When In Rome…Read

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By PJ Parrish

Whenever I travel, I read. I mean, like a starving fool. I’ve given up trying to figure out why I don’t have a solid, disciplined reading habit here at home. Maybe I’m too distracted, and as you all know, reading — even for pleasure — requires you to purposefully set aside time. Sort of like being romantic within marriage. Or exercise.

So while in Italy for two weeks recently, I read like crazy. First up, in Rome, was a riveting history of how Michelangelo came to paint the Sistine Chapel ceiling. I’ve been fascinated by this ego-tug between artist and pope ever since I saw The Agony and the Ecstacy in 1965. Charleton Heston and Rex Harrison chewing up the scenery during the Italian Renaissance — che bello!

I never read Irving Stone’s bio-novel on which the film is based. Should have, but glad I didn’t because the book I did read, Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling by Ross King was unputdownable. I found the book at one of our neighborhood library boxes two days before I left for Rome. Serendipity, indeed. One passage:

The pope grew so incensed at Michelangelo’s slow progress and impudent replies that he thrashed him with a stick. Michelangelo had wished to return to Florence for a feast day, but Julius stubbornly refused him permission on the grounds the artist had made so little headway on the project.

“Well, but when will you have this chapel finished?”

“As soon as I can, Holy Father,” replied Michelangelo.

This exchange turns up in the movie thusly:

Pope Julius: When will you make an end?

Michelangelo: When I am finished.

I think the screenwriter improved the dialogue here some, no? Which brings me to my point today. It never ceases to amaze me how much a movie and its book can differ. Sometimes the movie is a sad shadow of a book. But very often, the movie surpasses its source. Not in this case because for me, as much as I love the movie, King’s non-fiction account, as one review put it, wipes away the smudges from the story.

Once out of Rome and into the countryside, I delved into my second Italian literary adventure — Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley. We were in Tuscany, not Venice, yet being in tiny Italian aeries, I felt at times like I was hearing Ripley’s footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones.

 

Now I really like the movie with Matt Damon and Judd Law. But I was riveted by the new Netflix series Ripley. The latter’s black and white cinematography (above) is just stunning. Chiaroscuro — a lovely Italian word that translates as “light-dark” — is a film technique wherein contrasts are sharpened to a haunting effect, often to stress a character’s moral ambiguity. Ripley reminded me of one of my favorite characters, Harry Lime in The Third Man. It’s another noir masterpiece that uses the chiaroscuro technique.

But it also brought to mind The Godfather. Though shot in color, the movie’s contrasts of light and dark symbolize the battle of good and evil waging not just in the Corleone clan but in all men. Cinematographer Gordon Willis was renowned for this style. Director Coppola said of Willis: “Like a Renaissance painter, his images are bold, striking.”

Chiaroscura is a Renaissance concept, of course. Da Vinci used it to turn Lisa del Giocondo into a cheshire cat. Caravaggio, who Ripley is obsessed with, used it to bathe his religious figures in holy light in contrast to lowly humans. But I digress…

I am still finishing Patricia Highsmith’s novel. This is from her book, just after Tom has bashed in Dickie’s head and scuttled the boat in an isolated cove:

At sundown, just the hour when the Italians and everybody else in the village had gathered at the sidewalk tables or the cafe, freshly showered and dressed, staring at everybody and everything that passed by, eager for whatever entertainment the town could offer, Tom walked into the village wearing only his swimming shorts and sandals and Dickie’s corduroy jacket, and carrying his blood-stained trousers and jacket under his arm.

Has there ever been a more captivating sociopath? I am loving this book, just as I have loved all three Ripley movies. Yes, there is a third — Alain Delon as Tom Ripley in the 1960 French thriller Plein soleil (Full Sun). No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man, behind blue eyes.

Highsmith’s book is one example, I can attest, where the movies equal the book. And the book does not disappoint.

Whew. Just re-read this post. A little winded and wandering again. Hope you don’t mind. But I had a great time in Italy with Michelangelo and Tom. I leave you all with an open-eneded but related question:

What books have made for really bad movies? Or more intriguing, what movies turned out better than their books? I’ll start: The Bridges of Madison County. Which is a long long ways from Rome.

_________________

Postscript: Archie the condo-bound chihuahua, having a field day in the hills of Tuscany.

 

Emotional Trigger Words + The Id

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A trigger word is a word that evokes a strong emotional reaction to compel someone to act. The reaction could be anything from clicking an article, opening an email, or buying a product. Like with most things in life, we don’t want to abuse trigger words. If used ethically, trigger words can help our books/newsletters/blog/articles reach a wider audience.

How are Emotional Triggers Formed?

The same way we trigger emotion in readers—tickle the senses. Some of our most powerful memories include the smell, sound, or taste of certain things when associated with a positive or negative connotation. But trigger words work differently.

All decisions made by us or others consist of multiple conscious and subconscious emotions. By delving into the psychology behind human behavior, we can increase sales and visibility.

4 Emotional Triggers

#1) Belonging

It’s human nature to want to belong to something. The writing community, a family, book clubs, critique groups, a religious organization, or other social groups. Giving people a sense of belonging works remarkably well. For example, I write “join my community” rather than “subscribe (which has a negative connotation) to my newsletter.” That little tweak makes a huge difference in how the message is received.

Trigger words for belonging

  • Community
  • Join
  • Become a member
  • Mutual
  • We
  • Together
  • Society
  • Neighborhood

#2) Fear

I can’t see why authors would want to use a fear tactic, but it’s listed as a marketing ploy. Though you could use fear triggers as keywords or in a book description.

Trigger words for fear

  • Worry
  • Anxiety
  • Concern
  • Terror
  • Death
  • Toxic
  • Mistake
  • Embarrassed
  • Nightmare
  • Doubt
  • Phobia
  • Horrific
  • Disastrous
  • Plummet
  • Warning
  • Danger
  • Looming
  • Shattered

#3) Guilt

Guilt is a powerful emotion, right? Charity organizations overuse this tactic. For us, triggering a guilt response would not be an effective way to market books. But we can use the trigger words in book descriptions or as keywords/key phrases for better targeting.

Trigger words for guilt

  • Goodwill
  • Humane
  • Disgrace
  • Shame
  • Disgusting
  • Charity
  • Donation
  • Mercy
  • Kindness
  • Empathy
  • Generosity
  • Compassion
  • Bleed for
  • Sympathize with
  • Feel for
  • Grief
  • Sorrow
  • Understand

#4) Trust

Trust is important for building a long-term business. When readers trust you to deliver the same quality in each book, article, or newsletter, you’ll build a loyal audience. Don’t try to fake this emotion, or it’ll backfire.

