Resonance

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Resonance (noun) – the occurrence of a vibrating object causing another object to vibrate at a higher amplitude.

* * *

I’ve noticed several comments on TKZ lately where folks mentioned a particular book or scene “resonated” with them. Intuitively, we understand what that means, but when I mentioned it to my husband, whose background is physics, I got a mini-lesson on the physical properties of resonance.

It was fascinating.

That sent me off to read some more about this phenomenon. I discovered the howstuffworks site that gave a definition perfectly describing the concept:

“At its core, resonance is the extraordinary phenomenon where an object vibrates at the same natural frequency as another.”

There are several areas that clearly illustrate resonant behavior.

 

MUSIC

This may be the most obvious. Notes produce sound in waves. When you play a note on the piano, the string vibrates and causes the sounding board to vibrate and amplify the sound. In addition, playing two notes that have related frequencies produce a harmonious sound. For example, playing two notes an octave apart or a “perfect fifth” like playing C and G at the same time produce a resonant result.

SWINGS

We’ve probably all enjoyed having someone push us on a swing. If the push is at right moment, the swing will go higher. If it’s a little early or late, the frequency is off, and the swing won’t go as high.

 

BRIDGES

Soldiers are often ordered to stop marching in a synchronized cadence when they cross a bridge to avoid accidentally activating a dangerous frequency. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse is a perfect example of resonance that resulted in a bridge disaster. The wind’s force, combined with the bridge’s natural frequency of vibration, led to resonance, where the oscillations became increasingly large and violent. 

Fortunately, no one died in the Tacoma Narrows disaster, but it’s not the kind of resonance we’re aiming for in our writing!

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WRITING

Now that we know what resonance is, how do we use the concept in writing a story? Again, from the howstuffworks site:

When we say a piece of art or music resonates with us, we mean that it strikes a chord in our hearts and minds. This emotional resonance is the magic that binds us to the world around us, creating a profound connection between ourselves and our experiences.

James Scott Bell addressed this topic in his recent post on “What Writers Can Learn from the Twilight Zone.” He concluded that the essence of a work is its heart, the ability to emotionally connect with the reader. He advises us

“What is it you care most deeply about, besides selling books? Tap into it. Draw from it. Make it thrum throughout your work.”

I believe the “thrum” JSB spoke of is the resonant quality of a story that touches the reader in a way to amplify his/her emotional response.

* * *

Here are a few examples of books that created that magic bond and resonated with me. Some because I connected with the characters, others because I felt the emotion even if I didn’t identify with the characters.

  • A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
  • West with the Night by Beryl Markham
  • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
  • The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

* * *

So, TKZers: How would you define resonance in writing? How do you ensure that your stories will resonate with the reader? What books have resonated with you?

* * *

 

The idea of a search for treasure hidden by the mysterious “Mr. Shadow” resonates with a lot of people in the university town of Bellevue. However, very few of them are as determined as these two young detectives.

But will Mrs. Toussaint’s advice that “Persistence is the key to success” prove true?

EBOOK ON SALE NOW: 99¢ on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, and Apple Books.

 

Steinbeck on Writing

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

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

That’s storytelling power. John Steinbeck had it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words of Wisdom: Rules for Writers

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Are there rules for writers? Some say yes, some say no, while some say rules are meant to be broken. I believe there are rules. Perhaps they are really more like guidelines, to paraphrase Hector Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean, but they are guidelines worth knowing and heeding. If there’s a good reason to break one, especially if it helps the story or unblocks you, by all means break it, but it helps to know the rule (guideline) first.

Today’s Words of Wisdom dives into the TKZ archives to find an intriguing grab bag of rules. Joe Moore lays out the rules of writing, with humor, wit and more than a little wisdom. I share the first fifteen on his list, and it’s worth clicking on the date-link at the bottom of this excerpt to read the other nineteen.

Next, John Gilstrap gives us his “Ten Rules for Manuscript Evaluation,” thoughtful advice on how to approach a manuscript you plan on submitting for feedback at a conference. His first five rules are included in this excerpt, and again it’s worth clicking on the date-link below to read all ten.

Finally, James Scott Bell looks at science fiction grand master Robert A. Heinlein’s “Five Rules for Writers,” and provides commentary on each. Here too it’s worth clicking on the link to read his full commentary.

