We’re heading into the hot zone of national election season this month–and the consequences of silly season 2016 are going to start having serious consequences for the US, and the world. All this puts me in the mood to stock up on some nail-biting, high stakes political thrillers to put at the top of my summer reading list. Suggestions? What are some of the best political thrillers you’ve ever read?
by Larry Brooks
These four nasty little traps would still be weaknesses if they appeared in the novels of more experienced professional writers. But for the most part, those writers don’t commit these mistakes. Which defines the window of opportunity for newer writers – to understand what they’re doing and how they do it.
And how that differs from where your story is, at any given moment. Especially when you believe you are done.
It is important to remember that when you read a novel from a proven professional, you’re reading a polished, pounded upon, tested and fortified final draft. The story may have been riddled with problems in the early stages, draft after draft, so don’t assume these pitfalls are unique to the newer writer.
Established authors have agents and editors for this purpose, newer writers don’t. And they bring their 10,000 hours of apprenticeship to the task, which probably exceeds your resume by orders of magnitude.
A few workshops won’t get you there. Those 10,000 hours, along with the criteria-driven, modeled craft held up as the target, just might.
If I wanted to read fully realized, polished stories all day long, I’d be a book reviewer instead.
I do read a lot of work from folks who are terrific writers… if the composition of sentences and paragraphs is the benchmark for that description.
But the thing is, it isn’t.
Where writing novels is concerned, a terrific writer is judged by the story more than the prose. And because they are two different skill sets, one doesn’t necessarily beget the other.
A story is so much more than a sequence of paragraphs composed of sentences. In the same way that a house is composed of so much more than a bunch of wood planks nailed together. Really strong, beautiful two-by-fours do not a functional, aesthetically-pleasing house make. There is more to is than the wood itself, and much of it isn’t visible to the eye, because it resides in the infrastructure of the building.
Such is the story sensibility the new writer often lacks.
Allow me to summarize what too often comes up short:
One: The writer doesn’t understand what a premise is.They confuse it with other story essences, like concept and theme and backstory.
The project I worked on this morning answered the question, What is your premise? with this:
Here is my copy for the back cover of the paperback for my story.
A red flag, this. The author has the back cover copy done, but the novel itself is still in the incubator.
Rarely is what we read on the back cover a premise. It’s marketing copy.
In the name of offering a solution today, here is the definition of premise, which becomes a sort of checklist for the entire story itself:
A protagonist/hero whose current life (which we get a glimpse of, and perhaps a bit of background for) is interrupted, disrupted or leads into… a specific problem, need or opportunity… launching a hero’s quest with a mission and a specific desired outcome, beginning with a response to the need or problem… for reasons (stakes) that compel the character to respond… in the presence of opposition from an antagonistic force or person(s) with opposing goals and their own motivations… calling for higher and stronger responses and course of action, often with those stakes evolving into something darker or more urgent… leading toward brilliant and courageous resolution resulting from the Hero’s decisions and actions… leading toward a specific outcome, returning the hero to a life that is contextually different than where the story began.
Two: While the story is deeply rooted in genre, the writer is more focused – too focused – on characterization and theme and backstory than the forward-facing dramatic arc and tropes of that genre.
In other words, the story is either episodic or completely void of a hero’s quest/mission, undertaken because of what is at stake and a sense of urgency. It links to genre only by virtue of setting and context, rather than actionable drama and stakes.
In yet more other words… there is no compelling plot. A dramatic question in play. Which is what the premise, when done properly, describes.
“Finding his true self,” or “forgiving the past” are both really bad, really lame hero’s quests. Those are character arc goals and outcomes, but they are not the raw grist of a story. Because in genre, a story is about more than the arc of the character. Rather, it is about what the hero does to reach those goals, decisions and actions and confrontations that are dramatic and full of risk and conflict.
This is the stuff of premise. The meat and potatoes of narrative.
From a dramatic standpoint (rather than thematic), was The Hunger Games about Katniss finding true love? No. It was about getting out of that arena without someone planting an ax blade in her skull.
In genre fiction, story lives and dies by its drama, driven by conflict. Leave the thematic analysis and character depth to the reviewers, all of that is an outcome of how the character responds to the drama into which you’ve dropped them. It’s your job to make it work, that’s true, but without a compelling dramatic arc in play, all of itwill be lost on your reader.
If you are writing in a genre – thriller, mystery, romance, fantasy, including mash-ups between them – the need for plot is non-negotiable. And a plot is subject to certain expectations and criteria – an author doesn’t get to redefine what the word “plot” means – which is what the new writer too often misses.
A newer writer’s story might play as “the adventures of…” which doesn’t work in genre. Michael Connelly’s novels are not the adventures of Harry Bosch. Rather, there is a case to solve, a single pursuit of a perp and of justice, complicated by other pressuring layers of subplot and subtext, including an antagonist/villain.
All of it defining character, by giving your hero something to do.
The life story of a fictional character may work in literary fiction, but not here.
Three: There isn’t sufficient emotional resonance that gives the reader something to root for.
I read a time travel story recently (when I say story, I mean a narrative plan submitted to me for analysis) in which two girls go back in time (never mind how) to… wait for it… ogle men wearing kilts. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.
This was a romance, which the author argued licensed any lack of thematic weight. I disagreed. The difference is like an episode of Ray Donovan versus an episode of The Housewives of New Jersey.