A few ways to show you’re trustworthy

  • Be transparent
  • Display reviews from other readers
  • Be genuine
  • Show you’re human, not perfect

In one newsletter, I wrote, “I have no words of wisdom for you today. The well is dry. I left all my emotions on the page.” I never once tried to fake it. And y’know what? I received the sweetest responses. Being emotionally spent is something we’ve all experienced, so we relate. We empathize.

Trigger words for trust

  • Caring
  • Fair treatment
  • Quality
  • Competency
  • Apologize
  • Sorry
  • Change
  • Never
  • Always
  • Privacy

The Pleasure Principle

In Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis, he described the pleasure principle as the instinctual force that motivates people to seek pleasure, to satisfy biological and psychological needs, and to avoid pain. The id resides in a primitive part of the psyche and is the only part of the personality that’s present at birth. Which explains the terrible twos. The ego doesn’t develop till age three or four.

Three major components of personality

  • The id – impulsive part of one’s personality that is driven by pleasure and repulsed by pain
  • Ego – conscious part of one’s personality that mediates between the id and superego and makes decisions
  • Superego – judgmental and morally correct part of one’s personality

Freud conceived the id as the unconscious mind’s primary source of motivation for all human behavior, from basic wants and needs (think: hunger and thirst) to emotional expression, impulses (think: aggression), and sexual desires. The id acts according to the pleasure principle — it seeks to fulfill its needs and desires in any way possible while avoiding pain or discomfort.

We live in a world of immediate gratification. No longer do we need to wait for the stores to stock a new album or novel. We can download it in seconds.

Can you guess how social media might affect the balance of the three components of personality? Likes, comments, and shares feed the id while making it difficult for the ego to mediate the feud with the superego. Hence why some people feel the need to condemn others and cast judgment.

TKZers, have you considered using psychology in your marketing? Do you use trigger words in book descriptions, keywords, and/or marketing?

Please note: I’ll be on the road today and will respond to comments later this afternoon. Hope you all have a fabulous day!

The Power of Dilemma

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

In his famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) monologue at the 2020 Golden Globes, Ricky Gervais said:

Seriously, most films are awful. Lazy. Remakes, sequels. I’ve heard a rumor there might be a sequel to Sophie’s Choice. I mean, that would be Meryl just going, “Well, it’s gotta be this one then.”

At least Meryl, in the audience cracked a smile…before shaking her head. Me, I was reminded of how the novel William Styron novel tore my guts out. I could not see the movie. Even years later, I still remember the agony I felt reading that book

Such is the power of dilemma in fiction.

A dilemma is a choice between two incompatible and dreadful outcomes. Thus, it tests a character to the limit.

Just the other day I was leisurely watching an episode of Bonanza (Baby Boomers are now humming the opening theme in their heads). For you youngsters, Bonanza was set in the 1860s, and focused on the family Cartwright. Patriarch Ben Cartwright (Lorne Greene) owned a huge spread next to Lake Tahoe, the Ponderosa, along with his sons, Adam (Pernell Roberts), Hoss (Dan Blocker) and “Little Joe” (Michael Landon).

Ben was a paragon of virtue, and in this episode he had been made a judge in Virginia City. An old safecracker Ben knows, Sundown Davis (Tom Tully), cleaned out the Virginia City bank, then turned himself in to Ben. He said he hid the money and promised to give it back if Ben will make sure he goes free.

The townspeople are desperate without their funds. Some won’t be able to feed their families. A big mining company will have to lay off workers.

Ben, however, sees that the law requires a four-time loser like Sundown to be sentenced to a mandatory prison term of twenty years.

Thus, the dilemma. Shall Ben side with the town and all of his friends? Or with his duty to the law?

The bank president sums it up to Ben. “If Sundown goes to prison, this town goes broke.”

The pressure mounts, as citizens press their case to a man they trust.

When the time comes to sentence the prisoner Ben, in his judicial robe, faces the crowded courtroom and explains that what the town is going through is a problem of the moment, but the law is for all time.

He sentences Sundown to twenty years.

The town is in an uproar. Ben becomes a pariah.

But it turns out that Sundown did not rob the bank after all. It was his son-in-law. Sundown took the rap hoping to protect his expectant daughter and her husband. He figured Ben would let him go so the town could survive.

When Ben didn’t do what was planned, the son-in-law starts to crack. His wife tells him he must do the right thing (a dilemma of his own!) He finally breaks down and gives the money back. Ben can now apply leniency so the son-in-law gets out of prison in a few years. He can rejoin his wife and soon-to-be child. And Sundown will be free to enjoy his grandchildren.

Ben’s staunch decision cost him at the time. That’s what a dilemma forces. But then there is a reversal of sorts.

Thus the structure of dilemma: choice, sacrifice, reward.

Sacrifice

The only way out of a dilemma is sacrifice. The hero will be wounded, sometimes fatally, for the choice that has to be made.

That is the power in Casablanca.

Here’s the dilemma. Rick Blaine can have the thing he wants most in the world, Ilsa Lund. She has told Rick she will go with him on the plane to Lisbon, by way of the two Letters of Transit in Rick’s possession.

The other choice is to put Ilsa on the plane with her husband, Victor Laszlo. That means Rick’s certain death at the hands of the Nazis.

The latter choice is the only moral one. Rick would not just be taking another man’s wife, he would be hurting the war effort by sending a spear through Laszlo’s heart.

“You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going,” Rick says to Ilsa at the airport.

Rick sacrifices his own happiness and, he understands, his life.

Dilemma is also the power in Shane, my favorite movie.

A mysterious gunfighter is seeking a place of peace to live out the rest of his life, and seemingly finds it with a homesteading family, the Starretts.

But the cattlemen, led by Rufe Ryker, are determined to drive the homesteaders away though violence, intimidation and, if need be, death. When Joe Starrett determines to resist, Ryker hires a gunfighter, Jack Wilson (played by the inimitable Jack Palance) to do some killing.

Shane now has a choice. Go back to his gunfighting ways or move on. Ryker tells Shane he has no quarrel with him, and he can ride out of the valley with “no hard feelings.”

But doing so means the death of Joe Starrett.