Who said there are no rules for writers? Of course there are:

  1. Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.
    2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
    3. And don’t start a sentence with a conjunction.
    4. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
    5. Avoid clichés like the plague.
    6. Also, always avoid annoying alliteration.
    7. Be more or less specific.
    8. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary.
    9. Also too, never, ever use repetitive redundancies.
    10. No sentence fragments.
    11. Contractions aren’t necessary and shouldn’t be used.
    12. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
    13. Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous.
    14. One should NEVER generalize.
    15. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.

Joe Moore—December 17, 2008

Over the years, then, I have developed a list of Gilstrap’s Ten Rules for Manuscript Evaluation:

1. Number your pages and put your name or project title on every page. The reality is that I will lose your paper clip and I will drop your papers on the floor at least once. I don’t do this on purpose; it just always happens. Sometimes the pages get separated in my briefcase. However it happens, jumbled papers are jumbled papers. It helps to know which ones belong to whom, and in what order.

2. Have confidence in Times New Roman 12-point type. Reducing the font size to sneak in more story does not slip past unnoticed. I recently participated in a conference where someone actually gave me 15 pages of double-spaced 8-point type. Ignoring the fact that it pissed me off, I literally could not read the text. While I like to think of myself as young, my eyes are marching toward old age.

3. For me to believe that your story has any hope of success, something must happen in the first two hundred words. That’s the length of my interest fuse. Billowing clouds, pouring rain and beautiful flowers are not action. Characters interacting with each other or with their environment is action.

4. If you insist on walking into the whirling propeller that is a prologue, check first to make sure that your prologue is in fact not your first chapter in disguise. Next check to verify that your prologue is truly for the benefit of the reader, and not a crutch for the writer who needs to dump a bunch of backstory so that the first chapter will make sense.

5. Ten pages are plenty. Actually, five pages are plenty, but I understand that conference organizers can tout the larger number more easily. In my experience, unless dealing with a journeyman writer, the sins committed in the first few pages are replicated throughout. It’s rare that I discover a new issue on page thirteen or fifteen that hasn’t been noted several times previously.

John Gilstrap—July 22, 2011

Robert A. Heinlein’s “Five Rules for Writers.” They are as follows:

Rule One: You must write.

Rule Two: You must finish what you start.

Rule Three: You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.

Rule Four: You must put it on the market.

Rule Five: You must keep it on the market until it has sold.

I’d like to offer my commentary on this list.

Rule One: You must write.

Pretty self-evident. You can’t sell what you don’t produce. The writers of Heinlein’s era all had quotas. Pulp writers like W. T. Ballard and Erle Stanley Gardner wrote a million words or more a year. Fred Faust (aka Max Brand) wrote four thousand words a day, every day. They did so because they were getting a penny or two a word, and they needed to put food on the table.

I always advise writers to figure out how many words they can comfortably write in a week, considering their other obligations. Now up that number by 10% and make that the goal. Revise the number every year. Keep track of your words on a spreadsheet. I can tell you how many words I’ve written per day, per week, per year since the year 2000.

Rule Two: You must finish what you start.

I remember when I finished my first (unpublished, and it shall stay unpublished) novel. I was still trying to figure out this craft of ours and knew I had a long way to go. But I learned a whole lot just from the act of finishing. It also felt good, and motivated me to keep going.

Heinlein was primarily thinking about short stories here, so the act of finishing was an easier task. With a novel, there’s always a moment when you think it stinks. When you wonder if you should keep going for another 50k words. Fight through it and finish the dang thing. Nothing is wasted. At the very least you’ll become a stronger writer.

Should a project ever be abandoned? If you’ve done sufficient planning and have the right foundation, I’d say no. If you’re a pantser … well, the temptation to set something aside is more pronounced. But you chose to be a panster, so deal with it.

Rule Three: You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.

This is a bad rule if taken at face value. Again, Heinlein was thinking about the short story market. With novel-length fiction, the old saw still applies: Writing is re-writing.

I’ve heard a certain #1 bestselling writer state that he only does one draft and that’s it. Upon closer examination, however, that writer is revising pages daily as he goes, so it comes out to the same thing—re-writing.

As for “editorial order,” Heinlein meant that once a story sold—which meant actual payment—you made the changes the editor wanted (that is, if you wanted him to send you the check!)

For all writers, a skilled editor or reliable beta readers give us an all-important extra set of eyes. Don’t skip this step. There’s always something you need to fix!