The dramatic stakes were fine – one of the girls goes missing back in time – and it seemed like everybody was falling in lustful love with everyone else as they looked for her. The hero sister trying to find her lost sibling was really more interested in the butt of the plantation owner’s son.
The question remained unclear, and unanswered: Why? Who cares? Especially when, after one sister finds the other, they both decide to remain stuck in 16th century Scotland. Because those guys in kilts, they’re freaking hot.
Not something a more experienced writer would have chosen.
Four: The story lacks a compelling conceptual core.
The key word here is compelling.
The story idea is flat. The premise seems to be searching for something compelling, hoping to land there – as if the writer, when alerted to the fact that the story is flat, would say, “But when I write it you’ll see, it’ll all come alive when you read it on the page” – rather than stemming from something compelling. Like a killer story arena, or a character we’ve never seen before.
I just finished coaching a story that basically read like this: a normal guy lives in an ancient town, next to another ancient town full of bad people. The bad people want to attack his town because they are located closer to the water, which provides access to trade and sustenance. That’s the setup. So our guy, the hero, organizes a militia of other every day guys, and when the bad people attack, he leads them to victory, battle after battle after… many more battles. Meanwhile, there is a magic stone that only he can understand, which turns him into a great warrior. After the victory, they name him as their king, and everyone lives happily ever after.
I told him it doesn’t really work, at least at the pitch level. There isn’t an agent in the business that would say to this, “Dude, I’ve been waiting all year for a story like this, you’ve got to send it to me!” More likely they’d say, “I’ve seen twelve of these this week alone. Nothing special here, this is generic. Been there, read that, didn’t like then, either.”
It doesn’t glow in the dark. There’s nothing conceptual. Nothing that makes a reader say, “Holy cow, this is the type of story I’ve been waiting for, I can’t wait to read this!”
Which is one of the benchmarks of a great concept, and a premise built from it.
The story idea isn’t strong enough. At least not yet. The writer has committed to it too soon, perhaps without fully understanding what does make a story idea glow in the dark.
The whole point — the difference between the newer writer and the successful more experienced one — is story sense. The ability to recognize what works and what doesn’t, based on criteria that never change.
Don’t depend on your writing to make it glow in the dark. Because chances are, while you’re really good and your sentences make your Aunt Mabel rave about your emails, that talent is a dime-a-dozen in the universe of writers who are trying to do what you’re trying to do.
Make no mistake, such stories can work. But when they do, there is more going on than the thin shell of a story that this example describes.
Game of Thrones is compelling because of the characters and the setting. Which on paper, is rarely enough. Which renders it an exception, not the thing you should set out to emulate. It’s like telling young athletes to be like Mike. Do what Mike does.
Michael Jordan, that is.
In the story described, there is nothing conceptual about that guy in the town with the magic stone, or anyone else in the cast (swap out compelling for conceptual, which will help clarify). No Mother of Dragons. No White Walkers. No John Snow. No ruthless, seductive Queen. Nothing with the vividly drawn landscape of Westeros. No sex. No violence. No OMG! moments. Nothing like the other 45 characters that leap off the G.O.T. pages and scream, I am conceptual and you will learn to love me, even if you hate me!
Writing a saga is tough work, advanced work. Harry Potter was not a saga, it was a series, which is different. Newer writers not only need to understand the difference, but also the depth of craft and structure required to make such a story work.
There is a line you cross, somewhere among those 10,000 hours, when you know you’re no longer a newer writer.
That you’re in the game for real, and that you have a real shot, because you understand the game itself in a way that you didn’t before.
It’s all there, in that definition of premise. When you own it, completely and thoroughly, including what resides between those lines, it will propel you to the finish line. Because owning it doesn’t mean simply executing on it, but doing so with power and flair, with dramatic weight, conceptual appeal and thematic substance.
All beginning with a truly killer story idea. Which will look different to you – the bar will be higher – once you’ve crossed that line.
by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
In my workshops I warn students about scenes where two friends sit down for dinner or
coffee and talk about life, the universe and the plot. The temptation is to have it all easy-peasy because, after all, they’re friends. The danger for the writer, though, is that without conflict or tension the scene takes on the dreadful patina of dullness. Which means it is the readers who lose their appetite … for reading on!
Sometimes I will hear the rejoinder that this is what we do in life. We have coffee with friends, we have dinner with pals. Why can’t we put that in our books?
Well, I say, you have fuzzy slippers in your life. Do you put them in your books? (Okay, well, if you do, put snakes inside them.)
Then I say that fiction is not a reproduction of real life. It’s a stylized rendition of life for a fictional purpose. And the most important part of that purpose is keeping readers glued to the page! A scene featuring “happy people in Happy Land” doesn’t stick.
Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t do a quiet scene with friends or allies in a Starbucks or a restaurant. The trick is to have something going on that gives off a vibration of tension. It’s not that hard to do, either. But the effect on readability is palpable.
Let’s have a look at an eating scene from Michael Connelly’s Echo Park. Harry Bosch is investigating an old murder for the Open-Unsolved unit of the LAPD. He’s asked FBI agent and profiler Rachel Walling for help. Bosch and Rachel had once been intimate, and have started up again, though they are uncertain about the wisdom of this.
In this scene, Connelly wants to give us a lot of information and theorizing about the case. That could easily make this a “talking head” scene. But Connelly knows better than that. Bosch has arranged to meet Rachel at a fancy downtown restaurant. The scene begins:
Bosch had lost track of time while in the library. He was late. Rachel was already seated and waiting for him. She was holding a large one-sheet menu that obscured the look of annoyance on her face as Bosch was led to the table by a waiter.