**Spoiler alert. If you haven’t seen the movie, watch it ASAP, on a big screen TV**

Shane rides to town for a final showdown with Wilson.

I love this scene. Here’s the clip:

What we find out immediately afterward is that Shane is bleeding, wounded in the side (Biblical quiz: Who else was wounded in the side on behalf of others?)

Outside the saloon, little Joey Starrett sees the wound, and begs Shane to stay.

“A man has to be what he is, Joey.” Shane says. “You can’t break the mold…Now you run on home to your mother, and tell her…tell her everything’s all right and there aren’t any more guns in the valley.”

And he rides off, with Joey shouting, “Shane! Come back!”

What many people miss is the subtle visual after this. Shane’s horse takes him through a graveyard. Shane’s arms are hanging at his sides. Because Shane is dead. (Biblical quiz redux.)

Reward

The hero has the wound, is either dead or alive, but receives a just reward for his moral choice.

Hero Dies

Shane’s sacrifice brings peace to the valley. His memory is carried forward by the boy, Joey, who will grow up “strong and straight” as Shane told him.

Braveheart, William Wallace, has refused to confess, and as he’s disemboweled shouts his final word, “Freedom!” His sacrifice inspires the Scots, under Robert the Bruce, to fight a final battle that wins their independence.

Samson kills himself kills himself three thousand Philistines by bringing down their temple. He becomes a heroic example for the Israelites.

The Hero Lives

In Casablanca, Rick shoots and kills Major Strasser, the Nazi, in front of the French police captain, Louis, just as a cohort of French police arrives.

Louis tells them, “Round up the usual suspects.”

As the two of them walk off together to join the war effort, Rick has his reward. “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

At some point in your writing, think about a dilemma. What two choices can you give your hero, both of which carry a cost?

  • An immoral choice that would cost the hero spiritually.
  • A moral choice that would cost the hero (potentially or actually) his life.
  • What reward can the hero receive as a result of the moral choice?

There is perhaps no more powerful trope in fiction than the dilemma. It can raise a cracking good read into one that is unforgettable.

Comments welcome. I’ll be in and out today, and will respond when I can. 

Going for the Gold

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Back in my larval stages, which occurred in the mid-1960s, my buddy Gary Selby and I were partners in a field day event called the Three-Legged Race. Field Day was how they ended the school year back then, and the late May air was perfumed with fresh-mown grass, gardenias from some lady’s yard across the street, and dill pickles.

Beneath the scraggly elm trees outside our old school, the teachers sold those delicious green mouth puckers as a fund raiser for the next year. After I was grown and became a middle school teacher, I figured out they used the money for a much-needed end-of-the-year happy hour. They also sold cheap homemade Cokes and Dr Peppers (syrup from clear gallon jugs hand-mixed with tap water), weakly flavored snow cones, and popcorn that didn’t sell the year before.

There were other drinks of course. Water in a five-gallon metal water cooler they filled from the hose, and if an elementary student was brave, a Suicide (Coke, Dr Pepper and pickle juice).

All for a dime each. Even the hose water, because it had ice in it.

At the starting line that warm sunny day, Coach tied my right leg to Gary’s left, and we waited for the starting pistol with our arms over the others’ shoulders. At the crack, we were off in fine rhythm, and had a great lead by the time we were five yards from the finish line. That’s when the knot came untied. We crossed as victors, but were disqualified by a sour old math teacher, and I lost the only opportunity to win a ribbon or trophy in my entire twelve years of public school.

I didn’t win a darn thing for the next fifteen years until I took a college course in photography to supplement my assignment as a middle school photo teacher and placed first in the Silhouette category. I had that trophy in my office until it disappeared in a move several years ago.

All this leads back to one day in the 6th grade when I came across a Newberry Medal winning book in the school library titled, Across Five Aprils. I picked up that little novel because of the gold emblem on the cover and absorbed it in one sitting, sparking a lifelong interest in the War of Northern Aggression.

Finishing that, I looked for other books Newberry winners such as Island of the Blue Dolphins. Those titles took me to Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, and ultimately, and this is a weird connection, The Old Man and the Sea and my introduction to Hemingway, which intersected with Steinbeck and eventually Robert Ruark, the writing mentor I never met.

Newberry made me aware of Caldecott Awards, and when I got older, Spur Awards on westerns caught my attention. Hugos, Edgars, the ITW, and Pulitzers to name only a few told me these authors, and ultimately their works, were worth reading.

Awards and the resulting recognition are important personal achievements that can stimulate a flagging author. Writer awards are also a great way to fast track a literary career. They provide professional recognition among your peers, and in my case, are a significant source of personal satisfaction.

Awards are endorsements of your book, and therefore, showcase your talent. They tell the world that the novel you bled for is worthy of the price and can be an incentive for online shoppers to add more titles to their list, or cart. They boost self-confidence and self-esteem, and impress the heck out of potential agents and publishers.

Most of those awards I’m familiar with don’t bring in much in the way of instant cash, and I’m not talking about grant awards which is an entirely different discussion, but recognition among literary peers serves as a springboard to help authors rise above the relative obscurity of thousands of books published each year.

My first novel, The Rock Hole, won the Benjamin Franklin Award, and at the time I had no idea what it meant to a budding career. The folks at Poisoned Pen Press had to explain that one to me (as well as the importance of Starred Reviews from Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and a host of others). I had my sights set on others, too. They served as personal goals and milestones, that kept me plugging along.

At one point confidence sagged, and I seriously wondered what I was doing at the keyboard, but a Spur Award from the Western Writers of America came my way, and then another, along with Will Rogers Medallions, and I was back on the mental track to keep plugging along. Because of renewed enthusiasm, I kept at it and that led to several honors and accolades now hang on the walls of my office. When I have any doubts about my work, and all authors do at some point, I only have to look up and am once again energized.

The addition to mentioning awards on your website, Facebook, Instagram, or any other platform that showcases your work, this recognition can lead to an increase in sales. When marketing, they lift your brand, and help others celebrate your success in this race to be recognized as professional authors.

Mentioning that you’re a finalist on social media can put you on a stage in which others share your anticipation and excitement, maintaining interest and conversation for months at a time as everyone waits for that announcement. Those who might know only your name can be prompted to look up your backlist and elevate sales.

Don’t hesitate to enter these contests, even though winning might a longshot in your own mind. Sure you might lose, but you’ve already taken a whale of a step by getting that novel published, so don’t let self-doubt dissuade you. Some of these have entry fees, so research those you’re interested in. Don’t hesitate to reach out to other established writers to make sure they’re legit. There are a lot of scams out there. Other competitions are financed by grants or outside entities, and only require copies for submission and no fees.