James Scott Bell—December 11, 2018

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There you have it, three different sets of rules for writers. Do you believe that there are rules for writers? Do any of these resonate with you? What rules have you broken, and if so, why?

Reader Friday-You Were There

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Have you ever wished you could have been physically present, on-scene, an eyewitness to an historical event? Preferably with notebook and pen in hand, of course!

I have. I gave it some thought, and here’s where my imagination took me:

 

Paul Revere’s ride.

Washington crossing the Delaware.

The signing of the Declaration of Independence.

The first moon landing.

The first Major League Baseball game ever played. (According to my research, the first Major League game ever played was a National Association contest between the Cleveland Forest Cities and Ft. Wayne Kekiongas on May 4, 1871. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong on this…)

The first car rolling down the street. Or…

The Wright Brothers’ flight.

TKZers, please feel free to add your own!

 

If It Hurts Too Much, Stop

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By John Gilstrap

I posted here a few weeks ago that I am recovering from surgery on my lumbar spine–a two-level hemilaminectomy. (I just like the way the word sounds.) The surgery was successful, but like any invasion of one’s musculature and nervous system, recovery takes time. For me, that means resuming normal activity with one big asterisk: If what I’m doing at any time, whether walking, doing yard work, or shooting at the range, if the activity starts to hurt too much, I am to stop. There is no glory to be gained by pushing through the pain. Doing so today will just make tomorrow suck.

This advice occurred to me the other day as I was reading a piece posted on Medium entitled, “Write Like the Rent Is Due Next Week” by Felicia C. Sullivan. The piece begins,

My rent is due on Monday. I’ve listed four maxi dresses while shoveling down buttered pasta for breakfast. Refreshed my eBay store at least seven times in the past hour. I scan my home like a thief. What else can I sell?

The fascinating, extraordinarily well-written piece goes on at length to tell us that Felicia was “born to tell stories” while lamenting that “the romantic writer life” was a sham unless you had parents folding fat bills into your hands.” No one

 told me how far you’ll have to hustle to live with integrity. If I didn’t take the fancy marketing gigs, I’d have to hustle like my life depended on it. . . . I’d draft first lines while praying the ache in my mouth I’ve been ignoring won’t turn into another $3,000 root canal.

And then there’s this:

Creating art in the barbaric slaughterhouse that is late-stage capitalism, while you’re wondering how far and wide you can stretch a single dollar — it’s not romantic or noble, it’s messy, often erratic, and filled with crippling self-doubt.

Truly artistic writers, we learn, can no longer make a living, in large measure due to:

dwindling attention spans and an audience seal-clapping for simple prose. Easy stories. Happy endings.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the Readerverse, your selfish desire to be entertained by what you read is forcing some navel-gazing Bohemian aspirants into the position where they must consider the horror of, you know, getting a job outside their own minds and interact with three-dimensional people who exist beyond their laptops.

Want to make money off of your writing?

Dear writers and musicians and artists of all stripes: Get over your precious selves. I am 100% with you when you claim that the thing you create is art–even if it’s ugly or I don’t understand it. The imagination superhighway has no lanes. Let your colors and your chords and your characters run wherever they take you. That’s the beauty of art. It literally has no bounds, no definition.

The instant you put a price tag on it, though, and try to sell it to me, your art becomes a product, and you’ve surrendered the command chair to everyone else but you. If your masterpiece is a self-indulgent, depressing expose of your inner demons and you don’t care about “seal-clapping” readers, good on you. Just expect to sell fewer copies than the author who considers himself and entertainer and writes a potboiler targeting the largest possible audience.

This shouldn’t hurt.

When I read the angst inherent to Ms. Sullivan’s prose, which is amplified severalfold by some of the comments, I find myself confused. If it all hurts that much, why do it? Why not take a break from it? To posit that she’s “born” to inflict this kind of emotional pain on herself makes no more sense to me than to posit that one can be born to pull one’s fingernails out.

Precious few writers ply their craft full time, and one who’s very close to me chose to go back to a day job just to break the claustrophobia of fulltime writing.

Life is about priorities.

I cannot imagine a circumstance where writing would ever be the first priority in my life. That slot belongs to family, always and forever. And you can’t take care of your family if you can’t pay the rent. If you can’t pay the rent without having a day job, well, I guess that day job needs to be pretty high on the priority list, doesn’t it?

