Author Archives: James Scott Bell

About James Scott Bell

International Thriller Writers Award winner, #1 bestselling author of THRILLERS and BOOKS ON WRITING. Subscribe to JSB's NEWSLETTER.

Steinbeck on Writing

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

I read Of Mice and Men in high school and was wiped out for a week. I’ve seen the 1939 movie adaptation only once, in college, and I can’t watch it again.

That’s storytelling power. John Steinbeck had it.

So I thought it might be of interest here to share some of his writing advice via an interview in The Paris Review. I’ve added some comments, which is rather cheeky considering Mr. Steinbeck is a Nobel Prize ahead of me. But here goes anyway:

  1. Abandon the idea that you are ever going to finish. Lose track of the 400 pages and write just one page for each day, it helps. Then when it gets finished, you are always surprised.

JSB: I like this. It’s similar to what Ann Lamott counsels in Bird by Bird, i.e., the “one inch frame.” Just face your daily writing, with full attention. If you do this faithfully, at some point you’ll look up and see a full novel. And that’s a very nice feeling.

  1. Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper. Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down. Rewrite in process is usually found to be an excuse for not going on. It also interferes with flow and rhythm which can only come from a kind of unconscious association with the material.

JSB: I somewhat agree. I am a planner, and once I get going I want to finish that first draft as rapidly as I can. However, I do edit my previous day’s work. I sharpen it, and it gets me back in flow.

  1. Forget your generalized audience. In the first place, the nameless, faceless audience will scare you to death and in the second place, unlike the theater, it doesn’t exist. In writing, your audience is one single reader. I have found that sometimes it helps to pick out one person—a real person you know, or an imagined person and write to that one.

JSB: I don’t think about readers, plural or singular, when I write. I think about the characters. I think about the market when I nurture and idea. I want a concept that will appeal to sizable slice of folks who have discretionary income to spend on books. But once I’ve put that concept into motion in a novel, I’m involved only with the characters and how they get out of trouble.

  1. If a scene or a section gets the better of you and you still think you want it—bypass it and go on. When you have finished the whole you can come back to it and then you may find that the reason it gave trouble is because it didn’t belong there.

JSB: This is good advice, so long as  you’re not doing it a lot. If you do, there’s going to be a much bigger mess at the end than there was at the beginning. If you have too many scenes that are not “working,” the problem may be in the structural foundations or in scene writing itself.

  1. Beware of a scene that becomes too dear to you, dearer than the rest. It will usually be found that it is out of drawing.

JSB: I believe “out of drawing” is an art term which means an element that doesn’t fit. “Kill your darlings” is another way to put it. But this advice has always puzzled me. Maybe that scene that’s dear to you is the best one in the book. I think the only test is, Does it work in the story? Does it slow things down? Are you showing off?

JSB Axiom: Don’t write to impress your readers. Write to distress your characters.

  1. If you are using dialogue—say it aloud as you write it. Only then will it have the sound of speech.

JSB: I prefer to write dialogue and let it flow. When I edit the dialogue, that’s when I might say it out loud, or listen to the text.

So what do you think of this advice, TKZers?
Have you read much Steinbeck? How does he rate with you?

What Writers Can Learn From The Twilight Zone

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Submitted for your approval, the greatest TV show of all time: The Twilight Zone.

Rod Serling

It was the brainchild of Rod Serling, who served as executive producer and host of the anthology series. He had a voice like a modulated tension wire, with which he delivered the intro and outro of each episode. He also wrote 92 of the 152 scripts, an amazing output considering the fresh twists and turns that were the hallmarks of the Zone. Two other prolific contributors were Charles Beaumont and Richard Matheson, each of whom wrote some of the most memorable offerings. With writers like that it is no wonder the show was high in the ratings from 1959 to 1964.

And it’s a gift that keeps on giving, as each new generation gets to discover it via the July 4th “marathons” on the Syfy and Heroes & Icons networks, not to mention streaming. You’ll also see many famous actors early in their careers, like Robert Redford, William Shatner (“There’s a man on the wing!”), Robert Duvall, Jack Warden, Martin Landau, Leonard Nimoy, Elizabeth Montgomery, Charles Bronson, Lee Marvin and on and on. Sometimes the actors were in the twilight of their careers, like Ed Wynn and Buster Keaton.

I was a bit too young to appreciate the original airings, but the show has never been out of reruns. When I did see them, the impact was palpable.

I’ll never forget the profound gut punch I felt when I first watched “Time Enough at Last” (written by Serling) which is consistently voted the most memorable episode. That’s the one with Burgess Meredith, and I shan’t get within miles of revealing the twist. Hunt it down and watch before you read anything about it. (This should be your ironclad rule for any episode of the Zone!)

Equally stunning is the other episode that gets the most votes, “Eye of the Beholder” (Serling).