“Sorry,” Bosch said as he sat down.
“It’s okay,” she replied. “But I already ordered for myself. I didn’t know if you were going to show or not.”
She handed the menu across to him. He immediately handed it to the waiter.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said. “And just the water is fine.”
He drank from the glass already poured for him while the waiter hurried away. Rachel smiled at him, but not in a nice way.
So here’s the first tip: find some form of TENSION between the allies. In this case, Bosch is late for his meeting. Rachel is annoyed. We want to keep reading to see how this will play out.
Rachel then warns Bosch that he’s not going to like what he ordered. It was sashimi. She knows Bosch wants his fish cooked. Oops. But Bosch decides he better let it go and give Rachel the info he has.
This leads to the second tip: make the FOOD a source of discomfort. Bosch has begun his summary of the events:
It took him fifteen minutes and during that time their lunch was served. Of course it came fast. It didn’t have to be cooked! He felt lucky to be the one doing all the talking. It gave him a ready excuse not to eat the raw fish put down in front of him.
[As the scene moves on, Rachel finishes her sashimi. Bosch then pushes his own plate, which he hasn’t touched, over to her.]
“No, I’m not saying that Olivas was the killer. I am saying he was gotten to by the killer. He and O’Shea. The real killer came to them and made some sort of a deal.”
“Harry, this just sounds so …”
She didn’t finish. She pushed the sashimi on her plate around with her chopsticks but ate very little of it. The waiter used the moment to approach the table.
“You didn’t like you sashimi?” he said to her in a trembling voice.
“No, I –”
She stopped when she realized she had almost a full portion on the plate in front of her.
“I guess I wasn’t very hungry.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” Bosch said, smiling. “I thought it was great.”
Third tip: Use the servers to provide a well-timed INTERRUPTION. Here, Rachel was about to tell Harry how his theory sounded. But before she could continue, the waiter comes back to the table. This is a clever ploy, delaying the payoff, which is another way to say that Mr. Connelly knows how to make us read on.
Here is a slice from my novel Romeo’s Way. Mike Romeo is under cover in San Francisco, trying to get hired as security for a political campaign. Kat, the campaign aide he has made contact with, is interviewing him. Mike proved himself earlier that day, and now Kat takes him to dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf on the campaign’s dime.
“I can only get back so far into your past,” she said. “I get back to when you were fighting, but before that there’s virtually nothing. There was some fluff of a bio in a program once, but to be quite honest with you, it didn’t sound believable.”
“That’s because it was fiction,” I said. “They needed something, so I made something up.”
“Okay, then what’s the real story?”
“It’s not something I choose to publicize.”
“And that,” she said, “is what interests me.”
“I also believe in privacy. What I choose to keep private is nobody’s business.”
“Which means you have something to hide.”
“Everybody has something to hide,” I said. “Tell me about your sex life.”
Her cheeks flushed, obvious even in the candlelight.
“See?” I said.
“I could get really mad at this point.”
“But you won’t,” I said. “Because it’s not a good move. And my impression of you is that you make nothing but good moves.”
Before she could answer, the waiter appeared with the bottle of wine.
In this clip, I have used a fourth tip: CONFLICTING AGENDAS. Kat wants Mike’s full background. He doesn’t want to give it. They both want to test each others’ boundaries. And then the waiter interrupts.
So there you have it. Four simple ways you can turn a sitting-down-for-coffee-or-food scene into readable fiction: tension, food, interruptions, agendas.
Mix and match according to taste. Your readers will enjoy the meal.
Shutterstock photo purchased by TKZ
On the topic of what our members would like to see covered at TKZ, Frances asked about Writers’ Groups.
“I’d like to see a blog on Writer’s Groups. I belong to one that is disappointing in structure and leadership. What are the qualifications for starting a writer group and what should be included? I prefer a group that meets in person versus online. Thanks!” Frances
As for qualifications to start a group, I’ve seen ANYONE create a group if there is interest in your local area. My latest adventure to find a local writer’s group where I live was through special interest groups listed on MEETUPS.com (query your local area for “Meetups” and “writing groups”). But these groups are rarely organized well enough to hold my interest for long. The leadership is usually inflexible on format or control the critique process too much. Often it’s the blind leading the blind and comments don’t further anyone’s potential career. These groups may catch typos but higher level reviews of your work are rare.
For more serious endeavors, a local group can collect dues and hold writing contests (with members as judges) to generate revenue, but once you ask for money, members will expect a plan of action and organization with regular meetings and a plan. Many national professional groups have specific rules to adhere to, if you want to open a local chapter. Toward the end of this post, look for a link of writers’ groups that are broken down at various levels you might find useful. Try joining a local chapter of a bigger organization if it’s available in your area. That’s your best bet.
I believe it takes a combination of groups to expand your horizons. I’ve belonged to quite a few writers’ groups, from national professional organizations, to online subgroups, to local writer meetings, to attending workshops. I’ve spoken at various meetings and workshops on craft and attended local meetings to help critique other authors. And I was also the Program Director for 5 years at my local Oklahoma Romance Writers of America (OKRWA) chapter and had a hand in shaping our resources for published and aspiring authors. This group and the strength and generosity of its published authors got me published. I was an aspiring author, untested, but I took on the duty of Program Director because I could create a network of contacts I wanted to see and I could work with my published authors to provide things they wanted to see. A great volunteer opportunity.