By way of shameless self-promotion, I’ve reactivated my YouTube channel, A Writer’s View of Writing and Publishing, with an episode focused on the very topic of Setting Your Priorities As A Writer. I invite you to give it a look if you get a chance.

 

 

Taming The Backstory Beast

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The Iceberg Approach: Exposition In A Short Film - The Script Lab

By PJ Parrish

I heard from one of my ex-students recently who is struggling with her work in progress. I met her years ago at a three-day workshop my sister and I did at Saturn Booksellers in Gaylord, MI. She was a solid writer with a great attitude who had self-pubbed two thrillers but was looking to up her craft.  Hadn’t heard anything since.

But this week, she reappeared on my radar. She was at war with The Beast. Also known as Backstory. And the beast was winning. Here’s part of her email:

Unlike my first book, this book has an important backstory the detective needs to know (and feel) that will help him deal with a tragedy that will be fall him as he solves the current case.

I am having trouble determining where and when to insert the backstory. It has many scenes ( 8 or 9) that I prefer writing as “live” as opposed to telling. It’s important that the backstory character, who we never meet in the current time portions of the book, comes to vivid life.

I need help with tips on when and how to insert and how to make sure the reader knows that the author has suddenly taken them to another time period so they aren’t confused.

Thank You
Jess W. 

Ah me. Who hasn’t been in Jess’s place? I know I have. Because Kelly and I dealt with a series, it got easier the farther along we went. By about book 4, we had less urgency to “explain” our protagonist’s past. But we realized, too, that the backstory had to become more layered and nuanced as our character progressed in age and experience.

I told Jess I’d get back to her after I talked to you guys. I asked her to give me a short synopsis of the backstory so I could get a better grip on the problem. I am hoping you’ll hang around here today, read up, and also give her some help.

First, some context. I’ll say it: Backstory is a bitch. You need it to bring your character to life and even illuminate the present-day plot. But man, it can really kill your forward momentum.

One of my go-to teachers on backstory is editor and writing teacher Jane Friedman. I’ve quoted her often in workshops. With 25 years in the publishing biz, she has dispensed easy-to-digest advice mainly via her blog/newspaper The Bottom Line. In 2023, she was named Publishing Commentator of the Year by Digital Book World. Jane’s expertise regularly features in major media outlets such as The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Today Show, Wired, Fox News, and BBC.  So let me establish a base line by quoting her on some basics of backstory:

  • Characters don’t exist in a vacuum: Who they are, what they want, and why they do what they do is rooted in who they have been and what they have done—in other words, backstory.
  • Backstory brings characters to life, gives them depth and dimension, and draws readers in. Without it characters may feel opaque or flat, their actions random or unmotivated.
  • But too much backstory can dilute and derail your actual story.
  • Backstory is a potent tool in your writing, and like all power tools it must be operated carefully—too much and your story may bog down and stall out; too little and readers may feel uninvested or confused. Finding that balance can be tricky.

I couldn’t have said it better. Here’s the link to her full post on the subject. Read it and don’t weep. It will help clear your head.

Backstory is a tool. A powerful one. It is also a strategy. You have to wield it with a clear head and great deliberation. You never just toss it in.

Here’s what I have learned about finding the “balance” Jane Friedman speaks of:  You should reveal backstory details only when they are relevant to the present plot and character development. You should never, ever, info-dump all at once. It must enhance the present narrative by providing context for current events and motivations.

And transitioning from present-plot to backstory is a fine art. I could do an entire blog on that alone. (Go read the link to that in Friedman’s blog). But we don’t have time today, because I want to help Jess out.

Here’s what she sent me about her present-day plot and its backstory:

Archie is a 30+ Detective Sergeant in a medium sized Michigan city. The current timeline opens with Archie responding to the kidnapping of a 5-year-old boy, taken from his bedroom during the night through an unlocked window. These are early investigative chapters with no backstory. There are many suspects—including the child’s mother.

BACKSTORY:

Archie is a loner, by-the-book-cop who takes every case to heart. He feels most of the cops he works are lazy and do not go the extra mile. His only friend is an older ex-sergeant who rescued him from a life of crime as a rebellious teen and put him on the path to the job he now has, resulting in intense loyalty on Archie’s part. The friend is also now a PI.

