How to Stay True to Your Writer Voice Across Genres

Posted on by

Jordan Dane
@JordanDane

Dana FB pic of Stone Angels 205250_10150186214376802_699051801_8472241_16017_n

(Surprise! I made a switch of a post date with James Scott Bell. He took my Thursday, July 16, and I swapped him for his usual Sunday. Who can say “No” to Jim, seriously?)

I made the change from crime fiction thrillers to young adult (and back) because I had a niece who wanted to be a writer and I included her in on my process while I wrote my first YA – IN THE ARMS OF STONE ANGELS (Harlequin Teen). We had fun together. I flew her from Texas and we spent a long weekend visiting the locals sights I wanted to use for the story, taking photos. I also worked with her to come up with character images and names and we plotted the first 8 chapters.

The sixteen year old character (Brenna Nash) had been born in my head while I wrote the Prologue. It should have felt like a drastic change in voice (from adult to teen), yet I made the leap with only one real foundation in crime fiction to connect my stories. I had deliberately chosen to make my first YA a cold case mystery so I could tie into my reader base. I didn’t analyze this change in genre, but I’ve been thinking of VOICE lately and wanted to break it down.

If you are a new author trying to find your way, or a more experienced writer who would like to venture into a new genre, I hope this post gets you thinking.

Keys Ways to Establish Your Own Voice Yet Stay Flexible Across Genres

1.) Ask Yourself: What is my natural voice? Answer this question on your own, but then ask those closest to you how they see you. Are you naturally cynical? Are you great with the one liners? Or are you quieter with good timing for well-timed jabs?

Exercise: Describe Yourself in Three Adjectives (Snarky, Fun, Flirty) Then ask: Is this how I talk?

2.) What books have you enjoyed in the genre you are interested in writing? I’m not just talking about reading a book and liking it. I’m suggesting you analyze exactly why you liked it. I’m talking notes in the margins and highlighted lines of dialogue or imagery you liked. Understanding your taste will help you define what comes naturally to you. You are drawn to author voices you like and hope to write yourself.

Exercise: Picture your ideal reader. If you can describe him or her, then write to your reader as if you were one on one. Does this make your voice easier to develop?

3.) Can you hear the central character in your head? Can you resist censoring him or her? I call this “free association.” It’s as if the character is telling you his story and you’re the scribe. Throw everything onto the page without filter and you might stumble onto your next book.

Exercise: Take a pen and paper and free write without censorship. Go bonkers. When you’re done, ask yourself – Do I write like this? Is this more natural than what I’m writing now? I’m convinced you must enjoy what you’re doing, otherwise it’s too much like work.

4.) Can you trust your instincts to get it right? When I’m working out a character, I resist getting feedback from anyone else. I want to feel sure about the character before I open myself up to criticism or get input from a committee of beta readers. Trust your gut. It’s your story.

Exercise: Answer these questions: Is my writing something I would read? What’s on my shelves? Am I forcing my voice?

5.) Don’t push your instincts into an area of voice that does not feel completely comfortable to you. I like writing when I’m slightly off balance and unsure, but I know my boundaries. I couldn’t write Chicklit for example. Not a whole novel, for sure. Plus my sense of humor runs more subtle so I’m not likely to try slapstick weirdness for a whole book either. Even if you’re a risk taker, I feel strongly that there are limits and we must determine what those are to make any adjustment to voice that has any hope of being successful.

Exercise: Am I enjoying what I’m writing? Does it feel like work or fun? Unless I’m writing something that comes naturally, it can seem like drudgery. Remember this is your passion and it should be fun.

Even when I ventured into YA, I still wrote about loners, the quietly brave hero, the cynical character, the well timed one liners, and the brooding male. I created my teen characters to be unique to the story line, yet my world building and character voices were consistent with my comfort zone. I read many many YA books before I wrote the genre. I wanted to write about smart and unique characters who knew how to tread through life alone if they had to, the kid who could be shadows that most people don’t notice until these kids rise up to become heroes. Those are the kinds of books I like to read and write.

So what about you? How did you develop your author voice? Any new tips to add?