Here are my thoughts on what makes an effective group, depending on how organized you want to be or how much money you have to put together a group on your own.
SIZE MATTERS – I’ve worked with local groups who have an open call to anyone wanting to attend from one week to the next. The usual format is determined by those in attendance reading from their current WIP, sometimes up to 10 pages, and everyone around the room comments. In my opinion, this type of format doesn’t work because the attendees are not consistent and the format never changes. No real discussion happens, even when the group seems to want a diversion, because there are too many people vying for attention for their work.
When I say size matters, I think it’s more important to recruit serious/dedicated writers that have the same work ethic and are determined to improve their craft. (I’m not implying all pubbed authors, but writers dedicated to improving themselves.) 3-5 members might be the ideal. With a limited, devoted group who consistently appear each meeting, there can be real focus on each other’s samples and the meeting framework can be adapted to the goals of the group. If a deeper discussion arises organically, the group can be more flexible in how any meeting will evolve. Don’t be afraid to start out with all novices. A novice one day, with a good work ethic and supportive of other members, could be a future published author. My first groups weren’t always successful but I learned something worthwhile from each one. Sometimes you have to dive in and take charge to define what you want in a group.
YOU CONTROL THE FRAMEWORK – You might like reading your current WIP aloud or have someone else in the group read yours. But instead of taking up valuable time in the meeting doing this, try some of these time savers:
A.) Maintain an online group to exchange notices and post resources. Post your WIPs that will be critiqued for the next meeting. You can post them to a file section (like a private Yahoo or Google Group or a private Facebook Group). Your 4 members will have more time to read in advance and provide commentary in “track changes mode” for the author to take home something legible. So when it comes time for giving feedback, each member can focus on the highlights of their verbal critique and ask open ended questions of the author to promote a discussion at a higher level.
B.) Limit how many pages are critiqued or read aloud.
C.) Allow time for craft discussion at each meeting. Any member could lead the topic from craft books or a general chat on what works or doesn’t work for each person in the group.
BREAK UP MONOTONY WITH RESEARCH – Bring up research topics that could help the group or inspire future stories. As Program Director for the OKRWA, I had to fill each month with a 1-hour presentation that would help aspiring authors as well as published writers. Some months were research topics where we brought in speakers from the fire or police dept, an FBI profiler, a ghost hunting team (usually in October for paranormal story inspirations), or we went on field trips to generate story ideas with firsthand experiences. For example, we each paid money to go on a ghost hunt, guided by a real team of ghost hunters. (You really get to know your group by doing scaring the hell out of them.)
WHAT ABOUT A RETREAT? Usually in July, we would take a retreat together. Yes, this costs money and organization. We would have sessions on world building or various craft topics. or we might break down a larger group into smaller ones to have brainstorming sessions on plot ideas. A published author group might take a fun trip away from home to a nice location. They work the first few days on brainstorming TWO plots for each author and record the sessions, but after the hard work is done, they go have fun. Sign me up. The group gets a jump on plots for the year and get time off for fun to replenish the creative well.
DO SOME GROUP MEMBERS NEED PROMO? Promotion for published authors is important to support them. For pubbed authors who appreciated help on local events–from Valentine’s Day Events at local libraries to quarterly book signings–my Oklahoma writers’ group would support our members by organizing or attending these events. One of our bigger events was a Librarian Tea. We’d pick a venue and pay for beverages and snacks/desserts (or you could do something more casual with potluck). This can be done economically, but my local group had membership dues and revenues from writing contests to support our annual programs. At the Librarian Tea, our pubbed authors got to meet local librarians and book store owners, where their upcoming releases or backlist would be showcased. Our local group would also send out postcards and flyers of new releases from our members to those same librarians and book store owners we were developing relationships with. Even aspiring authors could benefit from this when they eventually sold and had book signings of their own.
FACETIME or ONLINE? I like getting together with my local writer groups. Writing can be solitary enough. Commiserating with my fellow crazies can be fun. But if there are no local groups where you are, an online group can give you resources in a different way. Once you develop a trust with your online members and determine if their input will help you, exchanging writing samples for critique can be done online. Often these groups have a files section with craft or promo topics that can be helpful or they may host an annual conference or hold workshops.
Here is a LINK to many writer groups (from national, to professional, to genre, to local groups) that you might find helpful.
For Discussion:
1.) What works best in writing groups from your experience? From size to format?
2.) Do writing groups help or hinder the writing process?
If you are interested in receiving a FREE pdf file of my upcoming Amazon Kindle Worlds release (July 21)–REDEMPTION FOR AVERY–in exchange for an honest review on Amazon, please click on this LINK to sign up on my Google Docs form. Next to your review name, please add TKZ.
Frasier: I’ve had an epiphany.
Niles: Oh, wonderful. We could use a second sentence.
By PJ Parrish
The following is a true story, I swear. A couple years back, my sister and co-author Kelly and I were sitting at the old card table behind a stack of our books just inside the entrance of Barnes and Noble. It was raining and business was slow. (One advantage to having a co-author: You have someone to talk to during book signings when the screaming hordes of fans aren’t exactly beating down the door.)
A lady came up to our table, picked up our book, read the blurb and asked, “Are there two of you?” (We get that question a lot, even when both of us are sitting there). We explained that yes, we were co-authors and that was our pen name there on the cover.
The lady said, “My sister and I are thinking of writing a book together. Do you have any advice?”
I said, “Do you get along well with your sister?”