For you youngsters out there who’ve never seen a Zone, let me say I envy you! You’ve got some incomparable experiences coming. As a public service, I shall give you my personal list of favorite episodes (adding to the two just mentioned):

  • “The Howling Man” (Beaumont)
  • “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” (Matheson)
  • “The Hitch-Hiker” (Serling)
  • “Perchance to Dream” (Beaumont)
  • “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” (Serling, and an episode that absolutely speaks to us today)
  • “It’s a Good Life” (Serling)
  • “To Serve Man” (Serling and Damon Knight)

And my all-time fave, the second episode of the first season, written by Serling, “One for the Angels.” I shall give you here Serling’s outro which does not contain spoilers, but sums up the heart of the episode:

Ed Wynn in “One for the Angels”

Lewis J. Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Formerly a fixture of the summer, formerly a rather minor component to a hot July. But, throughout his life, a man beloved by the children, and therefore, a most important man. Couldn’t happen, you say? Probably not in most places – but it did happen…in the Twilight Zone.

I’ve long thought a good personality test would be knowing a person’s favorite Zone. So what does this episode tell me about me? That I’m a lot like Rod Serling. He had a soft heart and many of his episodes end on a redemptive note. That’s me. I love redemption. And justice.

Which reminds me that Serling wrote the script for one of my favorite political thrillers, Seven Days in May. What a cast! Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Fredric March, Ava Gardner, Edmond O’Brien, Martin Balsam. I won’t give any spoilers here, but if you like you can hop over to my Substack and see what I wrote about it (reproducing one of the great movie lines of all time!)

The lesson here is that twists and turns that are tightly woven into the plot are the golden threads of reading pleasure. But what makes that gold truly glitter is heart.

Maybe you’re not a softie. You still have a heart (I’m assuming). What is it you care most deeply about, besides selling books? Tap into it. Draw from it. Make it thrum throughout your work.

Rod Serling came to prominence in 1950s television, with a special empathy for the working stiff. Several of his episodes dealt with the pressures on executives and salesmen. “A Stop at Willoughby” is a notable example. Here’s the intro:

James Daly in “A Stop at Willoughby”

This is Gart Williams, age thirty-eight, a man protected by a suit of armor all held together by one bolt. Just a moment ago, someone removed the bolt, and Mr. Williams’ protection fell away from him, and left him a naked target. He’s been cannonaded this afternoon by all the enemies of his life. His insecurity has shelled him, his sensitivity has straddled him with humiliation, his deep-rooted disquiet about his own worth has zeroed in on him, landed on target, and blown him apart. Mr. Gart Williams, ad agency exec, who in just a moment, will move into the Twilight Zone—in a desperate search for survival.

Here’s an exercise: Write a Twilight Zone intro and outro for your WIP. This will tell you directly whether you’re tapping a vein or just spinning your wheels hoping for traction.

So what is your favorite Zone? (Try to avoid spoilers if you can, for there may be a young writer out there who has the series waiting to be binged.)

What does your favorite episode tell you about yourself and your writing?

***

If you’re interested in what made Rod Serling tick, I highly recommend you take twenty minutes to watch this interview from 1959, back when Mike Wallace and his guest could light up and carry on a meaningful and substantive conversation. Serling was intelligent, articulate, self-aware and honest about what he wanted to be as a writer. One of my heroes.

 

Be Interesting

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

There were two ad campaigns in the last twenty years I truly loved.

The first was the “I’m a Mac and I’m a PC” spots. They featured Justin Long as the “cool guy” who was the Mac, and John Hodgman as the stuffy PC guy. Mac sales zoomed after this. Microsoft’s answer was to roll out Vista. We know how that went.

You can watch all the ads here.

The other campaign was “The Most Interesting Man in the World” for Dos Equis.

A typical spot featured “vintage film” of the man in various pursuits, while a narrator recites a few facts about him, such as:

  • In a past life he was himself.
  • If opportunity knocks and he’s not home, opportunity waits.
  • He once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels.
  • The police often question him, just because they find him interesting.
  • When in Rome, they do as he does.

The commercials finish with the man sitting in a bar surrounded by beautiful people. He looks into the camera and, with a slight Spanish accent, says, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do I prefer Dos Equis…Stay thirsty, my friends.”

In both your fiction and your “author presence” on social media and email marketing, dullness is the kiss of death.

Fiction

I’m going to suggest that “interesting” in fiction is a category unto itself so it doesn’t get lost amongst all the other craft studies we do around here. Think of it as an added spice, a little extra that draws a reader further in. Specifically, it’s tied to what characters do.

Stephen King, in On Writing, says readers love learning about work, the details of a character’s vocation. You can start with what you know. My courtroom background allows me to show the ins and outs of trials, criminal procedure, search and seizure law, plea bargains and the like. But I also like to learn about other work (via research, interviews, etc.) and render it on the page. Yes, it’s an effort, but it pays off. If I’m interested and can convey that on the page, the readers will be interested, too.