To Age, or Not at All

Posted on by

angel headstone

(Photo by Alexy Sergeev, who retains all rights therein)

My friend and fellow TKZ contributor Joe Moore offered up an excellent post three weeks ago concerning the pros and cons of writing a series versus writing a standalone novel. You can find it here if you wish to refresh your recollection of it. My little offering today is focused upon an issue which arises in a literary series when— oh joy! — it becomes extremely popular and continues for books and books and years and years.  Lurking in that blessing is a problem: do you let your primary characters age gracefully, or not at all?

I have been fascinated with this problem since I was nine years old. I was reading a daily comic strip at the time titled “Dondi.” It was created by Gus Edson and Irwin Hasen and was about a World War II war orphan who was brought back to the United States and adopted by a G.I. The strip had been going for five years by the time I discovered it in 1960; my mother, seeing me reading it, wryly observed that Dondi was the only five-year old kid in 1960 who could still remember World War II. Dondi stayed five until the strip shut down in 1986. This got me thinking about the problem of aging in fiction, one that is confronting a number of authors right now.  No one really expects characters like Spenser or Lucas Davenport or Harry Bosch or Jack Reacher, to age in real time. What occurs in a novel of genre fiction typically takes place over a few days or weeks, with a new novel being published every year or two. I have heard it said that a year in real time translates into a month or two in the world of the fictitious character, less than that if the succeeding book picks up where the previous book left off. The problem, however, is that when you have series that have survived for three decades and beyond that, events in the real world overtake a long-running series. It’s the Dondi problem, if you will: how is it that a veteran of the Vietnam War is tracking a GPS location on their android phone in 2012, all the while climbing fences and taking down the bad-uns like the thirty-something year old they were when the series started in 1982? Even the most youthful characters should be manifesting signs of becoming long in the tooth at that point. Yes, some authors are addressing this to varying degrees. Ace Atkins, who picked up the Spenser reins from the late Robert B. Parker, is slowing him down just a bit, letting age and damage manifest themselves incrementally but irrevocably. Michael Connelly and John Sandford seem to be moving Bosch and Davenport, respectively, into new situations where they might not be quite as physically active as they were twenty or more years ago. James Lee Burke addressed the problem of age brilliantly in LIGHT OF THE WORLD, wherein he appears (and I stress “appears”) to write finis to the darkly poetic accounts of the life of Dave Robicheaux. Age and death may be inevitable; it is tough, however, to contemplate saying goodbye to these folks, to watch them walk upright, if a bit stiffly, into the sunset.  Do they necessarily have to age? Or can they be like Dennis the Menace or Bart Simpson, stuck in the amber of grade school forever?

For those of you honoring me with your presence today…what say you? If you are writing a series, do you plan to age your characters at some point? Do you have an end game planned? Or will they be forever young? And readers of series…what do you think? Do you want your favorite characters to age, or do you prefer them to be forever young? Do you have a preference?

 

The Whole Truth About Atticus Finch

Posted on by

NOTE: Because of the timely nature of this item, Jordan and I are switching slots this week. Her post will come on Sunday. 

It’s been a rough week for fans of the book and film To Kill A Mockingbird.  

HarperCollins delivered the “new” Harper Lee novel, Go Set A Watchman. Many people urlstill harbor strong suspicions that the aging and infirm Ms. Lee was manipulated after fifty years of steadfastly refusing to publish anything else.

Be that as it may, it’s here. Strangely unedited (it renders a different version of the Tom Robinson trial, for example), the novel is primarily about one thing––a daughter’s coming to terms with her less-than-perfect father.

That’s the big shocker everyone is talking about: In Watchman, Atticus Finch is revealed to be a segregationist. He does not want the government or the courts telling him or his community how to live. He thinks the Supreme Court is using the Fourteenth Amendment to erase the Tenth Amendment. And he believes the black population is not ready for the responsibilities of citizenship.

In Watchman, Atticus is a member of the Citizens’ Council of Maycomb County, a group of white men strategizing on how to deal with Brown v. Board of Education, and the incursion of the NAACP and northern progressives into the South.

Harper Lee w:her father
Harper Lee with her father, Amasa Coleman Lee

The grown-up Jean Louise Finch (Scout from Mockingbird) discovers this about the father she idolized as a child. It all leads to the climactic scene––a knockdown argument between Jean Louise and Atticus over the “negroes” (the term the book uses).

“Let’s look at it this way,” Atticus says. “You realize that our Negro population is backward, don’t you? You will concede that? You realize the full implications of the word ‘backward’, don’t you?”