“No, we hate each other,” she said.
The first rule about co-authoring: It helps a lot if you like each other.
Yesterday, Joe Moore gave us an excellent overview of what it takes to write with a co-author. Today, I’m going into the weeds with some of the more prosaic stuff you need to consider before you partner-up. And yeah, I apologize ahead of time, but it does involve lawyers.
Personalities matter
First consideration when thinking about collaboration: You have to like each other.
If you don’t, it will never work. Think about what happens the first time one of you says, “You know, I don’t think that scene you wrote really works. Maybe we should scrap it.” Do you have roughly the same sense of humor? Do you like the same kind of books? Could you share a hotel room if you had to?
As Joe said, personalities matter. You don’t have to be bosom buddies, but you do have to respect each other and get along. Because writing even just one book is a long process and if you can’t stand to be in each other’s company for an hour, how are you going to make it eight months and 100,000 words?
Geography doesn’t
Over the course of thirteen books and fifteen years, Kelly and I have never lived closer than 1,000 miles. I’ve been rooted in Fort Lauderdale while she has wandered the earth like Caine in Kung Fu. In the early days, we relied on long distance phone calls (expensive), then emails, and now – hallelujah! — Skype. This has made collaboration easy because with Skype, one of you can have a chapter open on the screen and work on it while the other sees exactly what you are doing. But we also try to get together once a year in the same place because nothing subs for actual face-time. Plus we like to drink wine together.
Commitment matters
The second biggest consideration is this: Do you have the same level of commitment? Writing novel is a long tedious process and if one of the partners lacks the energy, time or drive, one person ends up shouldering the load and hard feelings develop fast. I have a good friend who partnered up with a guy to write a thriller. He had the original concept and a rich research background; she had a track record in mysteries and the work ethic. Three guesses who ended up doing most the work. For half the money.
Tone matters a lot
What kind of book are you writing? I know a lot of solo writers who can’t answer this, but you must agree on this with a co-author. What is your sub-genre, if any? What style are you aiming for? And what will the tone be? You must agree on this before you write one word or the book will never be seamless. I just started reading Joe and Lynn’s book The Blade, and I have to admit admit I went in looking for the seams. But I am finding none. This is very important because if the book feels like it has two voices at work, the reader won’t buy it. It’s very jarring.
Okay, now let’s deal with the nuts and bolts. You have to get this boring stuff down right from the start with a potential partner. Please don’t — in the beautiful bloom of first love, when you are dreaming about movie deals and royalties — neglect the details. Don’t try to wing it or figure it out later. This kind of thinking makes for doomed collaborations. And many bad marriages.
INCOME
If you are self-publishing: Be aware that with most outlets, only one name can be on the account. If you want to post your book on Amazon, for example, you can’t list both your names on the account. Which means that one of you must manage the account, pay out income, and at the end of the year issue the other person a 1099 tax form. If your name is on the account, your writing partner is, in essence, a contractor. You can both access the Amazon dashboard account, which solves the problem of cheating. But someone has to be the main person for the income stream. Also, if you consign to bookstores, they will likely want to deal with one name for accounting.
If you go traditional: Your publisher will want both your names on any contract. They will likely split all income and issue you each royalty statements and tax documents. Ditto for any good agent, who will also deduct expenses individually.
EXPENSES: If you are the kind of person who shows up on April 12 at H&R Block with a liquor box filled with receipts, don’t try co-authoring. You must keep impeccable records. Because some expenses will be shared; some will be individual. Shared might include: editing, formatting, cover design fees, Createspace costs, website (yes, you need one), postage, and any expenses relating to the book in general. Individual might include: travel you do separately, workshop and conferences, publications, organization fees, office expenses. Someone in the partnership has to be the caretaker of the shared expenses, keep good records, and issue the other an accounting for tax purposes. Believe me, this can get hinky. It doesn’t hurt to involve a good CPA in this.
WILL: You do have one, right? Shame on you. Well, you need one if you have a writing partner. It needs to cover what happens if one of you dies: Who takes over the business and how are past and future income distributed? Do you want your ex-spouse or rotten kids to retain your part of royalties or a possible movie deal? Who owns the pen name, if you use one? Get a lawyer.
PARTNERSHIP AGREEMENT: If you have an agent or traditional publisher, they will probably demand this. Even if you self publish, it’s a good idea to have one anyway. Our former agent demanded it, and my lawyer asked me for it when I went to get my will done. This spells out things like: How income and expenses are divided (50%/50% or some other variation?) Who owns the copyright? How is the pen name to be used? (ours stipulates only for “works created together and for no projects either of us might undertake individually.” This prevents your co-author, if you split, from using the team name). A “failure to perform” clause, which details what happens if one of you dies or is disabled, that you have the right to terminate the partnership. It includes a clause called “Warranties” which is a bunch of legal-ese that protects you both. And you need to get this notarized. I know…pain in the butt. Too bad.
Whew…still want to team up? Let’s move on.
ORGANIZATION OF BOOK STUFF
Main File: Do you ever lose material or delete chapters by accident? Do you forget and work on the wrong version of something? Welcome to my world. Now, consider how far south this can go if there are two of you. So, figure out before you start who is better organized and let that person be – {{cue Godlike voice}} — THE KEEPER OF THE FILE. Someone has to be in charge of the latest working version. If you don’t do this, you might each be working on different versions of the same chapter. The Keeper has to also have an excellent back-up program like iBox. They must be vigilant about making sure the other person has the right material. This is not what you want to hear when you turn on Skype in the morning: “I finished chapter 9 last night but I think I was working on an old version from two months ago.” This has happened to us. We call our working version ONE BIG FILE. At times, when things are going badly, we have inserted a colorful profane adjective between “big” and “file.”