A particular skill the character has can also be of interest, especially if it helps said character at a crucial moment. I love that device in the Ron Howard movie Willow. The hero of the story, little Willow Ufgood, is an amateur magician who, early on, does his “disappearing pig trick.” It goes comically wrong as the piglet squeals out from under the stage. But in the climactic battle with the evil Bavmorda, Willow performs the trick to save the baby Elora from her clutches.

Give us those kinds of details and the fictive dream will be all the richer.

Author Presence

Of course, we all have to present ourselves to the digital world now. And at each stage—from websites to blogs to podcasts, newsletters and emails—we need to find ways to hold readers’ interest because they are inundated with content competing for attention.

So…be interesting. Don’t just give us thinly veiled iterations of “Hey, my new book is out! I’m excited about it, and I think you will be, too!”

I have a newsletter on Substack that is purely for entertainment but also provides information I think many readers will find interesting. Our own Terry Odell offers travel and other nuggets on her Substack.

A little humor always helps. Dean Koontz’s newsletter always has a little fun before giving his soft-sell pitch. Here’s how one began:

Dear Readers,

I’m thinking of making a career change, taking on something that’s intellectually challenging like miniature golf or hot-dog-eating contests. I don’t know what it is, but I feel as if life is passing me by, as if I have less time remaining than I did when I was 20, which makes no sense. Maybe it’s the mid-life crisis I never had, coming on me later than it does with most men. That would make sense, because I held on to infancy until I was 25.

A personal story rendered in singular style is also gold. Our Reavis Wortham specializes in such tales. (I can’t help thinking of “most interesting man in the world” squibs for Rev, e.g. “His moustache has its own zip code”…”Stetsons line up to audition for his head.”)

Stay interesting, my friends.

Do you give details of work/vocation in your fiction? Have you gone beyond your knowledge base to find out about a particular line of work? 

In your social media and newsletter, what do you do to keep things interesting?

 

Competent and Forgettable Fiction

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

We have a first page for critique today, with a twist. Read on to find out what it is,

Chapter One

The first scream barely made it through the hotel’s thick glass windows. But the second one cut through like a blade. Jack Rainer froze mid-step in the hallway of the Bellamy Grand, a five-star fortress in downtown Chicago. Rain hammered the city like it wanted to wash the whole thing away. Jack tilted his head. Third floor. Same as him. Room 314—just ahead.

He slipped his hand inside his jacket and felt the cold steel of the Glock. Habit. He hadn’t carried it in years, but tonight something told him to bring it. Instinct, maybe. Or guilt.

Another crash. Glass. A woman’s voice, shrill and panicked, yelling something unintelligible. Jack moved fast now, heart kicking into gear. He reached the door and pressed his ear against it. Silence. Too much silence.

He knocked twice, sharp and hard.

“Hotel security,” he lied.

Nothing.

He glanced up and down the hall, then used the heel of his boot to break the latch. The door slammed open.

The suite was trashed. Blood on the floor. A single high heel by the window. And a man’s body slumped in the chair, head tilted at an impossible angle.

Jack muttered, “Welcome back.”

***

JSB: I’ll let the proverbial cat out of the bag right now. The above was generated by ChatGPT, to the prompt: Write a 200 word opening page to a thriller.

I just wanted to see what it came up. My overall impression is this is a cliché-ridden, implausible scenario with nothing in the style to set it apart.

First cliché: Naming the character Jack. We have more than enough Jacks. Jack is no longer nimble in the thriller world.

Second cliché: cold steel. How many times have we seen that? Not as many as Chat, which has “read” every book on the planet.

Implausibility: If this is a “five-star fortress” hotel, a kick isn’t going to break any latch or slam the door open.

I pointed this out to Chat. It responded:

Great point—and you’re absolutely right to question that. A “five-star fortress” hotel would likely have solid, reinforced doors, especially for privacy and security. Kicking one in would not only be implausible for a lone individual, it would also make a huge racket—drawing attention and making the act feel more like an action movie than a grounded thriller.

To keep it realistic and suspenseful, we can revise that part. For example, Jack could use a hotel passkey he lifted from a distracted staffer earlier, or maybe he knows an old trick from his past life that lets him manipulate a door latch in seconds—something subtle and skill-based rather than brute force.

Well, at least it takes helpful criticism (it’s probably already sucked up last week’s post).

The writing itself is competent. That’s not a virtue. Marian Lizzi, editor-in-chief at Perigee Books (an imprint of Penguin Group USA) once wrote about reasons a submitted book gets turned down by a publishing company. Among them was the following:

Not remarkable/surprising/ unputdownable enough. This one is the most difficult to articulate – and yet in many ways it’s the most important hurdle to clear. Does the proposal get people excited? Will sales reps and buyers be eager to read it – and then eager to talk it up themselves?  

As my first boss used to warn us green editorial assistants two decades ago, the type of submission that’s the toughest to spot – and the most essential to avoid — is the one that is “skillful, competent, literate, and ultimately forgettable.”

