By John Gilstrap

Back around the turn of the century (that would be 1999, give or take), I had the honor and distinct pleasure of splitting a bottle of good Italian wine with Thomas Harris.  For those who don’t recall, he is the brilliant writer who created Hannibal Lecter on the page.  I was writing the screenplay for reboot of Red Dragon at the time.  (No, my name is not on the film, and yes, I think I was screwed.  Royally so.)

Tom was (and is, I suppose) famously reclusive.  For the trade press back in the day, he was the get of all gets.  I asked him why he so vigorously avoided the press, and he told me that among other reasons, it was good for a thriller writer to be mysterious. I took that to mean that the fame should be about the work, not about the author.

Truthfully, I’m not sure that was ever the case, but it’s interesting to think about against today’s backdrop of social media and the narcissism it breeds.  And yes, I am a practitioner.  (Have I mentioned my YouTube channel or my Facebook page yet?) I don’t think it’s possible to go to a writers’ conference anywhere where the effective flogging of social media is not a main event.

That genie is out of the bottle now, and there’s no putting it back.  The question I grapple with is, where does the public Gilstrap end and the private Gilstrap begin?  Because let’s face it: As players in the entertainment business, we are all one Twitter shaming campaign away from being ruined. And there’s the fact that some things simply are nobody’s business.

I interact freely and openly with readers and watchers of my channel.  I encourage them to ask questions, and I promise honest answers.  If a question crosses the line, I don’t make a big deal of it; I just delete it and pretend it was never there.  And here’s why: There’s no point in engaging in any form of negative discourse in a public venue.  Ever.  I’ve build several successful careers around the inviolable rule that you always praise in public and correct in private.  That’s just simple respect.

I know several authors who paste copies of negative Amazon reviews on Facebook and then go on to excoriate the author of the review, presumably for the purpose of public humiliation.  What follows, of course, is a torrent of praise from his fans.  I don’t get it.  As longtime TKZers know, I am not a finger cymbals and incense kind of guy, but that kind of negative energy would exhaust me.

So, I thought I present my [until now, unwritten] rules about public discourse:

1. Never post politics. Sometimes my flesh is weaker than my spirit on this one.  We all know that I’m a gun guy and that gushy feel-goodism makes my teeth hurt, but I hope that comes out more as charming curmudgeonliness than political.  (Just stay off my lawn.) I can’t count the number of author buddies who post ill-considered, un-researched broadsides against the team they hate.  They get praise from their respective echo chambers, but they’ll never know the number of readers, followers, or would-be agents or publishers they turn off in the process.  Angry, insulted people rarely speak up.  They just quietly go away forever.
2. Never insult anyone for any reason. It’s fine to rail on about “the idiot who ran me off the road and then gave me the finger,” but I think it’s a mistake to say “Harriet Jones, my idiot neighbor ran me off the road . . .”  First of all, the part of the complaint that is relevant to a social media post is the act of being run off the road.  Mentioning Harriet’s name has no use other than to humiliate her–and in the process perhaps trigger some legal action against you in the future.
   1. And if you must insult someone, make sure it is never someone in the industry. The rumor mill in the publishing biz is swift and brutal.  Notwithstanding the power they wield over writers’ futures, agents and editors are notoriously thin-skinned.  Ditto movie producers.  Bottom line: they don’t need to take any crap from a newbie or a mid-lister, so many of them just won’t.
3. I never forget that mine is probably the bigger soapbox. This plays into #2 above.  As one’s social media presence grows, so does the need to recognize the responsibility that comes with it.  It would be a form of bullying for me to call out a freshman book that I thought was awful.  First of all, what the hell do I know?  Second, I remember how fragile a first book is.  Third, I may want a blurb from that author in a few years.
4. I never forget that lots of people have bigger soapboxes than mine. And that their rules may very well be different than mine.  There are issues that I simply won’t engage for fear of becoming chum for Twitter-hate.
5. I keep it positive. First of all, this resonates with my overall world view.  I’m a pretty optimistic guy.  There’s another reason why I keep things positive and I confess that I’m conflicted on my rationale.  Being part of the entertainment business, my business is to entertain.  People turn to fiction–and by extension to its creators–to find a release from the stresses of the day.  They neither want nor need the burden of my life’s stresses.  I’m blessed to have a great family and many wonderful and supportive friends, all of whom I can turn to for support in the dark times that we all face from time to time.  I don’t see a need to strong-arm people I’ve never met into giving me happy thoughts and supportive words.
   1. Health issues affect us all, whether directly or indirectly through those who are close to us.  I’ve been known to post about these things after-the-fact, but mostly to look at the funnier side and, more importantly, the hopeful side, as I did just about nine years ago exactly, when I posted Way Too Much Information, a journal of my gallbladder surgery.  After receiving some positive comments about that piece, I re-titled it My Cholesystectomy Adventure, and posted it on my website.  Every year, I get a dozen or so letters from patients who are facing that scary operation and find some comfort in my blunt, informative and pretty funny peek into the operating room.  And my urethra.
6. I keep my family out of it.  Everybody knows that I’m married to Joy, my best friend, and that we do a lot of things together.  She’s a huge part of my journey through life.  But she has her own business, and we both have extended families that are totally out of bounds for social media.
7. When I’m off-duty, I’m off-line. When night falls and the alarm is set, the social media machine is turned off.  Social media is part of my job, and my job requires me to be sociable and accessible.  But like any job, there’s a workday.  When I leave my office, I’m home.  And I never talk about what I do at home.