Chronology: Someone should keep a running chronology of the book as you progress. I don’t know how anyone writes a complex plot without keeping a running chronology of what happens in each chapter, but that’s just me. With a co-author, keeping a chronology really helps to keep you on the same page in your time-line and saves time when you go into rewrite mode. You don’t want to have this conversation:
“We need to go back and beef up the clues in that Paris morgue scene so Jacques Reacher can figure out he is chasing a one-armed man.”
“What chapter was that in?”
“You wrote it. Don’t you remember?”
“That was five months ago.”
“Well, let me do a search for it. What was the ME’s name?”
“We didn’t give him one.”
“Well, search for all the French stuff!”
“Can’t we just let this slide? No one will notice.”
“Yes, they will. I think we said the guy was missing his RIGHT arm but now the slash marks from the knife would tell Reacher that he’s left-handed.”
LONG PAUSE. “Okay…I’ll find it. Go do a run on your treadmill. You’re getting crabby.”
This is why you keep a running chronology. To save time and tsouris. Here is a part of our chronology for our current WIP:
CHAPTER TWO – day 1 Saturday April 6, 1991
Louis arrives at church and talks briefly with new boss Steele. Est. setting.
CHAPTER THREE – day 2: April 7
Louis finds his apartment and unpacks his mementos. Thinks about Joe. Brief reference to what happened in DOW with Steele.
CHAPTER FOUR – day 3 Monday morning April 8
Back at remodeled church. Team members show up. Steele gives brief intros and they take their cases.
CHAPTER FIVE – day 3 Monday late night
Emily comes and they go to dinner at bar and talk. Louis calls Joe.
CHAPTER SIX – day 4 Tuesday April 9
The meeting in the choir loft. As Louis is packing up file and getting ready to leave, he can’t resist asking Steele why? Backstory on what exactly happened in Loon Lake 5 year ago (in L’s thoughts) and what changed Steele’s mind about Louis.
CHAPTER SEVEN – day 4 Tuesday
Louis drives to Keweenaw. Meets Sheriff Nurmi and Monica. First reference to Sisu clue on Monica’s sweatshirt. Ends with L seeing the box in evidence.
In each chapter, we record the salient plot details, the first appearance of any character. We also record the calendar date as it happens in the book and what DAY we are in time-wise, so we can tell how much time passes between events. This latter DAY thing is important because you can see, at a glance, that you’ve let five days go by in your plot and nothing has happened. I update this with each completed chapter and send it to Kelly.
Character board. Now this is strictly optional, but Kelly and I have found it useful. You and your partner need to be on the same page when describing characters. We’ve found a trick: We agree on a famous person — like Mike Ditka was our sheriff and the actor Michael Rennie is Louis’s foster father — and sort of use him or her as a template. Over the years, we’ve even pasted them in a montage. This is fun and goes over big at workshops and signings.
Yikes…you’re still here? Boy, you must want this partnership thing bad. Okay, here’s the rest of the stuff you have to consider before you get hitched.
MISCELLANEOUS
What’s your name? Are you going to use a pen name like Kelly and I do? Or do you use two names, like Joe Moore and Lynn Sholes? And whose name goes first?
Are you at about the same level in your craft? They say you should always play tennis with someone better than you. I don’t advise that for writing. Aim for someone on your own level. As Joe pointed out, you will each bring different strengths and weaknesses to the team, but your basic craftsmanship level should be the same. Now, if you are entering a partnership where one is charged with all writing and the other say research and editing, make sure you are clear going in that those are indeed the parameters.
Go to a writers conference together. You can learn a lot about another writer in a writer’s conference bar. Pick each others brains. As Joe said, talk, talk, talk…and talk some more. Consider it speed dating before you make the plunge.
Commit to a routine. Joe said this but I need to second it because it’s vital. Set a daily “meeting” where you get on Skype or phone and touch base. Maybe it’s for hours as you thrash out plot. Maybe it’s for 10 minutes. But you must maintain contact. And emails aren’t enough. Did I mention that you need to talk?
Support each other. Again, this is like a marriage in every way. You go into a writing collaboration because you want to believe that you can achieve something together that you can’t achieve alone. So tell each other the truth, but do so constructively and with kindness. Be honest. Don’t be afraid to send your less than best. You can send something that needs work; that’s why there are two of you. Yes, you want to do a good job but it is not important to impress your partner. And last but not least…
Bury your ego. You each bring different skills and talents to this and if one is far stronger at plot, let that person take the lead. Maybe you are better at character development. As the partnership goes on, you might find, as we did, that we learn from each other.
People ask us all the time if we argue or disagree about the book. Of course. We’re sisters. We’re writers. We have massive egos and decades of history together. But we understand that, in the end, there are really three of us in this partnership. So yes, we argue. But that third entity — the story — always wins.
Happy 4th of July!!!
I’ve been in Mexico City this last week so have been out of the loop, but I saw in Friday’s post asking for topic suggestions, a request to deal with the (sometimes) thorny issue of subplots. These usually surface around the middle of the novel and (hopefully!) add greater depth and complexity to the story. However, sometimes subplots can get unruly, unmanageable, and can mess up your manuscript if you’re not careful.