That’s what we’re flooded with these days—competent and forgettable fiction. Not the kind that has readers going Ah at the end, but Meh. This does not create what we authors desire most—repeat readers who become super fans.

I won’t go into further detail on how I would change today’s submission from our “brave (new world) author.” I’ll leave that to you. Does this pass our “I would turn the page” test? What would you suggest to improve it?

Taking Criticism

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Recently, I was the subject of a silent auction at a writers conference. The item was a detailed critique of the first 3k words of a novel. The winner sent me her pages and I spent considerable time with comments, suggested edits, and ways to improve.

You never know how someone will take constructive criticism. In my email, I told her not to get discouraged, and that early on in my career I had a brilliant editor who was known for his lengthy, single-spaced editorial letters. Whenever I got one of these I placed it, unopened, on the corner of my desk, and circled around it for a couple of days. I knew there would be ample work to do.

And every time I did the work I came out a better writer.

So when I didn’t hear back from this writer, I wondered if I’d discouraged her. I was about to write her a follow-up email when hers arrived. It read:

Thank you so much for your encouraging words. Your notes throughout provide me with so much I can improve upon. I will keep at it! I am so thankful for you. Thank you for your time spent!

I wrote back and told her, “Now that is the response of a true writer.” Because to my mind, a true writer wants to get better and sees criticism not as an assault but as an ally. That’s the value of a trusted editor or beta reader (see Brother Gilstrap’s recent post and my comment therein).

Of course, not all criticism is constructive; indeed, these days, it’s likely not criticism at all—it’s an eruption of bile directed at the author for some insular and dyspeptic reason. These diatribes are not offered to help a writer, but rather to make the writer feel like this:

I’ve never learned anything from a nasty, negative review. So I don’t read them. (I’ll read good reviews from time to time as a little shot in the arm, perhaps not the best metaphor these days, but there you are.)

Writers worth their salt (an idiom that goes back to how ancient Roman soldiers were paid) seek feedback on a manuscript. Not just to catch obvious errors, which we all make, but to spotlight areas for improvement. It’s up to the author what to do with those notes.

A few suggestions:

1. Find good feedbackers. We’ve talked about editors and beta readers a lot here at TKZ. How to find the good ones is a matter of research, trial, and culling. There are many experienced freelance editors out there. Check their background and client lists. I’ve heard good things about Reedsy. Try gathering some beta readers and cull the list to settle on one or two of the best. When you have those, shoot them some moolah for future critiques.

2. Be objective. To the extent you can, look at the suggestions as if you were a disinterested third party. Some things are worth fighting for, but not if you have a chip on your shoulder.

3. Listen, but remain true to your vision. There’s a famous story about Bennett Cerf, a legendary editor for Random House, suggesting edits to Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. She took a puff on her cigarette and said, “You would not cut zee Bible, would you?” No shrinking violet, Ayn. She won, and Atlas Shrugged still sells tens of thousands of copies a year. When you reach that level, maybe you can say the same thing. Until then, listen, assess, use what is helpful while, at the same time, keep the vision of your book intact.

You’re in this to write books not just for yourself, but in hopes of connecting with readers and turning those readers into fans. If you want to write just for yourself or, heaven forfend, let AI write for you, and throw stuff out there to see if anything sticks, well, it’s not illegal, just ill informed, ill fated, and will probably make most readers ill, too.

But if you want to keep getting better at your craft, form a plan to get helpful criticism. And ignore angry people with a shoe in their hand.

Agree or disagree? Have at it in the comments.

In Search of the Penny Drop

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Mutoscope at Disneyland

In the good old days (you know, before virtual reality, smartphones, TikTok, and even TV and radio) the kids loved to go to penny arcades. So named because almost everything in them cost a penny, they provided brief respite and entertainment from the drudgery of life. 

For that one copper coin you could play games—like the claw-grabbing-a-toy game—or get your fortune told. 

Most popular were Kinetoscopes and Mutoscopes. The former were short silent films, the latter a series of flipping photographs that told a short story. When you first looked into these machines you saw only one image. When your penny dropped you turned a crank and the “show” started. 

Which is where we get the concept of the “penny drop” in mystery fiction. It is that moment where something happens that triggers or points to the final solution. It’s that last bit that allows the sleuth to connect the dots. 

We see it in all classic mysteries, from Holmes to Poirot, Father Brown to Miss Marple, Columbo to Jessica Fletcher.

In my own thrillers, there is usually a mystery at the heart of things. Which means I need that penny drop. It is often the last thing I find. In my personal Scrivener template, I have a penultimate card labeled “Penny Drop” where I scribble notes as I go along. I’ll include memos sent by the Boys in the Basement when I first wake up.

When you nail the penny drop, it’s one of the most satisfying moments of the whole process.