Jean Louise is horrified and responds: “You are a coward as well as a snob and a tyrant, Atticus.” She goes on to compare him to Hitler (!) and admittedly tries to grind him into the ground.

As a historical document, written in the mid-1950s, Watchman is reflective of so many similar confrontations that took place back then––college-educated white children coming home to challenge their parents’ views on race, especially in the South.

I will not reveal what happens in the last chapter. Suffice to say I was simultaneously moved and unsatisfied by it. Which may be the very point Harper Lee, the author, intended to make.

We live in an imperfect world, loving imperfect people.

Which brings us back to Atticus Finch. He was always seen as a virtual saint, especially as played by Gregory Peck in the movie.

But what everyone seems to miss is that Atticus held the same segregationist views in Mockingbird.

I’ve taught Mockingbird in seminars, most notably the Story Masters sessions I do with Donald Maass and Christopher Vogler. We go through the book chapter by chapter, talking about technique and style.

There is a single, enigmatic passage in the book that’s always troubled me. I never knew quite what to do with it. Until now, with the publication of Watchman.

It comes early in Chapter 15, the very chapter where Atticus sets himself in front of the lynch mob at the jail. The narrator, Scout, reflects on how Atticus would sometimes ask, “Do you really think so?” as a way to get people to think more deeply.

That was Atticus’s dangerous question. “Do you really think you want to move there, Scout?” Bam, bam, bam and the checkerboard was swept clean of my men. “Do you really think that, son? Then read this.” Jem would struggle the rest of an evening through the speeches of Henry W. Grady.

So what was Jem’s opinion? Who was Henry W. Grady? Why would Atticus give his boy a book of Grady’s speeches?

In light of what I’m about to reveal, I think Jem (who is the more sensitive of the children) probably said something along these lines: “Atticus, it’s just not fair that colored kids don’t get to go to school with white kids.”

Atticus gives him the Grady speeches, which are available online.

Henry W. Grady (1850-1889) was a post-Civil War advocate of what he called the “New South.”

The old South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect democracy, the oligarchs leading in the popular movement; a social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on the surface, but stronger at the core; a hundred farms for every plantation, fifty homes for every palace; and a diversified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex age.

The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life.

But what about the population of emancipated slaves? What of their future? Grady said things like this:

What is this negro vote? In every Southern State it is considerable, and I fear it is increasing. It is alien, being separated by radical differences that are deep and permanent. It is ignorant — easily deluded or betrayed. It is impulsive — lashed by a word into violence. It is purchasable, having the incentive of poverty and cupidity, and the restraint of neither pride nor conviction. It can never be merged through logical or orderly currents into either of two parties, if two should present themselves. We cannot be rid of it. There it is, a vast mass of impulsive, ignorant, and purchasable votes. With no factions between which to swing it has no play or dislocation; but thrown from one faction to another it is the loosed cannon on the storm-tossed ship.

These, then, were the views Atticus was passing along to Jem in Mockingbird, and holding onto in Watchman.

In other words, Atticus Finch was never a perfect saint.

But let me ask you this: who among us is? I’ve not known very many in my lifetime.

Which means this complex Atticus Finch is a more realistic character than the “perfect” one. He is still the man who defended Tom Robinson to the best of his ability. But he also holds odious, segregationist views. Jean Louise (and Harper Lee) make clear how wrong that is.

So what do we do with such a man, or woman, or family member? What are the limits of love? What is the cost of growing up? Are we compelled to hate those who hold views we cannot abide?

That’s what Harper Lee is asking in Go Set A Watchman.

The novel does not destroy the Atticus Finch of Mockingbird. Rather, it renders him flawed and therefore human.

You know, like the rest of us.

Jesus taught people to hate the sin, but love the sinner. In a world of so much hate, this message is exactly what we need to hear. Harper Lee’s novel, so long locked up in a safety deposit box, may therefore be more important than we think.

When the Story Writes Itself

Posted on by

Nancy J. Cohen

Have you noticed how you plod through some books you’re writing and others seem to write themselves? Why is that, do you think? Peril by Ponytail, my upcoming mystery release, was a breeze compared to some of my other stories. I had a wealth of research material from my trip to Arizona. Not only did I stay on a dude ranch similar to the one where Marla and Dalton honeymoon in the story, but I explored a copper mine, hunted spirits at a haunted hotel, toured a cave, visited ghost towns, and more. With such an abundance of historical and sensory details, I had too much material for one book. The story sprang from the setting and the characters I’d placed there. Photos brought me back to the locale along with my detailed notes. I didn’t lack for words to fill in the pages.