There are probably more, but that’s all that come to mind, and this post is running long anyway.  So, speak up, TKZ family.  What am I missing?

“Short fiction seems more targeted — hand grenades of ideas, if you will. When they work, they hit, they explode, and you never forget them.” ― Paolo Bacigalupi

By PJ Parrish

I’m of the age now where I can’t run like I used to.  I walk instead, sometimes for hours at a time, but it’s not as satisfying. I miss the endorphin buzz of intense running.  So lately I’ve taken to interval training. This is where you walk, and then you run like hell for a long as you can, then you walk again.

This is, I have found, a lot like writing a novel versus a short story. A novel is a long calculated walk. A short story is a sprint. I am clinging to this metaphor as I try this week to finish a short story.  Things are not going well. I really struggle with short stories.  I can count on two hands the number I have published. (If you’re interested, you can find my petite oeuvre here.)

Desperate to get out of second gear, I started re-reading Cheever. Didn’t help. Got moody and found myself drinking too many gin and tonics. Went back to John D. MacDonald’s The Good Old Stuff but it felt too familiar. So I went to the library and got a copy of Welcome to the Monkey House. I have read very little of Kurt Vonnegut’s work and none of his short stories.  It was like a good bracing walk on a wintery beach, maybe in Barnstable Village, Massachusetts.

There is something about coming cold to a writer’s work that makes you see your own work in new ways. Vonnegut had things to teach this old dog.  Although he’d maybe call that rot. In the preface to Monkey House, he writes:

I have been a writer since 1949. I am self taught. I have no theories about writing that will help others.  When I write, I become what I seemingly must become. I am six feet two and weigh nearly two hundred pounds and am badly coordinated, except when I swim. All that borrowed meat does the writing.

In the water, I am beautiful.

Even before reading the first story, I felt better just reading that. Because no matter how clumsy you might be in daily life, how hobbled you might feel because you can’t run anymore, you can still feel beautiful in the water.  Isn’t that how you feel when the writing is going well, that you’re effortlessly swimming?

I’m only a couple stories into the collection, but I wanted to share a couple thoughts about what I have read so far. The second story, “Harrison Bergeron,” appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in 1962. It’s a dystopian domestic mini-drama set in the year 2081, told almost totally in dialogue. It is funny and deeply disturbing. There is a moment where a man is lifting a ballerina and Vonnegut gives us this line:

They leaped like deer on the moon.

