to the reader: I have strong, heartfelt beliefs about this issue — and I think I know what the truth is. I’m going to reveal that truth in this novel, through the lives of these characters, and I hope to convince you to believe as I do. It’s not a matter of shades of grey. There is a right and a wrong here, and everything depends on my convincing you to cling to the right.
But the key word here is not message; it’s fiction. If your book doesn’t work as a story, the message will fall flat.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin is message fiction. So is To Kill a Mockingbird. The Narnia books of C.S. Lewis are message fiction, but they work as engaging stories with characters we care about.
Donald Maass says:
A breakout novelist believes that what she has to say is not just worth saying, but it is something that must be said… Strong novelists have strong opinions. More to the point, they are not at all afraid to express them.
But the key word here is not message; it’s fiction. If your book doesn’t work as a story, the message will fall flat.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin is message fiction. So is To Kill a Mockingbird. The Narnia books of C.S. Lewis are message fiction, but they work first as engaging stories with characters we care about.
Try This:
- Write down the five things you care most about in the world.
- Now the five people you most admire.
- For each of the above, write 250 words about how you feel about each one, as if you had to convince a skeptic of the truth of your convictions.
- Now pick one of the paragraphs and put that fire and emotion inside your main character. How might your MC show that on the page?
- Go to the end of your WIP (either as written or as it might be written) and ask your character to explain to you what life lesson he or she has learned through the struggle of the plot. (In mythic structure, this is called “the elixir” which the hero carries back to benefit the community.) There’s your theme.
- Or look to your character’s “mirror moment” to find what your story really means.
Over to you now. Do you think about theme before you begin to write? Or do you let it emerge as you go? Or do you not think about it at all?
Is there a theme you see recurring in your writing?
This post is brought to you by the audio version of The Mental Game of Writing. I was invited to try Kindle Direct Publishing’s beta of “virtual voice” narration. Since I have narrated a few of my writing books, this is an experiment in saving massive amounts of time. What took me 10-15 hours before (narrating, editing, etc.) now takes 10-15 minutes to set up and go live. You can listen to a sample of the result here.
When Does a Book Become the Next Big Thing?
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
A few weeks ago I got a text from my daughter. It read: “How often do you think about the Roman Empire?”
A somewhat random question, it seemed, but in my wheelhouse. I texted back: “All the time!” Because I do. Signs of decline and fall abound, and I am mindful of two intractable lessons of history:
- Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
- People do not learn from history (indeed, increasingly they do not even know history).
Anticipating a substantive exchange on current events, I was surprised when my daughter texted back a smiling emoji. What, I wondered, was there to smile about?
A few minutes later she called me and laughingly explained this was a social media “thing.” Women were asking men how often they thought about the Roman Empire.
The hilarity of which escapes me.
But the trend was real. In a couple of weeks the hashtag #romanempire had 1.3 billion views on TikTok (which, far from creating in me peals of laughter, fills me with existential dread).
It prompted (not begged, please) a question: How does something as trivial as this become a “thing”?
A short time later I was talking to my daughter on the phone, when she said, “Isn’t it interesting how Taylor Swift has made Travis Kelce famous?” I immediately rejoined, “Honey, Travis Kelce has been one of the best players in football for years!”
She started laughing. Then explained this was another “thing,” women making that statement to men and watching them defend Travis Kelce.
Again, this is funny? (Okay, Boomer). But I love making my daughter laugh, so at least there was that.
Again I ask: why does something like this become a “thing”? Especially with millions of digital jockeys out there trying to create “things”?
Closer to home, we may well ask, why does one book take off to the stratosphere, and another (perhaps even better written in several ways) does not?
Why, with all the fan fiction out there, did Fifty Shades of Grey become the best-selling novel of the last decade (15.2 million print copies)?
Why, with all the fantasy fiction, does one story about a boy wizard follow this trajectory:
- J. K. Rowling, living on government relief, writes Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. She gets a $4,000 advance.