PerilbyPonytail

My next story, Facials Can Be Fatal, is a different story…figuratively as well as literally. Based back in my hairdresser sleuth’s hometown, it involves a client who dies in the middle of getting a facial. The method of death tripped me up, and it took me weeks to decide Howdunit. Then I created my ring of suspects, but it wasn’t enough. The spark was missing. When I hit upon a historical angle and the idea of a deserted theme park, those two elements hit the ball into the field. Now I was off and running. I’d needed that ember to ignite the flame of creative passion.

Now I’m writing the sequel, since #14 in my series directly follows book #13. Normally, I write a detailed synopsis before the writing process begins. In this case, I wrote four pages of plotting notes that essentially go from Point A to Point B without much in between. A mystery doesn’t work without twists and turns. My normal synopsis runs 12-15 pages. But just by winging it, I’m already up to page 40 in the story. I’m not sure where I am going. I have hazy images of the suspects and their motives in my head. And I haven’t yet hit upon the angle that’ll make my pulse race.

Do I need it? Maybe not.

I sit down every morning with the blank page in front of me and my five pages a day goal, and those words somehow get filled in. I expect at any time to get stuck due to insufficient plotting, but it hasn’t happened yet. This is a different kind of mystery for me. It’s not a “dead body up front” kind of story. There’s been an accident, and we aren’t sure yet if it was intentional or not. Meanwhile, I’m going with the flow to see where it takes me.

Does this happen to you? Are some stories easier to write than others? What do you think makes the difference?

TKZ Spotlight: Author Terri Lynn Coop

Posted on by

Today I’m delighted to welcome author Terri Lynn Coop for a Q and A.

TVavatarTerri is a lawyer by day, writer by night, and an unapologetic geek the rest of the time. Her work appears in the “Battlespace” military fiction anthology and the spooky “No Rest for the Wicked” collection. She is a long-time member of the TKZ community.

Please describe your journey as a writer, including any challenges and obstacles you’ve had to overcome.

I didn’t write anything except exams in pursuit of my engineering degree, back then it was all about the math. By the time I hit law school, I was taking every writing class I could to avoid exams. One class, Law and Literature, stuck with me. The professor stressed how the body of American law develops like an epic novel, new chapters constantly building on the old. I developed an appreciation for some of the great legal writers and even forgave the professor for making me read Kafka. 

And it was a good thing. My nascent writing career was short-circuited in 2005 when the family antique business became embroiled in an intellectual property lawsuit. Over the next five years I probably wrote 500,000 words in briefs and motions in four courts across three states. Despite the myth that lawyers are wordy, I had to learn, and learn fast, how to persuasively tell my story, complete with all the backstory, research, and reasoning in 25-page chunks. I had a very specialized audience of one, the judge. I won the case, but it was brutal. 

During this time I also wrote the two “trunkers,” novels of such horrifying proportion that I will do everyone a favor and leave them in the darkest recesses of my hard drive. 

Everything changed in 2009 when my husband was seriously and critically injured in an accident. I was thrown into the role of full-time caregiver and primary wage-earner for two years. Even though he eventually had professional health care aides, I still worked three jobs to keep the household running. Writing was my escape then, and out of that cauldron came the first novel I would let anyone read: “Devil’s Deal”. It went on to win the 2013 Claymore Award at Killer Nashville for best unpublished novel.

Where do you live, and how does that setting inform your writing?

I live on the Kansas prairie in Fort Scott, about 100 miles south of Kansas City, but I’ve lived coast to coast and traveled widely. My settings come from my road trips. For example, in my novel, I’ve camped at that trailer park in south Texas, had breakfast in that truck stop diner, and I spent six months working in downtown Dallas. 

Here in Fort Scott, I love to sit in the local diner and listen to the locals talk. 

How does your background influence your writing?