Writing contests are also a source of great satisfaction when you place. Some of you might have heard of the late Pat McManus, the legendary and hysterically funny columnist for Outdoor Life and Field and Stream. He and I became friends decades ago, and he urged me to enter a Humor Category in a contest sponsored by the Outdoor Writers of America. I did, and my column came in first with Pat taking second. He called to congratulate me, and the excitement in his voice was worth as much as the paper certificate I framed.

The honor of winning that contest sparked me to work harder on a writing career.

Even seasoned writers are excited to hear their latest novel has been honored with such recognition. I was humbled to stand in front of a banquet hall full of writers I’d read for years and accept my first Spur. It was a goal and dream come true.

But don’t be disappointed if you don’t make the cut right off the bat, or even after several attempts until you finally succeed. Participation ribbons aren’t part of this business, so just square your shoulders, congratulate those who won, and keep trying.

As I always say in all things. Never give up.

 

Reader Friday-What’s Your AKA?

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By Deb Gorman

A nickname is a substitute for the proper name of a person, place or thing. It is commonly used to express affection, amusement, a character trait or defamation of character. It is distinct from a pseudonym, stage name or title, although the concepts can overlap. Nicknames are typically informal. Wikipedia

Doing just a cursory search on the internet of the word nickname yielded some doozies–especially those from the middle ages. It might be worth a laugh or two for you to take a look.

Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel (Image courtesy of Wikipedia)

 

 

I came across Benjamin Siegel, AKA Bugsy. I tried to discover why he acquired that moniker, but couldn’t find the origin. I did find out that his killer was never brought to justice.

I guess a cool nickname doesn’t mean much when you’re a bad guy.

***

I had a couple when I was a wee lass. My siblings called me Debo (pronounced Dee-bo), and my dad called me Housemouse–because I preferred being in the house reading instead of out of the house playing. My dad and brother still call me those names on occasion.

Or, just these . . .

And this one from a way long time ago!

 

 

 

 

 

How about you, TKZers? Did you ever have a nickname growing up, cool or otherwise? Does anyone still call you by that name? And, do you give your characters nicknames?

Do tell  . . .

Off To Killer Con

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Off To Killer Con
Terry Odell

Banner for the Writers' Police Academy Killer Con

I’m winging my way to Wisconsin for the Writers’ Police Academy. This isn’t your typical conference. It’s hands-on-learning about first responders. The founder, Lee Lofland, got tired of reading mistakes about police work in mystery novels, and set out to educate the authors. Here’s a peek at the opening session from 2016. Not a panel of authors talking about their books and the craft, is it?

I’ve gone several times before (including one where I had the pleasure of meeting John Gilstrap in person), but this year it’s focusing on homicide investigations. I thought it would be appropriate to revisit a post from 2010 on my personal blog, written by Mark Hussey, a retired Florida homicide detective, and a man who’s been extremely helpful when I have police procedure questions.

They say that police work is a ringside seat to the greatest show on earth. Truer words were never spoken. It’s hours of sheer boredom, punctuated by seconds of sheer terror. It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love. War is hell. They’re all great clichés and they all apply.

I’ve had more fun and been more miserable being a cop than you can imagine. Mostly though, its been fun and at times, rewarding. Once you’ve put your world into perspective, and realize that all the things you thought you could change when you were a rookie but found out you will never change, life as a cop is easier to take. You realize things don’t matter as much. You just do the best you can, and try to make a difference in a few situations and in a few peoples’ lives. You try to leave this world a little better place than it was when you came, or at least not a worse place.

I’ve got thirty years in this business and it sometimes seems like I’ve seen it all. Of course every time I say that, somebody throws me a curve.

I spent nineteen years as a uniformed patrol officer, but, because of all those years of stress, injuries and just natural aging, I took a desk job. I’m a Homicide detective. That is I work everything DEAD. It’s very interesting work, but my heart is still out there with the guys and girls who work the streets. They are, I believe, the last line of defense. The difference between law and order and anarchy; that thin blue line between societal order and total chaos. These are the people who put their lives on the line everyday, then endure the constant criticism by the public and the news media.

People say they want the “job” done, but they don’t want to see how we do it. Heaven forbid we should hurt someone who raped a small child or murdered a housewife and mother. Shame on us for speaking harshly, or smacking some scumbag who strikes us or spits upon us.

I wanted to be a cop as far back as I can remember. When I was six years old, I had already made friends with a tall, thin Orange County Sheriff’s motorcycle cop named Jonathan. “Big John” stood 6′ 5″ and weighed close to 300 pounds. He was a poster boy for what cops looked like in the South in those days. White, over six feet tall and looking back, I’m sure not terribly well educated. He had something I would learn later was much more valuable…STREET SENSE.

I am sure he grew tired of a small chubby kid asking him questions about the big Harley-Davidson motorcycle with the tank shifter and the “suicide clutch” he rode every day. He packed a six-inch, Colt .357 magnum revolver in a low-slung swivel holster, which hung on a four inch wide, Sam Browne belt. There was also room on the belt for handcuffs, keys, and a wooden nightstick. In a small pocket located on the thigh of his right leg, he carried his slap jack. The slap jack, or blackjack as they were called was as Jonathan explained, “An attention getter”.

If the huge officer was disgusted with me, he never showed it. Jonathan was always friendly and showed up several mornings a week at the school bus stop in what was then very rural Orange County. He would talk to me endlessly, about cops, school, and my family. He made me feel so important. I find it amusing when administrators speak of “new” concepts, such as “Community Oriented Policing”. These guys were practicing and perfecting the techniques years ago.

I had decided that I wanted to be a cop. How difficult could this job be? Just think of all the people I could push around, and the cars I could speed in. I contacted several of the local law enforcement agencies as well as the Florida Highway Patrol. The patrol was considered the elite among agencies and I had befriended and begun riding quite frequently with a state trooper on nights and weekends. I was already hooked on the adrenaline.

Everyplace I went, I was told that I would have to be twenty-one years old. At eighteen I had no experience, no college and a dead-end job. I needed a push. On September 3, 1976 I walked into the Orlando Armed Forces recruiting office, where I met U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Charles “Chuck” Nobles, a dark-haired, “actor” looking guy with a mouthful of teeth and a chest full of ribbons. Good ol’ Chuck showed me a couple of films about the Army’s elite Airborne Divisions. I couldn’t wait to sign a three-year contract to become a military policeman and a paratrooper.