- 500 copies were published in hardcover.
- 200 were sold, and 300 went to libraries.
- Scholastic buys the U.S. rights, changes the title from Philosopher’s Stone to Sorcerer’s Stone, and releases it in October, 1998.
- In December it hit the New York Times bestseller list and stayed there for 82 consecutive weeks.
- Worldwide, the print copies of the series are north of 500 million.
- As of 2021, JK Rowling’s estimated net worth is around $1 billion
Here’s a quiz for you:
At 68, he may no longer be publishing’s fresh young hotshot; his books sell a fraction of the copies that they used to, and it’s been 19 years since he had a feature film made. Yet every fall, like clockwork, [he] publishes a new [book], and every fall it shoots to the top of the bestseller list…[He] has released 48 consecutive New York Times No. 1 bestsellers, a feat no other writer has matched.
Who is he? Answer below.* But more to the point: why him and not another prolific writer?
Timing? Luck? Zeus?
Of course, no one knows the answer.
In the big antitrust case to prevent Penguin Random House from acquiring Simon & Schuster, PRH CEO Markus Dohle testified that publishers are like “angel investors” that “invest every year in thousands of ideas and dreams, and only a few make it to the top.” When a book is a breakout, it allows the company to take risks in acquiring new books and “betting” on new titles.
In other words, publishing is like shooting craps. I’m not a Vegas guy or a gambler—except nickel backgammon—but I had occasion to be in Vegas twice over the past few years.
I shot craps the first time and came away with $250.
The second time I lost $150, and quit.
But each time I rolled those bones, I did it with hope and a flicker of excitement.
That’s us putting out a new book.
Your job, then, is to keep on writing the best book you can before tossing it online (or to a publisher). While the odds are always long against becoming the “next big thing,” they are considerably better for an improving and producing writer coming away from the table with more chips than they started with.
Writing salable books is work, yes. But make part of it a game, bet on yourself, enjoy the excitement, keep writing.
How do you feel whenever you release a new book? Like a gambler? A naif?
Are you hopeful, excited, nervous, full of dread…or some combination of all?
*Quiz answer: John Grisham.
Micro Fiction For Your Writer’s Brain
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
Want to have some fun? Write micro fiction.
Micro fiction is a story under 500 words (some put the limit at 300, but there is no governing authority calling the shots). Flash fiction is up to 1,000 words. After that, we’re into short stories.
I love all three forms, but micro is the most fun.
First of all, it doesn’t take that long to write. You don’t have to make a major investment of creative energy (which you mostly want directed at your full-length work).
It also trains your writing muscles. It teaches you to get into a scene in medias res—in the middle of things. That, in turn, will sharpen your skill at chapter openings.
It makes you characterize immediately, primarily through dialogue, a skill every writer should have.
And the best micro story has a twist or snapper ending. That skill comes in handy not only for the end of a novel, but also for scenes and chapters as well.
Getting Ideas
There are dozens of ways to get ideas for micro fiction. A few I’ve used are:
- Writer Igniter
- Storymatic
- Reading a news item, adding a weird element, and asking “What if?” (especially good for playing with spec fiction)
- Opening a dictionary to a random page and riffing off the first noun I find
- Jokes
Writing Micro Fiction
Usually, a micro story is going to have:
- One setting
- 1-3 characters
- Action focus
- Minimal description
- Lean sentences
Take your idea spark and think about a set up, what characters might be involved, and a central conflict. For example, I just now took out two random Stroymatic cards: attention-seeker and reunited. I thought about it for five seconds and came up with: what if an attention-seeking narcissist is reunited with his high school girlfriend at the 50-year reunion, and she doesn’t remember him?
At this point I prefer to think of a possible ending, and write toward it. Of course, you can start writing and see if an ending presents itself (I call this “micro pantsing,” not to be confused with the mini-skirt craze of the 1960s).
But here’s the nice thing: whatever course you choose you will reap the benefits of writing micro fiction. And you haven’t invested a lot of time.