After my Claymore win, I was interviewed by The Library Police. They asked me why so many lawyers end up as writers. I told them that as a group we are bright, literate, and bored. The practice of law is interesting and can be fulfilling, but if done correctly, is extremely routine and administrative. As a public defender, I practiced what I called “law by the pound.” It was about volume and number of cases resolved. A lot of interesting tidbits came my way, but most of it was very mundane. However, it was so immersive that it couldn’t help but influence my writing in both content and style. 

How old were you when you first felt the urge to write, and what inspired you to get serious about honing the craft?

Ignoring my high school emoting, real inspiration hit in 2003 when I joined an online writing group. I got serious about learning the craft when I wandered into venues that were considerably less impressed with me than I was. 

What are some main themes you return to when writing?

The series that kicked off with Devil’s Deal will have an underlying current of trust, betrayal, loss, and loyalty. In the first book Juliana can’t abandon her father to his fate, even though he may well deserve it. Law enforcement knew exactly how to manipulate her into risking everything to save him. She called it a “familial bomb vest strapped around her heart.” 

Which authors have most influenced your writing?

I have a spare style, terse to the point of being brusque. Most edit notes I get are to “put more in,” rather than “cut more out.” In books, I like plots that move fast and sure with well-defined reluctant heroes like Lee Child’s Jack Reacher, Steve Ulfelder’s Conway Sax, and John Gilstrap’s Jonathan Graves. But, I’m also intrigued by rich characters and settings like Larry’s McMurtry’s Texasville saga. So, I try to keep it moving, but also have character quirks and a lot of repartee in dialogue. 

For POV, a short work called “Lawyers, Guns, and Money,” by J.D. Rhoades completely sold me on the effectiveness of using first person for tight fast plots where the action swirls around the main character. I liked keeping the villains slightly off-stage. The bad guys drove Juliana and Ethan like puppet-masters. 

Do you have a “day job”? Tell us about that. Does it inform your writing in any way?

I’m semi-retired from practicing law. I’ll never give up my license, but I really burned out on courtroom work after some tragic cases. So these days I run the antique business I inherited from my late husband, hustle freelance writing work (including a gig writing catalog descriptions for Halloween costumes,) and hack away at my novels. I’m always on the lookout and absorbing settings, overheard snips of conversation, legal news, and other writers to incorporate into my writing. 

What are you working on now?

I am working on the second installment of the Juliana Martin series, titled “Ride the Lightning.” After the debacle in Texas that ended the first book, Juliana is burned out, salving her wounds as the cynical manager of a Biloxi roadhouse and dance club. Everything is going fine until Ethan Price shows up on undercover with an outlaw motorcycle club. 

When did you first connect with the TKZ community, and have the discussions here had any impact on you as a writer?

 I came to TKZ in about 2007. I was going to a writers conference where John Gilstrap was a presenter and would be critiquing my writing sample. I researched him and landed here. Best decisions I ever made. First the critique, including the now famous “this sucks,” and becoming part of this community have all contributed to my writer’s life. The lessons, discussions, fellowship, and critiques have all left positive impressions on me and my work. Even when I go quiet on the comments because of some kerfuffle in real life, I’m always around. 

Many thanks to Kathryn Lilley for this chance to ramble. I’ll see you all around TKZ. I’ve also been known to blog at Readin’, Ritin’, and Rhetoric. [http://readinrittinrhetoric.blogspot.com/]

1devil51ZAGcl6jpL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_

Devil’s Deal is available through Amazon. [http://www.amazon.com/Devils-Deal-Juliana-Martin-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00N9OL3FK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415893921&sr=8-1&keywords=terri+coop] Ride the Lightning will be out by late summer.

The Secret Compartment in the Writers Tool Box

Posted on by

I love the analogous notion of a writer’s tool box, chuck full of principles and proven practices and empowered narrative options. But the dark, rarely uttered truth of the matter is that we can get it all absolutely right, we can produce a by-the-book specimen of a mystery or thriller novel, and still not reach the goal of being published, pleasing reviewers or finding readers.

This, unfortunately, is why some writers drink to excess.

Sometimes this dark outcome can be explained by the idea itself not being robust enough, or competitive enough in a market full of stronger and fresher ideas. You can cook the hell out of a killer hamburger, but it may not make you the next Ray Kroc.

Brilliant execution of a too familiar or too vanilla premise – the bane of mysteries and thrillers and romances – may not be enough.

Or, the explanation may be the more obvious one: sub-standard execution chops. The tools were ignored, or at least not plugged into the right socket.