On September 27, I said good-bye to my parents and boarded a Greyhound bus for Fort Jackson, South Carolina. As the bus pulled away, my father, a tear in his eye, snapped to attention and rendered me a hand salute. It didn’t mean much then, but I have come to know the importance and level of respect that that gesture represents. It is one of those moments that has been permanently burned into my memory.

After eight long weeks of basic training, and eight more of military police school and three weeks of jump school I arrived at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I turned nineteen years old the day before I got there. Now, I thought, I was an adult and I was a cop. Looking back, I was wrong on both counts.

How can he solve crimes if he’s not allowed to investigate?

Gordon Hepler, Mapleton’s Chief of Police, has his hands full. A murder, followed by several assaults. Are they related to the expansion of the community center? Or could it be the upcoming election? Gordon and mayor wannabe Nelson Manning have never seen eye to eye. Gordon’s frustrations build as the crimes cover numerous jurisdictions, effectively tying his hands.
Available now.

Terry Odell is an award-winning author of Mystery and Romantic Suspense, although she prefers to think of them all as “Mysteries with Relationships.”

Old Dog Learns New Trick

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by Debbie Burke

@burke_writer

 

Public domain photo

 

When it comes to learning new technology tricks, I’m definitely an old dog. But if there’s a way to learn a new trick in a program I already use, rather than having to master a whole new program, I’m thrilled.

In this case, the new trick is in Word.

Recently I stumbled on a post by Wendy Lyons Sunshine entitled How to Teach Word a Scrivener Trick on Jane Friedman’s always informative blog.

Scrivener is a popular and powerful writing program that number of TKZers use and swear by. One Scrivener feature that’s always appealed to me is the corkboard. You write each scene on a virtual index card. Then if you discover problems with timeline or continuity, you can easily rearrange scene order.

Unfortunately, despite taking several classes in Scrivener, I never mastered the learning curve.

So I continue to use Word since it’s the preferred program for most publications I write for.

For my novel first drafts, I write in scenes, separated by white space and asterisks. In later drafts, I divide scenes into chapters. Some chapters are only one scene long, others are three to five scenes.

A problem arises when I write scenes out of order. That leads to a jumble of scenes that need to be rearranged before completing the final draft.

This is where we pantsers get in trouble. You outliners in the audience, feel free to smirk here.

Eventually I have to find those out-of-order scenes buried in the 75-80K manuscript and, using cut and paste, reposition them where they should be. But locating those scenes, as well as their new position, can be a pain in the posterior.

Being old school, I write a summary of each scene on a 3X5 card. I lay the deck of cards on the living room floor and rearrange them as needed until the scene order is correct.

But…the Word doc still needs to be changed. That requires a lot of scrolling back and forth to find the right scene, highlight and cut it, then more scrolling to paste it into its new location.

Yes, outliners, I hear you snickering. If you had an outline, this problem wouldn’t come up.

But it turns out Word has a trick to mark scenes so they’re easy to find.

Now I’ll give the floor to Wendy since she explains it very well. She graciously granted permission to quote the following excerpt:

“Insert descriptive headings throughout the manuscript. You might insert a heading above each:

  • Chapter
  • Section
  • Scene
  • Any unit of content that needs to be easily identified or moved.

The goal is to clearly identify where a chunk of content begins. By default, that chunk ends where the next chunk (denoted by a heading of the same level) begins.

Assign styles:

Open Word “Styles” and assign each of the descriptive headings a standardized heading style. Assign “heading 1” style to chapter titles, then assign “heading 2” to other types of content.

Open the Navigation Pane

Now that headings are set up, open the navigation pane via View > Show > Navigation Pane. The Navigation Pane will display vertically along the left of the screen. 

Use the Navigation Pane two ways. First, you can navigate to specific content by clicking on that specific heading. Second, and most wonderfully, you can reorganize content by dragging and dropping the headings. Navigation Pane headings behave much like Scrivener’s index cards and are easily shuffled around.

Dragging a heading moves all associated content together in one bundle. This works beautifully across a large document and is far easier than trying to cut/paste/or drag blocks many pages apart.

Fiction writers can adjust this approach for their needs by crafting headings to describe POV, scene, location, interiority, backstory, etc.”

Thanks for making my life easier, Wendy!

After reading her instructions, I went through my WIP (working title Fruit of the Poisonous Tree) and chose Heading 2 for the beginning of each scene. Still using Heading 2,  I wrote a brief summary of that scene, so it stands out easily in the manuscript.

Now, within the Word doc, I can easily jump to the summary of each scene. No more wasted time, scrolling through pages, searching for the parts that need to be cut and pasted to different locations.

When the scenes are in correct order, then I’ll place the chapter breaks, using Heading 1.  That makes formatting easy for Kindle Direct Publishing and Draft2Digital.

Best of all, this new trick is within Word so I don’t need to learn a whole new program to accomplish what I need.

Photo credit: Lars Curfs CC-BY-SA-3.0

Now I’m still an old dog, but a happy one.

~~~

Many thanks to Wendy Lyons Sunshine and Jane Friedman for their kind permission to quote.

~~~

 

TKZers, were you aware of this capability in Word?

How do you keep track of scenes and rearrange them in your manuscript?

Do you know any other Word tricks to share?

Running and Writing
  and the Marathon

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Come what may, all bad fortune is to be conquered by endurance.  –Virgil

* * *

Writing a novel is often compared to running a marathon, and my experience dealing with the unexpected in the London Marathon in April 2010 was a good rehearsal for my later efforts in writing.

I’ve never been a good marathon runner. I’m better suited for the half-marathon. But in 2009, having completed three marathons (San Antonio, Vancouver, and Toronto), I decided I’d go for just one more. And I wanted to run one of the big marathons for that once-in-a-lifetime experience.

I told my husband I’d like to celebrate our anniversary in 2010 with a trip to the UK where I would run the London Marathon in honor of our marriage. Then we could spend a week or so vacationing. Frank was supportive, and for some unknown reason, I was convinced everything would go my way.

Hmm.

The major marathons are so popular that they can’t admit everyone who wants to enter. If you’re a very good runner and can meet the qualifying time for your age group, you’ll be entered. But if you’re like most runners (me, for instance) and can’t meet the qualifying time, they’ll put your name into a lottery and it’s just a matter of chance.