My current WIP has a number of subplot threads which need to be woven into the larger canvas of the novel, and so I thought I’d try and give some tips on what I’ve discovered as part of my own writing process. An initial caveat – I am an outliner so much of my advice centers on upfront (as well as ongoing) work when working out the plot. For those of you who are ‘pantsers’, although I think much of the advice still stands, you would probably approach the issues in the editing rather than drafting stage. I also highly recommend my fellow TKZ blog mate, James Scott Bell’s, excellent book ‘Plot & Structure‘ for those interested in having a more in-depth analysis into the plotting of their novel.
When approaching the issue of subplots I focus on four main issues:
I’ll deal with each of these in turn:
So these are my key stages when it comes to subplots. Although, as I said, I outline everything, I still have to keep all these issues in mind when I edit my drafts, as inevitably some subplots just don’t pan out or work the way I intended. Then, as often happens, I need to be ruthless in what stays in and what gets chucked.
So fellow TKZers how do you approach the issue of subplots? What would you add to my list, change, or do differently?
My father once took me to a show in Hollywood called IT’S MAGIC.
There were about twenty magicians on the bill, one after another showing us their biggest and best tricks, sawing women in half, floating balls in the air and, yes, pulling rabbits out of hats.
I loved the show, and after it was over, my father took me to Bert Wheeler’s Magic Shop, where I picked up a trick called multiplying billiard balls.
I practiced that trick for months. And, if I do say so myself, I got pretty good at it. I still have a picture of me—at twelve years old—decked out in the homemade tux my mother made, showing off my sleight of hand dexterity with those Bert Wheeler multiplying balls.
Thing is, the mechanics of the trick weren’t very tough. I’m not going to spoil it for you by telling you how it was done, but let’s say that just about anyone could do the trick with a few minutes practice.
But I have a feeling it wouldn’t look much like magic. It would probably look like some guy ham-handedly struggling to multiply those billiard balls, and the gimmick behind the trick would be obvious to all but the dimmest of spectators.
Real magicians, you see, practice day in and out to make their sleight of hand smooth and undetectable, so that it looks like real magic. So that people watch and say, “Wow! Do that again!”
And that’s what writers try to do as well. We work very hard behind the scenes, manipulating words and phrases and characters and plot lines—while trying our best to make it all look seamless—in hopes that our readers will say, “Wow! Do that again!”
A lot of people think that all they need to know is how the trick is done and they, too, can be a magician. They’re unwilling to put in the real practice necessary, and the moment they learn the move, they’re ready to perform.
Writing, like magic, takes years of practice, and a willingness to fail again and again until we get it right, until what we do seems not like simple trickery, but real magic to those who read our work. Until our words draw them in and transport them to another time and place, a time and place filled with characters who are alive and breathing and the suspension of disbelief is so deep that we, as writers, can get away with almost anything. Can make them believe that a woman can be cut in half, that rabbits can materialize from nowhere, that those billiard balls can multiply between our fingers…
The great writers, like the great magicians, elevate craft to an art. And as we read their work, we can’t help but think, “How did he do that?”
But knowing the “how” is only a small part of the trick. It’s knowing what to do with that “how” that really counts.
Making the readers believe that what we do is magic.
By Kathryn Lilley
I’m in the market for new writing software these days, so I thought I’d seek the advice of my TKZ friends: what software or program do you use for composing and formatting your manuscripts? Preferably, I’m looking for one that can work with Word on IOS to properly format the title page, chapter headings, page counts, etc.
Note: I have tried using Scrivener (multiple times), and I just can’t get the hang of it. (I know that labels me a Luddite, but there it is.) In the past I used ProsePro, but the program no longer works with my new Apple laptop, and I haven’t been able to locate an updated version.
Any help or suggestions are much appreciated!
By Larry Brooks
Adam and Brent (who go by A and B, respectively here in analogy-land). Both have a novel in their heads. Both have big dreams for their books. Both can write sentences that would make the ghosts of Hemingway and John Updike exchange high fives.
Which is why they became writers in the first place. The reason many of us took up that sword.
Adam
Adam’s book is about a guy who loves a woman who doesn’t love him back. That’s all he knows about it when he sits down to write. It’ll come to him. He trusts his gut and the creative process, which is isn’t sure how to explain, because someone told him it is not describable. He’s not really sure why he trusts his gut, but he does.
He’s never read a craft book (other than that damn Story Engineering, which suggests there is actually a wrong way and a better way to structure a story, based on the forces of story that always apply, for better or worse, so screw that…) or been to a writing workshop. But he’s hung out on online forums full of writers who have, who sound like they know what’s up, none of whom have sold anything but are self-published because, as if they could be if they wanted to be, quoting all kinds of folks who say publishing is dead anyhow. These same folks have all read On Writing and hey, if Stephen King can write a novel out of the right side of his head, so can they. And him. Besides, he once saw a DVD based on a Nicholas Sparks novel and he;s pretty sure he can do better.
Adam believes that if you just write, no matter what you write, everything will turn out fine.
What could go wrong?
Brent
Brent’s novel is about a wounded ex-Navy Seal who must step away from his MMA career to single-handedly rescue the widow of his Seal Team Six buddy killed by an IED in Iraq. She has been kidnapped by vengeful terrorists who have taken her in an act of jihad, with plans to post her beheading on YouTube if the US does not confess to being the Great Satan that it is. He must act alone because a coalition of CIA, FBI and military decision-makers, including the White House, refuses to acknowledge the incident that resulted in the terrorists’ thirst for revenge in the first place, in which the nephew of a Saudi oil baron, now an ISIS fighter recruited for his trust fund, was KIA.