Here is a description of the penny drop from Tom Sawyer’s excellent Fiction Writing Demystified (Note: Sawyer was showrunner for Murder, She Wrote.)

[T]he penny drops for the sleuth at the instant he or she hears, sees, tastes, smells touches or otherwise experiences something which—when combined (usually mentally) with a fact or facts gleaned earlier—tells the detective that till now, everyone in the show has been following false leads. Suddenly, the protagonist has it FIGURED OUT—if not all of it, most of it—and is off and running in the direction of the “Gotcha” scene, leaving the other characters, and the viewers, mystified as to what has been put together, how it has been accomplished, and where he or she plans to go with it.

And here is the #1 most important rule (there, I said it) of all:

[I]t’s important, even if the  penny drop is prompted for the protagonist by some lucky accident or coincidence, that most of the other elements of the equation are earned—the result of his or her doing.

Put that down on a Sticky Note and paste it where you can see it, or better yet burn it into your writer’s memory bank.

Now, mystery writers are all over the map when it comes to the who done it part. Some like to write a discovery draft to find out. Others, me included, like to start with the who and the motive, giving me a “shadow story” that helps create the plot. 

Whatever your approach, you’re going to need the right penny drop. How to find it?

1. Don’t settle on the first thing that comes to mind. It may be the right solution, but allow others to bubble up and audition. In my Romeo WIP, I seriously considered at least six possible drops. I woke up one morning with a seventh in my mind, and that’s the one I chose.

2. Create a visual of all the main characters and look at them from time to time. I use two things for this: A Scapple (a Scrivener app that lets you create mind maps and connection); and a Scrivener corkboard with character photos (since you’re not publishing these, you can use Google images, which is my preferred method. It’s no secret many writers create their own images with AI).

3. Consider all the senses. As Sawyer points out, not every penny drop is visual. There’s sound (see Chesterton’s Father Brown story “The Queer Feet”), smell, taste, touch. Agatha Christie used every one of these at one time or another. 

Of course, not every book has a traditional mystery involved. But I contend page-turning fiction always has mystery elements that keep the reader wondering, Why is this happening? What’s going to happen next? How can the character possibly survive (physically, psychologically, or professionally)?

Instead of solving a murder, you can use the penny drop as a “big reveal” that explains all the happenings to the main character (as in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca) or to the readers themselves (Gone Girl).

It has been announced that the U.S. Mint will soon stop making pennies. I’ll miss them. I used to spend mine on Bazooka bubble gum, with its comics featuring Bazooka Joe. Will it now be a nickel for your thoughts? There’s inflation for you.

Here at TKZ, your thoughts are free, so go ahead and share them!

The Living, Breathing Novel

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

The other night, Mrs. B and I re-watched the 1999 BBC adaptation of David Copperfield. Superb. And what a cast: young Daniel Radcliffe as David, the legendary Maggie Smith as Betsy Trotwood, Bob Hoskins as Micawber, Ian McKellen hilariously chewing the scenery as Mr. Creakle, and so on down the line.

It made me wonder again at how Dickens, with quill and ink, turned out massive tomes, full of plot twists and unforgettable characters, like Peggotty, Steerforth, Mr. Dick, Barkis, Uriah Heep. Dickens never gives us colorless, throwaway story people.

So I went on a little journey to research Dickens’ method. I wanted to find out if he was an outline guy, a pants guy, or something in between. My conclusion is that he started a project with the “big picture” in mind, along with some main characters, but allowed himself room to expand and explore as he went along, with help from a trusted beta reader and his own wife.

We know Dickens wrote in serial form, sometimes in periodicals, sometimes in pamphlets. I read somewhere that anxious readers would often gather at the docks when the boats came in with the delivery of the latest installment.

I discovered a massive biography of Dickens by John Forster, the man who read almost everything Dickens wrote before it was published. In the clip below, Forster tells about the writing of Oliver Twist. (“Kate” was Dickens’ wife.)

Then, on a “Tuesday night,” at the opening of August, he wrote, “Hard at work still. Nancy is no more. I showed what I have done to Kate last night, who was in an unspeakable ‘state’ from which and my own impression I augur well. When I have sent Sikes to the devil, I must have yours.”

“No, no,” he wrote, in the following month: “don’t, don’t let us ride till to-morrow, not having yet disposed of Fagin, who is such an out-and-outer that I don’t know what to make of him.” No small difficulty to an inventor, where the creatures of his invention are found to be as real as himself.

The ending of The Old Curiosity Shop was suggested by Forster:

He [Dickens] had not thought of killing her [Little Nell], when, about half-way through, I asked him to consider whether it did not necessarily belong even to his own conception, after taking so mere a child through such a tragedy of sorrow, to lift her also out of the commonplace of ordinary happy endings so that the gentle pure little figure and form should never change to the fancy. All that I meant he seized at once, and never turned aside from it again.