To get on the other side of this, to access the secret sauce that bestselling authors seem to deliver as if by second nature, we need to go deeper to discover and apply a set of more nuanced and powerful tools. Tools that aren’t taught at the 101 workshop but are definitely available once you crack the code on how to access that secret compartment of the author’s tool box, where opportunity awaits.

There a bunch of them, actually.

This weekend one of those principles assaulted me from a side door, which is usually the case. As a writing teacher/blogger it wasn’t new news – I would hope not – but its application within an unexpected venue knocked me over.

Secret weapon, indeed.  Here’s what happened.

I am three months away from my new writing book’s release (Story Fix: Transform Your Novel From Broken to Brilliant, out in October from Writers Digest Books), and the author of the Foreword delivered his draft for my review before sending it on to the publisher.

Tricky, nervous stuff, that. Send your book out to an author who is significantly more accomplished and famous than you and see what it feels like, waiting for their Foreword to arrive. It’s like asking Phil Michelson to play a round with you so he can recommend you to the PGA tour school.

In my case, the author of my Foreword is Michael Hauge, a legend in the craft world right up there with Robert McKee and our own James Scott Bell. He presented the very first writing workshop I ever attended, some three decades ago (the poetry of which was one of the reasons I recommended him for the Foreword), and had already blurbed one of my prior writing books (Story Engineering).

But a blurb is not a Foreword, so the jury was out. His endorsement could be a make-or-break proposition.

To my great relief he got it, and his Foreword exceeded my highest expectation. But that’s not my point today, at least here, or my agenda.

In a fit of glee I showed it to my wife, an avid reader not easily pleased, and instead of jumping on the celebratory bandwagon, all she could talk about was how well written it was. Not my book… the Foreword. How brilliant Michael Hauge is as a writer, walking the walk in a book about how to do just that.

Her first response struck me as Kill Zone-worthy. 

Here’s what she said: “I love how he writes, he’s got the fluidity of Stephen King, it just goes down easy. There’s not a wasted word in there, and yet he sucks you in, you’re with him all the way. He tells you a story, makes you relate, makes you care. You are in synch with him from the beginning, and by the end you’ve felt every word he says. He makes you believe.”

I had to think about that. This was a Foreword in a writing book, not a novel. And yet, my wife was captivated by those 1200 words. Who does that?

Michael Hauge did it, by telling a story that evoked reader empathy through vicarious experience.

Michael Hauge told the story of how challenging it is to write an effective and authentic Foreword. About the context of it, the expectations and the agenda of it. How it made him wonder, made him think, even made him nervous. Emotions we could all relate to. What if he didn’t like the book? What if he had nothing much to say about it? What if he could not deliver what was hoped for, and indeed, expected?

And there is was, the secret weapon that works in any writing venue, even our fiction.

We take the reader with us, we plug them into our own experience and the fear and thrill and confusion and hope that comes with it. That’s what King does so well, that’s what Jonathan Sparks and Dean Koontz and Michael Connelly, and a long list of other names that are still writing their own titles, do so well. That’s what my wife saw as common ground between them.

Vicarious experience was the secret weapon he employed. There’s a payoff to it, too. When got to the part where he said the book itself rescued him, that he could indeed write a Foreword that endorses it with complete transparent honesty and passion, you could feel his relief. Because guys like Hauge are not for sale, they tell it like it is, and the book itself licensed him to use the word “brilliant” in a way that imbued the Foreword with credibility far beyond that which any reviewer could aspire to.

And no, that’s not me sneaking the word “brilliant” into this with an agenda. Rather, it’s the payoff, the entire agenda – all good writing has an agenda – told through the journey of a writer who was worried if he could get there with integrity. The moment of arrival leaps off the page to strike the reader with impact, as it does for any writer who can pull it off.

And, that’s me imparting that message via a story, with a dash of vicarious experience of its own.

In my prior writing book – Story Physics – I talk about those secrets weapons, one of which, one of the rarely acknowledged, is vicarious experience. Another is narrative strategy, which is precisely what Hague had employed, selecting a means toward an end that he knew would work.

Taking our readers into our journey, into the journey of our heroes and villains, making them feel each and every critical moment as they root for something worthy… that is a strategy and a choice – it is a skill – as much as it is an outcome.