It hit me almost physically. A metaphor is a perfect stab of recognition, and that’s what I felt. Then I got to one of Vonnegut’s most famous stories, “All The King’s Horses.” Completely different style, but just as gut-wrenching. A pilot is shot down in Asia during the Cold War. On board are his crew as well as his wife and 10-year-old twin sons. As in all great short stories, we are dropped into a fast-moving narrative river, and all we can do is hang on.  The pilot’s Russian captor offers a bargain — the pilot must play a chess game for the lives of his crew and family.  Then comes the awful twist — the pilot’s men, wife and sons are to be the living chess pieces, moved on a checkerboard floor in a throne room. That’s all I will tell you, except that I gasped at one point.

When I started this post, I had forgotten that Vonnegut had — despite his disclaimer of having nothing to teach other writers — issued his Eight Tips For Writing a Good Short Story.  So of course, I looked them up. I think they work well for any kind of fiction, actually.  With a few caveats for us crime dogs, maybe. Some you might have heard before, but they bear repeating:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them-in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

The first one is great advice no matter what you’re writing — even a memo.

The second one I believe in wholeheartedly. Which is why I gave up on The Americans.  

Number three we’ve quoted many times here at TKZ when we talk about motivation. And the deeper you can plumb the depths of what a character wants, the richer your story will be.

Rule four is important. Every sentence should do something, be on the page for a reason. I read somewhere that Vonnegut disliked television, except for Cheers, which he called a comic masterpiece.  He said, “I’d rather have written Cheers than anything I’ve written. Every time anybody opens his or her mouth on that show, it’s significant. It’s funny.”

Now, we get to number five, which is critical for short stories but troublesome for novelists, given that we like to flap our gums sometimes before getting to the dramatic point. (ie weather, description, backstory).  But if you really think about it, you should never start your novel at too early a juncture. You should always find that prime dramatic moment to drop your reader into the action.

Six is a given. As James says here often, something must be disturbed in your protagonist’s world.

Number seven is about authenticity. If you set out to be James Patterson, you will fail. Yeah, be smart about today’s market, but write the book you were meant to write.

Now the last one is tricky. I am not quite sure what Vonnegut is talking about here. Because on its face, it goes against much of what we talk about here about NOT larding your early pages with too much information. You want some mystery in the beginning. You want to pose questions that beg answers. Maybe Vonnegut is just arguing for clarity in the writing itself?  The choreography (moving characters through time and space) must be clear. Confusion should be avoided. Maybe you all can help me out on this one.

As for me, it is back to the drawing board. While reading Vonnegut’s stories, I realized I had chosen the wrong point of entry for my own story. I was approaching my story too much like I would a novel. I need to figure out the end so I can begin closer to it.   I need to sprint instead of walk.

I want to leave you with one more Vonnegut metaphor. In the preface to Monkey House, he questions where the creative impulse originates from:

The New Yorker said that a book of mine, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, was a ‘series of narcissistic giggles.’ Perhaps it would be helpful to the reader to imagine me as the White Rock girl, kneeling on a boulder in her nightgown, either looking for minnows or adoring her own reflection.

I remember the White Rock girl well. When I was a kid, I thought she was Tinkerbell’s mother. And I always wondered what the heck she was looking at.  I still do. But ah, that’s the mystery, no?

p.s. If you’re wondering about the title of this post, listen to this “short story”:

.comPhoto courtesy Jordan Steranka from unsplash.com

“Start with a line…” Okay. How about…”My emotional development was arrested when I was eighteen and given a life sentence.” Actually, I don’t mean that type of line when I wrote the above title. I meant the modern version of the old campfire game where someone thinks of a sentence to start off a story, the person next to them offers a second sentence to continue the tale, the next person creates a third sentence, and round and ‘round the campfire they go until the story is complete or something like it. It was inevitable that someone would create a new version of this game. Several someones have, actually.

I learned about the new versions of this storytelling method through a friend whose high school and college-age daughters have been writing short stories and novels online in collaboration with like-minded people from all over the world. There are a number of websites dedicated to this purpose. Each has their own rules. One gives a potential contributor a couple of minutes to come up with a sentence with a set word maximum. Another imposes a character limit, in terms of letters, numbers, and spaces (as opposed to, you know, people in the story).  There is at least one that permits contributors to critique each other. I bet that gets interesting. The stories, as one might expect, can meander quite a bit and the quality of the contributions and the ultimate sum of the parts can vary wildly. A number of the finished products actually turn out pretty well, however.