Brent has studied the best craft books, including Story Engineering and Plot and Structure and the Snowflake Method. He’s been to workshops, had his work analyzed by professionals, subscribes to the best blogs and generally understands the breadth of things that an enlightened novelist needs to know.
He’s made his own decision on these counts, as we all must. In his case, applying the discipline and focus he learned from his military training. He’s studied and vetted with an open mind and seen the proof of his decision in the bestsellers he reads.
Two writers. Two stories. Two journeys of preparation and a resultant and divergent breadth of knowledge about the craft of storytelling
Cut to a year later.
Adam has his book up on Kindle. Bought a cool cover from a guy on Fiverr. The manuscript was 168 pages long, but nobody can tell that on Kindle, so he’s safe from judgment. After six months pimping it on social media and taking out pay-for-click ads on Amazon after a withdrawal from his IRA. After twenty-two four and five-star Amazon reviews from other writers with whom he’s made I’ll-review-your-book-if-you-review mine agreements, and a two-star from a guy who said the writing was fine but the story was sophomoric, he’s sold 122 copies and is hard at work on his next novel. Which is about a guy who goes back in time to meet Annie Oakley, because he’s had a thing for her since grade school. At night he washes down 10 milligrams of zolpidem with a jolt of ZZZ-Quill, because for some reason he doesn’t understand he doesn’t sleep well.
He has absolutely no idea how his path has differed from the growing body of self-published authors who reportedly are making massive money. He thinks it is unfair, and that his time will come.
Brent was turned down by nine agents before he met one at a major conference who invited him to submit a partial. The agent was blown away – “not only do you write sentences that would make the ghosts of Hemingway and John Updike bump fists, but your story moved me to tears while shining a light on the hidden agenda of our middle East military involvement, putting me right in the middle of it all alongside a hero that embodies the best of us, making it easy to root for a guy who will honor his promise to a dying fellow soldier to watch over his wife and kid” – and, within a week, had scored a two-book deal with Penguin and is getting inquiries from Will Smith’s production company.
Adam thinks Brent got lucky, too. Right time, right place.
He never thought to add: right story.
Brent has never heard of Adam. Nobody has. Except those guys online who proudly say “I don’t plan for plot, I just write from my heart, because doing it any other way takes the creative fun out of it, and hell, you end up changing everything anyway,” as if they know this to be true for all. Adam commiserates with them regularly.
Two writers, one with a well-developed sense of story, the other… not so much.
An investigative journalist, if anybody cared, could dig into a comparative study of these two journeys, which exemplify two ends of the writing process continuum, and expose certain enlightenments and potholes that will serve any writer willing to let go of tired old belief paradigms and allow the truth of the writing craft, the principles that drive it, into their heads and process, or it will sink them like a book thrown into a canal.
Neither writes cops to being either or a planner or a pantser. After his study of craft, Brent realized it doesn’t matter, because the very same criteria for story excellence apply to both.
Other than knowing readers need to like his hero, Adam has no ability to recite that criteria. James Patterson didn’t tell him in his Master Class, Stephen King didn’t tell him in his book, either. Just write, they told him. Go out there and find your story.
Not every writer will choose the right path. Both end of the continuum will believe they’ve chosen the right path for them. Until, based on results, they no longer believe.
Craft will be waiting for them if that happens.
Such an investigative report would conclude that compelling, functional stories require two things:
Just that. Easy peasy. Just open a vent in the right side of your head and let it all pour out, just like Stephen King and the army of advocates for leaning on nothing other than the seat of your pants, which will grow numb and weary for all the years spent planted in a chair in pursuit of the fruits of such a process. Which some will reap, and many others will continue to read about, and believe.
Or… you can dive in. Learn the substance and nuance of craft.
Own the principles of structure, rather than fight them off. Master the realms of story forces and the list of requisite core principles. Own the essence of structure, rather than fighting it off with a mistaken belief that it will restrict you. Master the realms of story forces and the list of essential core competencies, instead of trying to convince yourself that you either possess that mastery, or they aren’t important. Seek out multiple points of view from a short list of credible writing teachers, noticing how they are saying the same things using different models and approaches, not all of which are bestselling authors in their own right, because that is not the measure of a teacher any more than a .355 career batting average is the criteria for a successful major league manager.
And when you have all those principles lodged in your writer’s head, when you know them well enough to recognize them when you see them in play, go out and look for them in the novels you read. Test what you think you know. Let the real world of fiction convince you of the realities of the principals involved.
Come to understand that your story idea matters, every bit as much as your sentences and your ability to craft scenes. When your story sensibilities advance to a place where you can apply those criteria at that level, even before you write a word, then you’re not only in the game, you’re already ahead of a large percentage of authors who have chosen otherwise… because it was hard.
Which type of writer are you?
Are you Adam, with your fancy sentences and your refusal to buy into the cult of craft, believing the Great Lie that says you can get there without it, if you just write, writing the stories you want to write, the way you want to write them, in the naïve belief that just writing will somehow allow your number to be called?
Or are you Brent, with a killer story idea people will pay for, if done rigtht, and the depth of mastery of craft to pull it off?
You never know if your story idea is good enough. But if you just write with a base of craft in your quiver and a criteria-meeting, conceptually-driven story idea in mind, that story might just have a shot.