This sums up the Dickens “method”:

Its [The Old Curiosity Shop] effect as a mere piece of art, too, considering the circumstances in which I have shown it to be written, I think very noteworthy. It began with a plan for but a short half-dozen chapters; it grew into a full-proportioned story under the warmth of the feeling it had inspired its writer with; its very incidents created a necessity at first not seen; and it was carried to a close only contemplated after a full half of it had been written.

I draw a few lessons from Mr. Dickens.

1. Plan your novel, but give it room to breathe. Dickens didn’t sit down with no idea of where he was going. He started with a main character in mind, a set of problems for that character, some secondary characters, and an envisioned outcome. But for each section he wrote he was flexible in how things developed. He could change his plan or his characters if he so desired. I can’t prove this, but I have a feeling James Steerforth in David Copperfield was such a character. Initially a hero to David, he became the driver of the tragic Little Emily subplot.

2. Unforgettable fiction is written when you are imbued with “warmth and feeling.” Note: You can’t get that from a machine. You get candy bars and soft drinks from a machine, not living, breathing, blood-pounding, heart-racing fiction, the only kind that turns browsers into readers, and readers into fans.

3. You produce warmth and feeling by experiencing the lives of your characters. The great alchemy of unforgettable fiction is moving your characters from your head to your heart. The great Dwight Swain wrote: “People read fiction for feeling. Whether they know it or not, they grope for stimuli that move them. The thing in fiction that gives them this stimulation is emotion projected through characters.”

You’ve got to feel the emotion before you can project it. An added benefit, Swain says, is that this how you produce “zest”—the “best way to escape the fatigue and boredom that endless hours of writing often bring.”

Recall what Forster said, that “the creatures of his invention are found to be as real as himself.” In the 1850 preface to David Copperfield, Dickens wrote:

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret—pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many companions—that I am in danger of wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidences, and private emotions.

4. Get the benefit of another set of eyes. A great editor or beta reader is gold. You’re too close to your manuscript to spot subtle—or sometimes obvious—errors. You may be blind to an obvious plot hole or undeveloped character motivation. If you don’t deal with them now, readers and reviewers will deal with them later.

5. Be developing your next project. Dickens had a family to support and debts to be paid. He always had a next project in mind. He kept a notebook of ideas. Forster: “In it were put down any hints or suggestions that occurred to him. A mere piece of imagery or fancy, it might be at one time; at another the outline of a subject or a character; then a bit of description or dialogue; no order or sequence being observed in any. Titles for stories were set down too, and groups of names for the actors in them.”

And that’s not humbug. Comments welcome.

The Long and Short (Story) of It

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

If I may indulge in a little horn toot today. My latest release has dropped—just don’t drop it on your foot. Because the print version comes in at a honkin’ 612 pages (173k words). It looks nice on a shelf but will also work as an emergency doorstop. It sells for $28.95.

The ebook is considerably lighter, and is a “steal” at the special launch price of just $3.49. You might want to hop on that, as the price goes up to $6.99 in a few days.

Down These Streets is a complete collection of my short stories. From the introduction:

I’ve always considered short stories the hardest kind of fiction to write and—at the same time and in the right (write) hands—the most powerful form of storytelling.

I can still feel the emotional jolt of many Hemingway stories. “Soldier’s Home,” “Hills Like White Elephants,” and “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” come to mind. Even the work that got Hemingway the Nobel Prize, The Old Man and the Sea, is really a novella, coming in at a modest 27,000 words. But you’re knocked out at the end. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

In college I was fortunate to get into a workshop overseen by an acknowledged master of literary short stories, Raymond Carver. From him I learned the value of “the telling detail,” a small item in a story that reveals a universe of a character’s inner life.

The term literary is used primarily to distinguish such stories from other genres, like pulp fiction. Oh, how I love the world of classic pulp (1920-1950), so named because these magazines were printed on cheap, wood-pulp paper so the publishers could sell them for a dime or a quarter on newsstands. Writers like Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Carroll John Daly, and Erle Stanley Gardner ushered in the hardboiled school of pulp writing.

In junior high, I found another kind of short story in Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man. Here were flights of imagination mixed with sparkling prose and a “kicker” ending. Man, I wanted to be able to write like that (a desire not uncommon to nascent writers reading Bradbury). He seemed to be saying to me, “The door is open to my story world. Come in! But keep watch, for you never know what’s waiting for you at the end.”

This collection, then, is my homage to all these styles. There are stories with a twist, stories with a heart (the “literary” type), and stories with a punch (about a 1950s boxer in L.A. named Irish Jimmy Gallagher).

My title is taken from a Raymond Chandler essay on the fictional detective, which every pulp writer knows practically by heart. It begins: “Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.”

I’ve also included a good chunk of my flash fiction (stories under 1,000 words). These are perfect when you need some quick escapism, or are fighting boredom in a waiting room or the grocery store line.

In fact, there are stories for any occasion—except, perhaps, rock climbing.