Two of my favorite sites of this nature are Folding Story and Novlet, but there are others to be found if you google “stories collaborative written online” or something similar. My participation has been limited to reading as opposed to contributing (I’ve been too busy watching Love, Death & Robots on Netflix, notwithstanding the warning that it is for mature audiences). It seems likely, however, that these and similar sites would be good places todevelop the ability to craft killer sentences or paragraphs by hitching them to developing stories, get the creative juices flowing during an episode of writer’s block, or even suffer the slings and arrows of peer critique if you are looking for that sort of thing and Facebook happens to be down for the day.

Please take a few minutes, check out the sites I mentioned (or find your own!), and let us know what you think. If you have been a participant on one or more of them and are so inclined please share your experience. Thank you. And enjoy the first Saturday of Spring 2019. Boing!

by Debbie Burke

@burke_writer

Today, please welcome a brave Anonymous Author with a story entitled Freets.

FREETS

By –

ONE

The coffin was nearly ready. Andy Turbett knuckled sweat off his brow and stepped back to get a good look at the lid. It was as fine a piece of wood as he’d ever had on his bench and the work was going well. Hmm, maybe a tiny shave off the side. He reached for a spokeshave just as Ruth came into the barn, toting some colourful paper stuff under her arm. Bright sunshine framed her.

“Andy,” she said, nodding, with her bunchy smile.

“Hello, lass. Come to check up on me, have tha?”

She looked at the side panels and base of the coffin leaning in a corner, waiting to join up with the lid. “Oh, you are getting on fast. I did come to say maybe we won’t need it so soon after all. Not if Dan has it his way.”

Andy blew at the curls of wood that he’d planed off. They joined the rest of the wood debris on the long dirt floor.  “Ah, well. Can’t say I disagree with him there.”

“Grandad needs to die,” Ruth said.

Andy made a non-committal sound. Her husband would never let her do it, and what he said went. Not one to let the wife put her foot out the door first after the wedding, wasn’t Dan. “What’s that paper?” he said, to change the subject.

“Oh, I made a banner to hang in the tea-shop. Tha won’t miss this afternoon, will tha?”

“Nay. Got to wash and change first, I’m sweating like a beast.” He took a pull from the pint-glass of water on the floor. Warm and dusty, but it’d do. “This weather. Got to be a record.”

“That’s what they’re saying.” She watched him. “There’s some houseleek growing by the rocks in the woods, I’m going tomorrow if tha wants me to get -”

“Nay,” he said. “Nay.” God, this little apple-cheek lass scared him sometimes. He took up the spokeshave again.

“Oh, Andy. I do wish tha knew it’s all right if tha treats it with respect.”