So when they opened the online registration in April 2009, I jumped in and registered along with 150,000 other runners. Although only about a quarter of those would get places, I was ridiculously confident. Around October, I received an email from the London Marathon notifying me that I wasn’t chosen. Rats.

But they held out another possibility. I could run for a charity. “That’s even better,” I thought. I could do a good deed as well as run the marathon. So I applied to several of the charities that I thought I’d like to support, and a few weeks later, one of them called. With about four months to go, I had cleared the first hurdle. I was in the race.

I was sure that from then on everything would be smooth sailing. (You can smile now.)

My running buddies at work were all excited that I was going to run the London, and that made me even more determined to do well. When they asked what kind of time I was planning on, I spouted off a near-impossible-for-me number. But if everything went perfectly, maybe I could make it.

Everything did not go perfectly.

  • Our treadmill, on which I was doing almost half of my training, broke. We needed a new one anyway, so we bought a bigger, better model. A few days of training lost.
  • I injured my knee in a tempo run. A couple of weeks of training lost.

I had stumbled over those first hurdles, but my excitement continued to ramp up as the days ticked closer to the race. Since I suffer from jetlag on international trips, we planned to fly to London six days prior to the marathon to allow my body to adjust to the time change before the race. But then…disaster.

  • A few days before our scheduled departure, I woke up to the news that a volcano in Iceland had erupted, volcanic ash was drifting over western Europe, and airports were closing. Heathrow was one of them. Our flight was cancelled.

You can overcome a lot of obstacles. But a volcano? Time to throw in the towel.

But then the winds shifted, and airports reopened. We managed to get on a flight that put us in London in the early morning hours of Friday before Sunday’s race day. Okay, so my jetlag would be a problem, but the excitement of the race would probably overcome that. (Are you laughing yet?)

I dragged myself out of bed on race day after just a few hours of sleep to discover there were more obstacles: the weather was warm (not good) and it was drizzling rain (super not good). Frank and I agreed on where we’d meet after the race, and he walked me to the starting area to join the other thirty-seven thousand people who had paid perfectly good money to punish their bodies for 26.2 miles.

But at least I had made it to the starting line. Now all I had to do was finish.

The London Marathon is unique. It’s a big party, and many of the marathoners wear costumes. One guy was dressed in a full suit of armor and someone else was carrying a huge replica of the Angel of the North sculpture on his back.

As time ticked down to the start, you could feel the buzz in the air. After an entire year of waiting, hoping, training, and planning, the starter’s pistol fired, and we were off.

I wish I could say everything went well.

  • For the first time ever, my GPS watch malfunctioned. Bad omen.
  • Another first: I got a side stitch. At least now I can describe in a book what it feels like to be stabbed just below the ribs.
  • As the miles went on, fatigue set in, and I realized I was getting a blister on one of my heels.
  • By the time I got to the eighteen-mile mark, I was starving. I guess the time change had messed up my body clock. Honestly, if I had seen a child holding a sandwich by the side of the course, I probably would have snatched it out of the kid’s hand and run away before anyone could catch me. But there were no sandwiches, my back and foot hurt, and I was run-walking so slow that I knew I was going to turn in a terrible time.

* * *

That’s when I had THE THOUGHT. I could quit. I could just step off the course, find a volunteer to give me a cart-ride to the finish, and it would be over. I wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of a poor showing. I’d just tell everybody I was injured and couldn’t finish. I could bandage my foot and take an Advil and eat a steak dinner and forget this stupid marathon. The whole thing was wrong from the start. Why hadn’t I seen that? Why did I have to be so stubborn when there were just too many problems to overcome?

That little exercise in self-pity and frustration got me through the next mile or two. Then I had the SECOND THOUGHT. I would cross the finish line even if I had to crawl. Even if I was the last person across. Even if they had taken down the banners and all the volunteers had gone home and I didn’t get a medal or a T-shirt. Even if my feet were bleeding so profusely that I was leaving a trail of blood behind me on the course. (Self-martyrdom can be useful in certain situations.)

And I knew no matter how long it took, Frank would be waiting for me, and I knew exactly what he’d say when he saw me. After all, this was the race to honor our marriage, not to show off my great (ha!) running talent.

Those reflections got me through another mile or two, and then I was within just a few miles of the finish, so it didn’t make sense to quit.

I crossed the finish line. I didn’t crawl, and I wasn’t the last person in the race. There were still a couple of thousand people behind me, including angel sculpture man and the guy in the suit of armor. A volunteer hung a medal around my neck and someone else handed me a T-shirt that said “LonDONE 25.04.10.” Then I walked into the meeting area and saw Frank waving. As I limped toward him with my hair frizzy from the rain and my clothes damp with sweat, he jogged over and put his arm around me. “Great race, honey.”

* * *

So yeah. Writing a novel, especially a first one, is a lot like running a marathon. You start out with all this enthusiasm and confidence, but then things get hard, much harder than you thought. There are unexpected challenges, and it’s discouraging when agents and publishers don’t immediately see your genius and rush to sign you to a life-long contract.

That’s when many people give up. They hit the wall and decide it’s not worth all the pain and disappointment. According to selfpublishingus.com, only about 3% of people who start writing a book actually finish it. And of those, even fewer have their book published. But for those of us who stay in the race, there’s a satisfaction of accomplishment few have known.

I learned some lessons from the London Marathon that I believe apply to my writing.

  • Life (and running and writing) is more about what you put into it than what you get out.
  • It’s more about fighting the good fight than winning.
  • It’s more about the journey than the destination.
  • You value what you earn more than what someone gives you.

And in the long run (pun intended), whether it’s running or writing or living, endurance is more important than talent.

* * *

 

This has been a very long TKZ blog post, and if you made it to the end, you deserve a medal. Maybe you should consider running a marathon.

 

 

* * *

So TKZers: Have you ever run a marathon?
Have you faced obstacles when writing your books?
How do you deal with the setbacks?

* * *

 

Kathryn Frasier is training for her first marathon, but murderers keep getting in her way.

Run with Kathryn in The Watch Mysteries. The ebook boxset is on sale at  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.

Oh, What a Feeling: How to Show Character Emotions

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Don’t talk of stars burning above. If you’re in love, show me!
Tell me no dreams filled with desire. If you’re on fire, show me!
– Eliza Dolittle in My Fair Lady

How to describe a character’s emotions is, of course, one of the most important tools in the fiction toolbox, right next to the plot caulk, the dialogue drill, and the scene saw.