The door is open. Come in, enjoy, but keep close watch—because you never know what’s waiting for you at the end…

Order on Amazon.

Outside the U.S. go to your Kindle store and search for: B0FD4RYY9P

The main craft tip I have on short stories is this: every successful short story is about “one shattering moment.” That moment can be quiet or big; subtle or blunt; or a great plot twist that changes everything. And it can happen in five different places:

  1. Before the story begins (the story itself shows the aftermath of the moment)
  2. At or near the beginning
  3. In the middle, changing the entire trajectory
  4. At the end (best place for that juicy twist)
  5. After the story (the implied shatter)

I even wrote a book about this, with examples. But I don’t want you to buy that book. Not today, at least! Today the star is my own collection.

Thanks for your kind indulgence.

What’s one of your favorite short stories?

Lessons From Literary Dads

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there! Don’t forget to tell a #DadJoke today.

What happened when two slices of bread went on a date? It was loaf at first sight.

Thank you! Tip your server on the way out.

Which brings me to four literary dads and what we can learn from them.

Atticus Finch

At the top of the list is, of course, Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. A widower, Atticus is faced with the prospect of raising two young children without a mother. His daughter, Scout, presents a particular problem. She has budding prejudices as the result of her social environment, the deep South of the 1930s. She also likes to solve her disputes with boys by beating them up.

His greatest challenge is the heart of the book. It’s when he is asked by a local judge to undertake the defense of Tom Robinson, a black man accused of raping a white girl. Atticus takes the case, knowing he is going to lose. So why does he do it? He tries to explain it to Scout:

“Scout,” said Atticus, “when summer comes you’ll have to keep your head about far worse things…it’s not fair for you and Jem, I know that, but sometimes we have to make the best of things, and the way we conduct ourselves when the chips are down – well, all I can say is, when you and Jem are grown, maybe you’ll look back on this with some compassion and some feeling that I didn’t let you down. This case, Tom Robinson’s case, is something that goes to the essence of a man’s conscience – Scout, I couldn’t go to church and worship God if I didn’t try to help that man.”

Lesson: Live by the higher ideals, even if they fail in some circumstances, or any hope for civilization crumbles.

Daniel Peggotty

In David Copperfield, Daniel Peggotty offers a crucial counterpoint to David’s cold-hearted stepfather, Mr. Murdstone, as well as the odious and oily Uriah Heep (one of the best character names ever). Daniel’s love and loyalty to his family is the epitome of paternal virtue. He is the brother of David’s beloved nurse, Clara Peggotty, and happily welcomes young David into his home, treating him as he would a family member.

In particular, his devotion to his niece, Little Em’ly, results in a sacrificial quest to save her after she runs away with James Steerforth. He declares, “I’m a going to seek her, fur and wide. If any hurt should come to me, remember that the last words I left for her was, ‘My unchanged love is with my darling child, and I forgive her!’”

Lesson: A father protects his family, no matter the cost.

Vito Corleone

Wait, what? Don Vito Corleone in The Godfather? He’s the opposite of Atticus Finch, operating on the wrong side of the law. He has murdered and ordered murders. Now as he ages, he knows the future of his family is in the hands of his youngest son, Michael. Here he is, warning Michael of an impending attempt on his life…and sharing his sadness at Michael’s fate.

So why do we care at all about Vito Corleone? He’s the head of a crime family, for crying out loud. I think there’s a literary secret here. You can pull for a character who is not entirely good if, within the story context, he is “better” than the other bad people around him. In the case of The Godfather, Vito has refused to partner with another Mafia family in the drug trade. This leads to his attempted assassination. Thus, Michael’s revenge is understandable within that story world.

Lesson: You can love your children, but crime still doesn’t pay.

King Lear

Boy, what a bad dad. Which shows us we can learn from the negative (the raison d’etre of tragedy).

Lear is the opposite of Daniel Peggotty. Instead of familial loyalty to all three of his daughters, he rewards vain flattery and punishes the one daughter who expresses love, Cordelia. It isn’t long before the other daughters, Goneril and Regan, conspire to strip him of his power. He’s left a wandering lunatic, and runs for Congress. (I may be misinterpreting that last point.)

Lesson: Pride goeth before a fall. So, despite what TikTok says, life is not all about you.

In the immortal words of Graham Nash, we must “have a code that you can live by/And so, become yourself.” Nash wrote movingly about the inspiration for this song:

The origin of the song came from my recent infatuation with art. I had begun collecting photographs around that time, powerful images that had an emotional effect on me. One, in particular, was a Diane Arbus image of a boy in Central Park. It spoke volumes to me. The kid was only about nine or ten years old, but his expression bristled with intense anger. He had a plastic grenade clenched in a fist, but it seemed to me that if it were real the kid would have thrown it. The consequences it implied startled me. I thought, “If we don’t start teaching our kids a better way of dealing with each other, humanity will never succeed.”

Enjoy your day, dads. You matter.