“Nay, best to leave ’em alone. I know tha thinks different, being so young and -” There. He should have kept his mouth shut after all; she wasn’t one to take offence, but you never knew, what with her thinking herself as much a daughter of the village as Fiona, his own wife.

~~~~

With TKZ first page critiques, the focus is usually on what’s not working and how to best fix it. Once in a while, a submission comes in that is so good, it’s more useful as an example of how to do things right.

Freets is such a submission.

However, I have to say that title put me off. How many readers know what a freet is? I didn’t. How many will take the time to look it up?

According to Wiktionary.org, freet is:

1. A superstitious notion or belief with respect to any action or event as a good or a bad omen; a superstition. quotations ▼
   • 1824, John Mactaggart, The Scottish Gallovidian Encyclopedia, page 263:

If the old “freet” be true “ that those who fall when at the handspake aneath the corpse, will soon be the corpse themsell,” there would soon be a good few corspes; for at these “druken” concerns, the bearers are falling some of them every now and then.

1. A superstitious rite, observance, wont, or practise. quotations ▼
   • 1903, Samual Ferguson, The Fairy Well of Lagnanay:

Oh, sister Ellen, sister sweet, Come with me to the hill I pray, And I will prove that blessed freet!

1. A charm.

Okay, once we understand the meaning, Freets has the components of a great title—identifies a story problem, hints at the conflict, and evokes a wonderfully sinister tone.

However, the obscure meaning is a big negative. Perhaps the author can add a subtitle. A vivid, compelling cover is a must; otherwise, browsing online shoppers may pass it by because of the unfamiliar word. Also, define freets in the book description or jacket copy.

That’s the biggest nit I have with this submission.

At TKZ, we talk a lot about starting with action rather than static weather descriptions, backstory, or a character contemplating her navel. Jim Bell recommends opening a story with a “disturbance,” which doesn’t have to be violent or loud.

This submission avoids those common pitfalls. Each sentence is deliberately crafted and performs multiple functions, drawing the reader deeper into the story. I’m going to examine individual sentences and explore why they work.

Sentence 1 – The coffin was nearly ready.

This quiet, simple, declarative sentence caught my attention immediately. Death is a monumental disturbance yet the matter-of-fact tone sets an understated mood. The implication is that death has already occurred or is imminent. I’m guessing the genre is mystery, suspense, or horror so death is likely to mean murder.

Consider making this first sentence its own paragraph for more dramatic impact. See Kris’s excellent post on paragraphing.

Sentences 2, 3, 4 – Andy Turbett knuckled sweat off his brow and stepped back to get a good look at the lid. It was as fine a piece of wood as he’d ever had on his bench and the work was going well. Hmm, maybe a tiny shave off the side.

Andy’s character is introduced without superficial details about age and appearance but instead drills straight into his values, beliefs, and skills. He is a diligent woodworker who appreciates quality materials, is a perfectionist, and takes pride in his craft. “Knuckled” is a great active, visual verb.

Building a coffin by hand suggests the time period is historical rather than contemporary.

Sentence 5, 6 – He reached for a spokeshave just as Ruth came into the barn, toting some colourful paper stuff under her arm. Bright sunshine framed her.

Spokeshave is clearly a tool of his trade, even though the term was unfamiliar until I looked it up (see illustration). It also confirms a historical period, because he doesn’t reach for, say, a power sander.

Spokeshave – Wikimedia Commons

The spelling of colourful indicates the locale may be the British Isles.

The second character, Ruth, is introduced. Setting details (a barn) and weather (bright sunshine) are also established in an active way rather than as static description. The sun isn’t just shining—it frames Ruth, doing double duty as a weather report and an active verb.

Sentence 7 – “Andy,” she said, nodding, with her bunchy smile.

Bunchy is another unfamiliar word yet it evokes a great visual of a big mouth with lots of teeth. Turns out it’s an adjective, dating back to about 1400 AD, that means protuberant or bulging.

Sentence 8, 9 – “Hello, lass. Come to check up on me, have tha?”

Lass and tha are additional indicators the setting is Great Britain. Tha easily translates to you without stopping the reader. When I looked it up, I found it is Yorkshire dialect.

Sentences 10-13 – She looked at the side panels and base of the coffin leaning in a corner, waiting to join up with the lid. “Oh, you are getting on fast. I did come to say maybe we won’t need it so soon after all. Not if Dan has it his way.”

When Ruth says they might not need the coffin yet if Dan has his way, I’m totally hooked. Who is dying? More important, who is controlling how and when the person dies? Obviously there is more going on than an ordinary death due to natural causes.

Sentences 14-17 – Andy blew at the curls of wood that he’d planed off. They joined the rest of the wood debris on the long dirt floor.  “Ah, well. Can’t say I disagree with him there.”