I can already hear a rumbling out there. It sounds like Why not use ChatGPT for all this?
Don’t.
I say this not as a Luddite; the uses of ChatGPT have been widely discussed, here and all over the place.
The reason I don’t recommend it for micro or flash fiction is that the whole purpose of these forms is to work your writer’s brain, keep it supple and creative. If you let a machine do the creating for you, you gain nothing. Indeed, your proficiency in that arena will begin to atrophy.
But it you do the work yourself, your mind will develop the capacity to do some wonderful things.
Like the other day, I was just walking through the house when an idea—unbidden and fully formed—popped into my head.
I sat right down and wrote it. Then published it to my Patreon community.
(Pause for commercial. It’s free to sign up and gain access to all my content on Patreon, and there’s no contractual commitment. So I say, give it a look risk free!)
What to do With Micro Fiction
There are places that pay for micro and flash fiction. You can check some of them out here.
My short fiction goes to Patreon, always free to my members.
I’m also thinking that in the future I might publish micro fiction to my email list.
You could also use micro fiction as a regular feature on your blog, or as a reader magnet on your website.
But again, the main benefit is what it does for you personally. And it’s fun, like doing the daily Jumble.
Here’s the micro story that came me complete. It’s 217 words.
The Confession
Bob looked at Ed. Ed looked at Bob. Bob hated the way Ed looked at him, with that penetrating gaze. They’d been walking along the beach. The day was cold and misty. Bob had stopped to pick up a piece of driftwood.
And now, with Ed’s inquiring eyes, Bob knew he couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll spill it. I have to. Just listen. Let me get it out. I did it. I killed her. I took a knife and I did it. Was it a fit of rage? I tell myself that, Ed, but I know deep down I’d been planning it for months. After I did it, I wrapped her body in plastic, I tied ropes around her and attached two cinder blocks, put her in the boat and went out beyond Anacapa Island. Right out there, I can point to the spot. And that’s where she is now. I set up an alibi, somebody to lie for me, but I can’t lie to you, Ed. I never could. So there it is. And hey, you know what? I feel better now. I really do.”
Ed just stared at him. Those eyes!
“Okay,” Bob said. “You win.”
Bob hurled the piece of driftwood into the waves.
“Fetch, boy!” Bob said.
What about you? Ever play around with micro or flash fiction?
How to Make Sentences Sing
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
Edmund Burke, the eighteenth century member of Parliament known for his rousing speeches, regarded every word in a sentence as “the feet upon which the sentence walks.” He said that to alter a word—exchange it for a shorter or longer one, or give it a different position—would change the whole course of the sentence.
I thought about that recently while reading a thriller. It was good on the plot and character levels (which are, of course, absolutely essential). It started off like gangbusters, and carried me through the first three chapters.
But as it went on, I found myself without that feeling of compulsion to keep reading, as one has with the best fiction experiences. I wasn’t in a rush to turn the page. Naturally, as a writer and teacher of writing, I paused to ask myself why.
The answer came to me almost immediately. The sentences were all merely functional. They were like Dutch furniture. They did their job, but nothing more. I’ve quoted this many times, but it’s worth repeating. John D. MacDonald, writing about what he looks for in an author (including himself), said, “I want him to have a bit of magic in his prose style, a bit of unobtrusive poetry. I want to have words and phrases that really sing.”
Is that something worth going for? I think it is. MacDonald rose to the top of the mass market heap in the 1950s in part because his writing was a cut above what one critic called the “machine-like efficiency” of his contemporaries.
So let’s have a look at things you can do to make some of your sentences sing.
Rearrange
Consider this as the first line of a novel:
The small boys came to the hanging early.
Okay, fine. It works. But what if we did it the way Ken Follett does it in The Pillars of the Earth:
The small boys came early to the hanging.