And there are, as we all know, two choices: showing and telling. A good many critique group sheriffs will insist that you must never tell (name) an emotion. Never a simple Nancy was worried or Bob was frightened.

Well, I shot the sheriff (figuratively speaking!). It all depends on what I call The Intensity Scale. Think about the emotional intensity of a scene on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being nearly catatonic and 10 a loss of control like the “Leave Britney alone!” guy. And think of 5 as the demarcation line.

A scene can travel, and usually does, from below the line to above the line.

My rule guideline is that any emotion below 5 can, and usually should, be named. If Nancy is worried about how the meatloaf will turn out, you don’t have to go into sweaty palms and racing heart. That’s too much (unless the meatloaf is being prepared for Hannibal Lecter and the cops are nearby). Just write, Nancy was worried about the meatloaf.

But when you go over 5, you should show the emotion. The goal is to help the reader feel, not just know, what the emotion is.

So how do we show when we’re in the intense portion of a scene?

Nancy Kress, my former colleague at Writer’s Digest, had a great article on that in the January, 1993 issue. She gives five ways. Here they are, with my comments.

Physical Reaction

This is the one we usually go to first. Because it’s effective. Rendering how the character feels physically helps the reader vicariously feel it, too.

The trick is to find original ways to do it. Readers are used to sweaty palms, racing hearts, and twisting guts.

Does that mean never using them? Not at all. Just give them a little boost:

Her hands were slick and slippery now.

Her heart thrummed like a souped-up engine.

His stomach rocked in a greasy hammock. (This is like something I read once in a Stephen King story, but can’t remember which one. Anyway, you get the idea).

So: Don’t just grab the first description that comes to you. Play around a little. Add your touch of originality.

Action

Actions speak louder than words, right? You can always show the character doing something as a result of the emotion.

Again, watch out for the instant answer. An angry boss pounding his fist on the table, for example. That’s expected. Add something to it.

How about pounding a coffee mug down, spilling the brew?

How about yanking out a drawer, scrambling the contents?

A good exercise is to visualize the moment and let your character improvise, try different things. Go a little wild. You’ll hit on something surprising that seems right. When that happens, you know it will surprise the reader, too.

And a surprised reader is a delighted reader.

Dialogue

What a character says in the context of a scene should reveal emotion. And the way you can tell if you’ve succeeded is that you don’t need an adverb to make it clear.

Not:

“Get out of here, John!” Nancy said angrily.

“That’s the last time I pet a lion,” said Tom offhandedly.

No finer example of how it’s done is this clip from Hemingway’s story “Hills Like White Elephants.” A man and woman are sitting at a train station, sipping drinks, as the man jauntily tries to tell the woman that an abortion is no problem. (The mastery of the story is that the word abortion is never used).

“Then what will we do afterward?” [Says the woman]

“We’ll be fine afterward. Just like we were before.”

“What makes you think so?”

“That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.”

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the string of beads.

“And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.”

“I know we will. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve known lots of people that have done it.”

“So have I,” said the girl. “And afterward they were all so happy.”

That last line hits hard. We know how she feels from the context and word choice. We don’t need said the girl sarcastically.

Setting

We waste a description of setting if we don’t use it for “double duty.” It should add to the tone of the story and reflect the character’s emotion.

In “All That You Love Will Be Carried Away,” a short story about a man’s darkest moment, Stephen King begins this way:

It was a Motel 6 on I-80 just west of Lincoln, Nebraska. The snow that began at midafternoon had faded the sign’s virulent yellow to a kinder pastel shade as the light ran out of the January dusk. The wind was closing in on that quality of empty amplification one encounters only in the country’s flat midsection.

Fading light, dusk, wind, emptiness. We are being set up to feel the inner life of the character even before we meet him.

Thoughts

This is, I think, the most powerful way to convey emotion, because it’s coming directly from inside the character. It’s also the best opportunity for originality, as there are an infinite variety of choices under two main headings: explicit and implicit. Here’s an example of explicit emotion.

I can’t open this door. I just can’t. John will kill me. But I have to. I have to.

Implicit emotion can be proffered by way of metaphor (A thousand devils poked his brain with pitchforks), dreams, and memories.

And example of using a dream is the beginning of Chapter 15 of The City by Dean Koontz:

Eventually I returned to the sofa, too exhausted to stand an entire night watch. I dropped into a deep well of sleep and floated there until, after a while, the dream began in a pitch-black place with the sound of rushing water all around, as if I must be aboard a boat on a river in the rain …

Here’s an example of memory from my novel, Your Son is Alive:

He was surrounded by cops, touched by strong hands, hearing voices, but they were growing distant, and he went into another world, long ago, seeing the Mickey Mouse balloon from Disneyland when he was four, and his dad tied the string around his wrist. But he wanted to hold it himself so he slipped the string off his wrist and held the balloon and waved it around. Then had to scratch his back and somehow the string got away, and the balloon went up, up, up and he said Oh no oh no oh no, and he could only watch, helpless, his grief expanding because Mickey was all alone in the sky, no one to help him. Unmoored.

So try this:

Go to any scene in your WIP and ask:

  • Where do the moments fall on the Intensity Scale?
  • Do I show or tell intense emotions?
  • How might I use or more of the 5 ways?
  • How can I “originalize” the showing?

Jim Butcher says the emotional component of his books is the secret of their popularity. In writing about scene and sequel, where sequel = emotion, he writes:

People don’t love Harry [Dresden] for kicking down the monster’s front door. They love him because he’s terrified out of his mind, he knows he’s putting himself in danger by doing it, he’s probably letting himself in for a world of hurt even if he is successful, but he chooses to do it anyway. Special effects and swashbuckling are just the light show. The heart of your character—and your reader—is in the sequel.

Comments welcome.

Tracking Your Writing: Words of Wisdom

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The first time I participated in National Novel Writing month, I actually wrote a novel the month before writing my NaNo novel. The pre-NaNo novel was right on the word count edge of novella at 40,000 words. It had been three years since I’d drafted my first novel and I wanted to get back in the game by doing NaNoWriMo 2006, and thought, why not write a shorter book in October as a warmup?