Again, the author incorporates description into action. Curls of wood is a vivid visual. Long dirt floor reinforces the historical time period.

Andy’s response suggests conflict lurking under the surface of apparent calm.

Sentence 18 – “Grandad needs to die.”

Wham! The author immediately gets to the core of Ruth’s character. She wants her grandfather dead and appears ready to help him along if he doesn’t go willingly, even though her husband disagrees.

Sentence 19 – Andy made a non-committal sound.

Sometimes what’s not said is more revealing than what is said. Andy’s non-response shows that not only does he want to avoid a confrontation with Ruth, but he may be intimidated by this outspoken woman who might be capable of murder.

Sentences 20, 21, 22 – Her husband would never let her do it, and what he said went. Not one to let the wife put her foot out the door first after the wedding, wasn’t Dan. “What’s that paper?” he said, to change the subject.

This statement of opinion reveals more insight into Andy’s beliefs, as well as delivering a glimpse into the relationship between Ruth and her husband, Dan. Not one to let the wife put her foot out the door first after the wedding, wasn’t Dan is an incredibly awkward sentence, yet it sounds authentic to the historical time period. It expresses Andy’s analysis of the marriage in a quaint, archaic way that’s still understandable to contemporary readers.

Sentences 23, 24 – “Oh, I made a banner to hang in the tea-shop. Tha won’t miss this afternoon, will tha?”

Apparently a public meeting is planned about an unspecified topic. Grandad? Or something else? The author is dropping questions like breadcrumbs. The reader will follow the trail to find answers and keep turning the pages.

Ruth adds another slightly veiled threat to Andy that he better show up.

Sentences 25-31 – “Nay. Got to wash and change first, I’m sweating like a beast.” He took a pull from the pint-glass of water on the floor. Warm and dusty, but it’d do. “This weather. Got to be a record.”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

This gives another revelation of Andy’s character as well as amplifying the weather and setting. He works hard and appreciates the small reward of a warm, dusty glass of water.

At the same time, these innocuous sentences show him trying to change the subject to avoid the unease of talking with Ruth. The author makes the setting description do double duty to point out conflict and tension.

Sentences 32, 33 – She watched him. “There’s some houseleek growing by the rocks in the woods, I’m going tomorrow if tha wants me to get -”

Already the reader has the sense that being watched by Ruth makes Andy uncomfortable. I didn’t know what houseleek was but, right away, I suspected poison.

Houseleek – Wikimedia Commons

Turns out it’s a succulent plant, also called hens-and-chicks, that was used medicinally to treat diarrhea, burns, and mouth ulcers. Even so, Ruth’s sinister aura makes the reader wonder how else she plans to use houseleek.

Sentences 34-37 – “Nay,” he said. “Nay.” God, this little apple-cheek lass scared him sometimes. He took up the spokeshave again.

Andy interrupts Ruth and repeats Nay twice for emphasis. Short, punchy sentences mirror his fear. He’s worried enough to pick up a possible weapon. Additionally, the reader learns more about Ruth’s physical appearance.

Sentence 38 – “Oh, Andy. I do wish tha knew it’s all right if tha treats it with respect.”

Ruth chides him while reinforcing the hint that houseleek is potentially toxic if not treated with respect. She’s also trying to reassure him. I can almost hear her next statement: “One little taste won’t hurt tha a bit. Here, try some.”

Sentences 39-42 – “Nay, best to leave ’em alone. I know tha thinks different, being so young and -” There. He should have kept his mouth shut after all; she wasn’t one to take offence, but you never knew, what with her thinking herself as much a daughter of the village as Fiona, his own wife.

Andy challenges Ruth and immediately regrets his statement. Uh-oh, you never knew if Ruth might take offence. The unspoken threat is clear—she may be capable of evil acts. He also appears to think she’s presumptuous, considering herself a daughter of the village as much as his own wife. That indicates Ruth is an outsider, who has brought youthful, possibly dangerous beliefs and omens–freets–to the village.

By now, I’m eager to turn the page…except the submission is over. Drat!

Today’s brave author provided a case study of how to effectively open a novel. Each sentence does double or triple duty—showing description incorporated into action, and revealing character and conflict. There is no pointless meandering.

While we don’t yet know the specifics of time period or locale, carefully chosen details give enough hints without bogging down in exposition. Each sentence builds on the previous one, inexorably marching forward, carrying the reader into a story full of intrigue and promise.

In one page, the author establishes s/he is as skilled in the craft of writing as Andy is in woodworking.

Thank you, Brave Author, for submitting this excellent page. Keep us posted when it’s published.

Just because I was taken by this piece doesn’t mean all readers will be. TKZers, do you have differing opinions or points? How might you handle the story?