Feel the difference? On a subconscious level, it elevates the effect. Hanging is the most vivid word, and putting at the end gives the sentence snap and verve. A novel with sentences like that can mean the difference between a good read and an unforgettable one.
Overwrite And Cut
When I get to an intense emotional moment, I like to pause and start a text doc and write a page-long sentence. I just go, putting down everything I can think of without pausing to edit. As an example, here’s an actual sentence from John Fante’s classic Ask the Dust, in the voice of a young writer named Arturo Bandini in 1930s Los Angeles.
A day and another day and the day before, and the library with the big boys in the shelves, old Dreiser, old Mencken, all the boys down there, and I went to see them, Hya Dreiser, Hya Mencken, Hya hya: there’s a place for me, too, and it begins with B, in the B shelf, Arturo Bandini, make way for Arturo Bandini, his slot for his book, and I sat at the table and just looked at the place where my book would be, right there close to Arnold Bennett, not much that Arnold Bennett, but I’d be there to sort of bolster up the Bs, old Arturo Bandini, one of the boys, until some girl came along, some scent of perfume through the fiction room, some click of high heels to break up the monotony of my fame.
Write something like that, and keep going. Then you rest a bit, come back to it, and choose the best parts. It might just be one sentence, but it will be gold and will make your book glitter.
Cutting Adverbs
Sometimes a sentence sings best when it’s lean. Which brings us to the subject of adverbs.
Stephen King said, “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.”
In Stein on Writing, Sol Stein advises cutting all the adverbs in a manuscript, then readmitting only “the necessary few after careful testing.”
That’s good advice, and not hard to follow. Do a search for –ly words and see if you can’t cut the adverb or find a stronger verb.
Be especially (!) vigilant with dialogue tags. Elmore Leonard (who is quoted much too often these days, he said solemnly) called using an adverb to modify said a “mortal sin.” Perhaps a venial sin. I’m not a Robespierre about this, sending all adverbs to the guillotine. But do make them state their case before you “sentence” them.
Resonance at the End
The last sentences of your book are the most important of all. They may be the ones that get the reader to order another of your books immediately, as opposed to ho-humming and finding something else to read.
One of the most famous ending sentences in American Lit is from the short story that put William Saroyan on the map. “The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze” was published in 1934, the height of the Depression. It’s the story of young writer who is starving to death. He walks the streets, looking for work, but there’s nothing for him. He’s down to one penny. He returns to his room, becomes drowsy and nauseous. He falls on his bed, thinking he should give the penny to a child, for a child could buy any number of things with a penny. The story ends:
Then swiftly, neatly, with the grace of the young man on the trapeze, he was gone from his body. For an eternal moment he was all things at once—the bird, the fish, the rodent, the reptile, and man. An ocean of print undulated endlessly and darkly before him. The city burned. The herded crowd rioted. The earth circled away, and knowing that he did so, he turned his lost face to the empty sky and became dreamless, unalive, perfect.
That one word—unalive—is not in the dictionary. But who cares? It’s meaning is obvious. Saroyan could have written dead, but that wouldn’t have any zing. And the word perfect at the end is so surprising given the context that it leaves us pondering, feeling, perhaps even weeping. In other words, there’s resonance, that final, haunting note hanging in the air after the music stops.
Man, oh man, that’s worth reaching for.
Brother Gilstrap has written about the importance of last lines. His favorite is from To Kill a Mockingbird:
He turned out the light and went into Jem’s room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning.
Another resonant ending is from The Catcher in the Rye:
It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.
And this, from my favorite Bosch, Lost Light:
I leaned forward and raised her tiny fists and held them against my closed eyes. In that moment I knew all the mysteries were solved. That I was home. That I was saved.
My advice is to write your last few sentences several times. Each time, say them out loud. How do they sound? How do they make you feel? Go for the heart. Teach them to sing.
Discuss!
How to Learn to Write Novels That Sell
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
I love the writing craft. I love it the way Adrian Newey loves race car engines. I love popping the hood, breaking out the tools, getting greasy, figuring out ways to build better fiction.