It is an outcome that you earn.

By making them believe.

Somewhere, hidden in the writers tool box you keep at arm’s reach, that particular power tool awaits. Plug it into your story, then tell it with intimacy and courage and transparency, use the character’s journey as the vehicle for an experience rendered vicarious… and watch what happens then.

Larry Brooks is the author of six thrillers and three writing books, the most recent (pictured here) coming out in October from Writers Digest Books.  His website is www.storyfix.com.

for Kill zone

 

 

Teaching Yourself to Write the Jack London Way

Posted on by

jack londonOnce I made the decision to become a writer, I went after it with everything I had. There would be no going back, no surrender. In this I found myself feeling like one of my writing heroes, Jack London.

London was a self-taught writer who achieved success through an iron will and disciplined production. He also wrote one of the best novels about a writer, the largely autobiographical Martin Eden. There are long sections that get inside the writer’s mind and heart, and also chronicle London’s own efforts as a young man struggling to teach himself to write fiction. I thought I’d share a few of those with you today.

Study, Don’t Just Read, Successful Authors

[Martin] went farther in the matter. Reading the works of men who had arrived, he noted every result achieved by them, and worked out the tricks by which they had been achieved—the tricks of narrative, of exposition, of style, the points of view, the contrasts, the epigrams; and of all these he made lists for study. He did not ape. He sought principles. MartinEdenHe drew up lists of effective and fetching mannerisms, till out of many such, culled from many writers, he was able to induce the general principle of mannerism, and, thus equipped, to cast about for new and original ones of his own, and to weigh and measure and appraise them properly. 

When I started my writing journey I went to a local used bookstore and picked up an armload of thrillers by King, Koontz, Grisham and others. As I read these books I marked them up, wrote in the margins, talked to myself about what I was discovering, made notes about the techniques—sometimes on napkins or other scraps of paper. I still have all these, by the way.

Collect Examples of Style

In similar manner he collected lists of strong phrases, the phrases of living language, phrases that bit like acid and scorched like flame, or that glowed and were mellow and luscious in the midst of the arid desert of common speech. He sought always for the principle that lay behind and beneath. He wanted to know how the thing was done; after that he could do it for himself. He was not content with the fair face of beauty. He dissected beauty in his crowded little bedroom laboratory, where cooking smells alternated with the outer bedlam of the Silva tribe; and, having dissected and learned the anatomy of beauty, he was nearer being able to create beauty itself.

I have a notebook full of examples of great flights of style. I’ve copied, by hand, passages I’ve admired. The object was to get the sound of sentences in my head and expand my stylistic range.

You ought to do the same. Re-read and even speak out loud examples of what John D. MacDonald called “unobtrusive poetry” in the narrative.

You Can’t Learn to Write Just By Writing

He was so made that he could work only with understanding. He could not work blindly, in the dark, ignorant of what he was producing and trusting to chance and the star of his genius that the effect produced should be right and fine. He had no patience with chance effects.

This resonates with me, because I’ve often heard the advice that you should shun craft study and just write. Like you should shun medical school and just perform surgery. I did a whole post on this, and refer you there.

Beware the Perils of Pure Pantsing

He wanted to know why and how. His was deliberate creative genius, and, before he began a story or poem, the thing itself was already alive in his brain, with the end in sight and the means of realizing that end in his conscious possession. Otherwise the effort was doomed to failure.

Jack London knew what he wanted before he started to write. He had plot before beginning and developed the tools to pull it off. Now, I love all you pantsers out there. I want you to succeed. Just beware the perils and trust that your left brain is actually part of your head, too. Give it a listen every once in awhile.

But Don’t Choke Off Inspired Moments

On the other hand, he appreciated the chance effects in words and phrases that came lightly and easily into his brain, and that later stood all tests of beauty and power and developed tremendous and incommunicable connotations. Before such he bowed down and marveled, knowing that they were beyond the deliberate creation of any man. And no matter how much he dissected beauty in search of the principles that underlie beauty and make beauty possible, he was aware, always, of the innermost mystery of beauty to which he did not penetrate and to which no man had ever penetrated.

There are time that something may “work” even if you don’t know why. So go with it, try it, let that character or section of prose fly off your fingertips. Just be ready to “kill the darling” if enough people tell you it ain’t working. I’ve reached for many a metaphor that my lovely wife has told me is more confusing than enlightening. She is almost always right about this.