So, I created a simple Excel spreadsheet that tracked my daily word count, as well as the running total of my WIP, and also listed daily word count and overall running count goals. It worked like a charm. I did the same thing for November, aiming for 1667 words a day to reach 50,000 words total by November 30. What I learned was that my word count fluctuated, but averaged out to close to the daily goal. It worked. However, I did not track the time I spent grinding out those words. Instead, I loosely scheduled writing time.

I drifted away from tracking my word count, but now want to return to it. I like JSB’s practice of setting a weekly word count, but even simply tracking how many words I draft each day can be helpful. It’s something I’d like to start doing when I begin drafting Meg Booker Librarian Mystery #3. Also, while rewriting the previous book, I began tracking pages revised as well as setting goals for daily pages revised which helped get me through multiple editing passes, especially the last one.

One thing I’ve never been successful at is tracking my time spent writing. Instead, I schedule writing time.

Today’s Words of Wisdom presents a grab bag of excerpts on time and words. Joe Moore gives tips for how to track your time spent writing. James Scott Bell shares two tactics to unstick your story and begin increasing your word count again. Laura Benedict discusses why word counts are important in her own creative process.

Most writers live and publish by a quota, a magical number of words or pages of work they produce each day. Supposedly, Stephen King writes ten pages a day, every day, no matter what. Hemingway was a little more reasonable, at 500 words per day.

The truth is, I don’t actually have a quota, not if one insists on the notion of measuring effort in terms of something solid and concrete, like numbers of words. My quota is more elastic, more ephemeral if you will: it’s time spent writing. I write for two hours each day in the late morning, no matter what. (Okay, sometimes I’ll write for 45 minutes a day, or 20, but those days are rare.)

The problem with my type of quota is that I’m a word worrier. I can spend the entire two hours nibbling around the edges of a single paragraph. The next day, I might strike that paragraph and start over. With this method, productivity, as you might imagine, is quite the wild card.

I do have occasional spells when the writing flows–I bound through the pages effortlessly, like Emily Dickinson’s frigate on a following sea. But those happy periods of clear sailing are inevitably followed by a dead calm, and I get bogged down on a single page for days. Or a single sentence,

“Just keep going!” When we’re stalled, this is the sage advice we get from most writing teachers, critique groups, and professional writers, But so far I’ve been incapable of doing that.  Sometimes I do leave a placeholder, something like, “Brilliant description of character goes here, but don’t do a generic description dump. Must be something fresh that will make the reader’s eyes widen in recognition.” One can take that kind of thing too far, however. You can wind up with an entire novel of placeholders, and then where would you be? Exactly where you started.

Joe Moore: October 19, 2010

Today, I want to offer a couple of tips for that fearful moment when you’re 10 – 20k in and you have absolutely no idea what to write next.

One tip was in my recent post about asking what the bad guy’s doing. If you’re stuck in the middle, take half an hour to think about what your antagonist is up to off stage. Have him planning his next few moves. Then go back to your protagonist who will feel the permutations of those moves.

The other tip I have for you when you get stuck is to do a variation of Raymond Chandler’s advice about bringing in a guy with a gun.

Yep, introduce a new character.

But what character? How do you choose?

Here are a couple of suggestions:

Open up a dictionary at random. Find a noun. What kind of person pops into your head who you would associate with that noun?

Spin the Writer Igniter. You can also use this cool app to choose a scene, a prop, or a situation.

Now you’ve got a new character ready to enter the fray. Before he or she does, ask yourself how this character will complicate the lead character’s life. Hopefully, you know enough about writing a novel that your Lead is facing a matter that feels like life and death–– physically or professionally or psychologically.

This new character will be the carrier of a subplot. A subplot needs to intersect with the main plot in some significant way––and a way that complicates matters for the Lead.

A new character like this is good for another 5k words at least

Bada-bing! You’ve added to your NaNo word count.

But what if you’re in the final act of your book? The hard part, where you have to figure out how to tie up the loose ends?

Add another character! A loose-ends tier-upper!

But won’t that seem out of the blue? A Deus ex machina?

Not if you go back to Act 1, or the first part of Act 2, and introduce the character there. You’re the writer, remember? You can go back in time in your own book!

This exercise works for NaNo, but also for any novel where you feel that long middle is starting to sag.

Introducing one complicating character gives you lots of plot possibilities. And I love plot possibilities.

James Scott Bell: October 16, 2016

One of my best friends, an enormously successful writer, has kept track of her words on spreadsheets for well over a decade. But I also know a writer who has been writing for a half-century and couldn’t tell you precisely how many stories she’s published, let alone the number of words.

The subject of word counts comes up frequently when you’re an emerging writer. Agents only want to see a certain number of pages, and competitions, magazines, and writing workshops all set limits. When you sell that novel, there will be a word count mentioned in the contract, and when it comes time for delivery, it better be close: if there aren’t enough, it won’t meet the contract; if there are too many, it could negatively impact the production schedule and projected costs. Word counts are relevant.

But should word counts have a place in your creative life? What do word counts mean to you?

This might sound a little crazy, but keeping track of my words satisfies the voice in my head that says, “use your time well.” Word counts are by nature quantifications. Proof that I’ve written. It doesn’t matter if I’ve written badly. It doesn’t matter if I throw them out later. It doesn’t matter if I don’t even like them. I’ve written. I’ve worked. It sounds a little cold, but sometimes you have to feed the voice. (Now, these are only my thoughts. If you don’t have that scary neurosis voice in your head telling you she’s watching how you use your time, good for you.)

The softer, more right-brained view is that the more words you write, the more practiced you become. A friend of mine is fond of saying, “Writing begets writing.” This is so true. When I write, I work things out on the page. The more words I get down on paper, the more room there is in my brain for birthing new ideas. My brain feels larger, happier when it’s planning new words.

At the end of December, I started tracking my word counts in my daily blog. The person who asked me why I tracked words wondered if I was in some kind of competition. The answer is yes. I am in competition with myself. I like to know how much I’ve written, and it keeps me motivated—not just to improve the numbers as I go along, but to have some markers along the way.

Laura Benedict: January 25, 2017

***

  1. Do you track the time you spend writing? If so, how do you do it, and does it help you stay on track as a writer?
  2. Are there specific word count points, like at the 10K, 20K or 30K word marks where you tend to run out of steam. Any tips or tactics you use to get the words flowing again?
  3. Do you track the words you write? If so do you keep daily or weekly word counts? Do you set word count goals? Do you track scenes or chapters written instead?
  4. Do you track the revising you do? If so, what metric do you choose-words, pages, scenes, chapters or something else?