Maybe that’s because in the early years I had to work hard to make sense of it. I was not one of these happy geniuses that has the knack from the get-go. When I made my decision to be a writer, I found instant joy in setting words on the page. The only thing was, those words were not connecting with readers. People who looked at my stuff would say things like, “It’s just not working for me.” Or, “There’s something missing.”
So I doubled down on my study of the craft. I went to my favorite used bookstore and bought an armload of Grisham, Koontz, and King, and didn’t just read them; I studied them. I marked up the pages and made notes in the margins.
Ah, I see what he’s doing here!
This makes me want to turn the page!
I really like this character.
I bought books every month from the Writer’s Digest Book Club. One was Jack Bickham’s Writing Novels That Sell. The chapter on scene and sequel set off Roman candles in my head—an epiphany that I knew would change forever how I approached fiction.
I gave the next thing I wrote to one of my friendly readers, and this time he said, “Now you’ve got it.”
I felt like Orville Wright gliding over the sandy flatlands of Kitty Hawk as brother Wilbur waved his arms, shouting, “It works! It works!”
So if someone asks me what the best way is to learn how to write novels that sell, I’d put it this way:
Write a novel
I’m not being coy here. Write it the best way you know how. Don’t stop for any critiques, self or group. Finish the dang thing.
Then put it aside for three weeks. Print out a hard copy read it as if you were a busy Manhattan acquisitions editor looking at a manuscript on the subway. Have this question in the back of your mind: When am I tempted to stop reading? Mark those spots. But don’t do any editing.
When you’ve finished, make notes to yourself about the seven critical success factors of fiction as they show in your book: plot, structure, characters, scenes, dialogue, voice, meaning. How are you in those areas? Be ruthlessly objective. A good beta reader can help. If you want to appeal to actual readers someday and convince them to part with their discretionary income, you need to know if there’s anything disrupting the fictive dream. Quite often you’re too close to the book to see it. Maybe even a lot of it. But don’t despair, because you can…
…Get better at writing novels
I got good at plot, structure and dialogue (because I’d spent a couple of years working hard to figure those areas out). I got published. Then I got a multi-book contract and had the good fortune to work with a truly great fiction editor. In his first editorial letter to me he told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. I groused for an hour, then resolved not to have a chip on my shoulder. I followed his advice and lo and behold my books started to pop up on bestseller lists.
So, new writer, get yourself rolling on two tracks—writing and study.
It’s NaNoWriMo month, and all over the globe writers are aiming to produce a 50k novel in 30 days. That’s pressure, especially with Thanksgiving in there. The main benefit of this exercise is seeing how many words you can write if you set your mind to it.
So figure out how many words you can comfortably write in a week, considering your life situation. Up that figure by 10% and make that your weekly goal.
That’s the writing part.
Add to that a systematic study the craft. There are craft books and courses (I modestly mention). Just as you write to a quota, study to a quota. In 35 years of wanting to do this, not a week has gone by when I haven’t thought about, read about, or made notes about the craft of writing.
Does this sound like too much work?
Does a wannabe golfer just go out and start hacking away (also known as killing gophers)? Or does he get some basic instruction and put in hours of practice?
There’s an old story about a golfer approaching a hole with a big water hazard. He wonders if he should tee up a brand new ball and risk losing it, or use one of his old balls just in case. So he tees up the old one.
A voice from the sky thunders, “Use the new ball!”
Whoa. Obediently, he tees up the new one.
The voice says, “Take a practice swing!”
He steps back and takes a practice swing.
The voice says, “Use the old ball!”
You have to practice a proper and repeatable swing, friends, otherwise you just ingrain bad habits.
Readers don’t spend money to read your bad habits.
So:
Write a novel.
Remove all shoulder chips.
Learn.
Write another novel.
Keep learning.
Write like you’re in love.
Edit like you’re in charge.
Keep writing.
Anything you want to add?