Embrace the Wonder

He knew full well … that the mystery of beauty was no less than that of life—nay, more that the fibres of beauty and life were intertwisted, and that he himself was but a bit of the same nonunderstandable fabric, twisted of sunshine and star-dust and wonder.

The story of Martin Eden proceeds from this point to a tragic ending. I think it’s because Martin failed to follow his sense of beauty to a Source, and instead succumbed to a meaningless Nietzschean void. That matter is best discussed in a classroom.

For our purposes, keep the magic alive in your writing. Don’t you love being a writer? Doesn’t it feel sometimes that you are made up of sunshine, star-dust and wonder? Yes, there are also times you feel like the tar on the bottom of a dockworker’s boot, but you accept that as the price for feeling the other, don’t you?

How are you teaching yourself to write?

How are you embracing the wonder?

[Note, I’m traveling home from ThrillerFest today, so may not be able to comment much. Talk amongst yourselves!]

Shutting Down and Opening Up

Posted on by

By Elaine Viets

 

 

Open-MouthBy Elaine Viets　

Recently, I’ve seen a rash of news stories with headlines like these:

“Retired Air Force four-star general opens up about Wright-Patt, DDC.”

“Marine general opens up about battle with prostate cancer.”

“Wells Fargo CEO opens up about his childhood in poverty.”

Opens up? No, they didn’t.

“Opens up” implies that a person hesitates to talk about a subject, then relaxes and spills the information they didn’t intend to. “Opens up” paints a cozy word picture: We see the reluctant subject settling in over a beer or a cup of coffee, looking a bit nervous. After skillful questioning, the interviewer pries that pearl of information out of the oyster. The subject opens up and reveals a deep secret.

pearl-oyster-sea-farming-101

Wrong.

Retired generals and CEOs don’t open up. They didn’t get to the top by opening up anything, especially their mouths. Every word they say in public is carefully calculated.

Even clown prince Donald Trump knows what he’s doing when he shoots off his mouth. His outrageous remarks get him the attention he needs to rack up the poll numbers – he wants to be one of the top ten in the Republican presidential debate.

And while we’re talking about opening up, why doesn’t Trump’s barber open up and say the Donald’s hair looks lousy?

air force

Anyway, about that so-called opening up: The retired four-star general didn’t open up about the air force base.

He told a newspaper he didn’t like “the focus on a potential Base Realignment and Closure process — because he sees bigger dangers to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base — and warns of complacency because the base has fared well in recent years.”

That isn’t “opening up.” The general is sounding off, possibly to preserve a local pork barrel. He’s been put up to “open up,” and the headline writers fell for it.

Marine-Corps-Logo

And the Marine General who “opened up” about his prostate cancer?

More careful calculation. The story says, “In the midst of planning a complicated drawdown in forces, the Marine Corps’ three-star manpower chief received startling news: He had cancer.”

But he soldiered on, did his military duty and survived his battle with cancer.

That was one brave general. But the article stresses that many men, important men, get prostate cancer, get treated and survive.

I salute the general for discussing a sensitive issue. But he didn’t “open up” – as an ex-reporter I smell a carefully calculated public relations opportunity. He discussed prostate cancer and urged other men to get the exam they fear.

STAGECOACH3%20002

Then there’s that Wells Fargo CEO. Did he really “open up” about his poverty-stricken childhood? Absolutely. Right after he handed out free money to the first one thousand customers.

Hell, no. That “opening up” was another PR ploy. Wells Fargo has had a wagon load of bad publicity about its foreclosures. But here’s this CEO, “one of 11 children growing up on a farm in small-town Minnesota,” who “knows how much trouble we were in financially by the time I was 6 years old . . . We bounced between bankruptcy and foreclosure until I was 15 or 16, when we got a chicken farm, where we had 15,000 laying hens. All of a sudden we had regular income.”

Oh, and by the way, Well Fargo “will continue serving real customers in the real economy.”

Sniff! Sniff! What’s that smell? Is it coming from that team of Wells Fargo horses?

Watch where you step, writers. And be careful about “opening up.”

You can fall into a dangerous word trap.

                           *********************************

Win Elaine’s latest hardcover mystery, “Checked Out.”  Click on Contests at www.elaineviets.com