Grammar Still Matters, Don’t It?

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

What does a grammatically correct owl say? “Whom, whom.”

We all know the language, and the uses thereof, have fallen on hard times. Don’t U feel it 2? Texting, combined with the loss of grammar studies in schools, have set us on the slide toward becoming the Eloi, that docile future race in the The Time Machine who barely talk and are easy prey for the Morlocks.

Sites like X are rife with mistakes, of course, due to dull thinking and quick typing. I recall one of those innumerable back-and-forths dripping with vitriol, where someone ended with this zinger: Your ignirance is not a good look. That used to be called being “hoist on your own petard.” (Now it’s a “self own.”)

In the golden age of newspapers, you had reporters who pounded out stories that were examined by crusty, eagle-eyed editors with blue pencils and cigars, who put the writers through their paces.

What great wordsmiths we had then. I grew up reading the L.A. Times when it was owned by the Chandlers, and had columnists like Jim Murray, Jack Smith, and Al Martinez. And then there were the syndicated writers like Art Buchwald and Jimmy Breslin; and for laughs, Erma Bombeck.

Not to mention the workaday reporters who wrote clear, concise, and factual (remember factual?) stories.

As the publisher Joseph Pulitzer (for whom the prize is named) said of newspaper stories: “Put it before them briefly so they will read it, clearly so they will appreciate it, picturesquely so they will remember it, and above all, accurately so they will be guided by its light.”

Did you notice the word whom in the above parenthetical? That’s because I learned the trick of saying the sentence using him or them, and noticing the m, which means you use whom.

But today, with instant digital publishing and the lack of educated editors, we get the “mistake creep” that threatens to become epidemic. Here are just a few examples I’ve collected over the years:

The trick play gave Georgia a 14-0 lead, while the Michigan defense looked lost on defense on consecutive drives. (Where else would a defense look lost?)

Which doesn’t quite jive with Sunday’s piece. (I’m as much a fan of jazz as the next guy, but jibe is the word.)

I don’t know if the victory that’s already been had will get the attention commiserate with its significance. (Um, commensurate.)

Both real estate agents were reticent in not requesting an amendment to the contract of sale at the time the buyer made the statement. (Reticent means reluctant in speech. The word should be negligent.)

Besides being an alumni at the university, Smith revealed that the young woman also attended the graduate school. (The singular for a female graduate is alumna, but that’s another can of worms. Worse is that the object of the first part of the sentence is the young woman, not Smith. That’s a common error following the comma in a prepositional phrase. See the next example.)

As someone born in 1985, Reagan was long gone from the national scene when I came of age politically. (A neat trick to serve as president before you’re even born.)

I didn’t like it when my beloved English teacher, Mrs. Bruce, made us parse sentences. But I learned. Today, students do that homework by typing, “Grok, parse this sentence for me.”

I’ll quickly add, however, that AI can check your writing like one of those old-time editors, and that’s a valuable tool. Just be sure to ask for notes, not a re-write. Preserve your voice and your humanity. And know that AI may skip aspects of your writing that could be sharpened, so keep on learning your craft. That’s why I keep a copy of Strunk & White and Jan Venola’s Write Right! by my desk. And every so often review my heavily highlighted copy of William Zinsser’s On Writing Well.

An article from Writer’s Digest (Aug. 2002, written by Becky Ohlsen) contains some solid advice on avoiding grammar and stylistic pitfalls.

Lose the flab, modifiers that say nothing, e.g., really, truly, very.

Sentences that start with “There was” or “There are.” Rewriting makes the sentence stronger.
NOT: “There were three people dancing in the street.”
THIS: “Three people danced in the street.”

Do a search for adverbs, words ending with -ly. Find a stronger verb.
INSTEAD OF: “He ran excitedly down the hill.”
THIS: “He bounded down the hill.”

Replace vague adjectives with actual description.
INSTEAD OF: “His shirt was quite loud.”
THIS: “His shirt was iridescent chartreuse with an orange quilted collar and 16 whalebone buttons.”

And learn the differences between homophones (words that sound alike). Two common mistakes:

Affect vs. Effect. A retired managing editor once explained it this way: The verb affect means to influence; the noun effect is the result of the influence. Example: How you spell will affect (influence) your pay. The effect (result) of poor spelling may be a pay cut.

Principal vs. Principle. A simple trick is to remember that principle is like a rule (both words end in –le). A principal is a main thing (the –a in main reminds you of the –al in principal).

Yeah, it’s work. But do you want your prose flabby or firm? Do you want readers putting your book down (at The End, mind you) with the feeling they especially enjoyed that ride, even if they can’t identify why? Do you want them anxious to find more of your work, or have them muttering, Meh, it was okay…

Up to you.

By the way, my favorite movie about a crusty but benign newspaper editor is Teacher’s Pet with Clark Gable and Doris Day.

So what is your relationship with grammar? Any common goofs you see out there that chap your hide?