When Archie was 15, his beloved father was murdered. On day of this murder, Archie overheard a phone call from his mother which led him to suspect she (and an unknown lover) set up the murder of his dad on an isolated highway as he was on his way to buy Archie a used Jeep for his 16th birthday. Archie testified at a grand jury but the local police thought they did not have enough evidence and the crime remained unsolved. Archie’s stance in the case cost him his relationship with his mother and older brother.

Before his father’s murder, the father had purchased a small piece of land high on a hill on a 20-year Land Contract (where the owner financed it). Dad called the place Stardust after the old song. Archie and his brother assumed the contract after dad died. Eventually, Archie bought his brother out, but now is now responsible for all the payments including a large balloon payment coming at the end of the year.

Financially strapped, Archie lives in a small mom-and-pop resort of renetal cabins. His home is a memorial to his father with small reminders of a happy life lived before his mother ruined it all by her series of affairs. His dad’s records, the refinished stereo Archie plays them on, a portrait of him and his dad, a lava lamp his dad gave him, a POW Flag the father used to his hang for Archie’s grandad who never came home from Nam—stuff like that.

A year before the book opens, Archie met a woman who managed to squeeze through his emotional roadblocks. She was bookish and quiet. They connect emotionally when she tells him of her past abandonment, foster care and abuse where her rapist was never held accountable. Archie feels they are both people who never got justice. He falls in love with her. But five months in she suddenly leaves him a note breaking it off. Devastated, his mistrust of the world and women returns with a vengeance. (The woman never appears in the book but we learn of her through back story because who was, how she loved him, and what she does as the book starts to come to a close is vital to Archie’s character arc.)

FOOTNOTES FROM THE WRITER:

I understand there is a lot of material here and it may seem like the love interest overshadows the kidnapping case. But I’m not so sure that the “romance” isn’t worthy of the same page space.

I am wondering if it is possible that this is not a standard mystery but something more mainstream, with many stories told between the same covers? Why does a story have to be one genre? Does there have to be only one plot? And in using the girlfriend as backstory, what is the best way to tell the romance story without losing the momentum of the kidnapping?

Okay, crime dogs. Let’s try to help.

First thing I thought of was the famous quote usually attributed to Joseph Wambaugh. Paraphrasing here: It’s not about how the detective works the case. It’s about how the case works on the detective. In Archie’s case, for his backstory to become relevant, it has to somehow connect to the main plot — the boy’s kidnapping.

Here’s one problem I see immediately: The backstory case — the murder of Archie’s father, maybe at the hands of his wife and her lover — seems far more interesting than the kidnapping. Why? Because Archie is emotionally invested in his father’s death. He has NO INVESTMENT so far in the boy’s case — unless it ties to his hyper-need for justice. But is the vague notion of “justice” enough to connect the two cases? I don’t think so. It’s too impersonal, too ephemeral, too…noble.

I think Jess has to work hard to train the reader’s focus on the boy’s kidnapping and establish sympathy for THAT before she brings in Archie’s past. I haven’t read the manuscript, so I don’t know if this happens. Just raising a red flag here.

Backstory needs a trigger. What would it be for Archie? Something in the present has to trigger the past. If it doesn’t, the backstory steals the spotlight. It is similar to having two equal protagonists — inevitably, one becomes more interesting than the other and the reader then resents it when you move away from the more exciting one.

And what about the love interest? I have mixed feelings about that. Yes, she helped unclench his heart. But then she disappears — from his life AND the plot. Again, unless something in the FORWARD PLOT triggers his memories of her, it feels superfulous.

Backstory must always feel WOVEN IN. Not just attached. Backstory is always a beating heart. It should never be a prehensile limb.

Again, to quote Jane Friedman:

Context, memory, and flashback—the three main forms of backstory—feel most organic when readers can see what sparks the association in the present moment, how that backstory ties into what’s happening in the main story, and how it influences the character in the current story, whether by driving them to take a certain action, make a specific decision, evince a certain behavior, or gain some new understanding of a situation.

Jess asks:

  • Why does the story have to be one genre?
  • Why does there have to be only one plot?

Of course, you can cross-genre. But you can’t confuse a reader with expectations. Is this a ticking-clock thriller (to save the boy)? Is this a cold-case mystery (To solve Dad’s murder)? Is this romantic suspense (to “save” Archie emotionally?) You, the writer, have to make a choice on THE CENTRAL plot.  All else becomes sub-plot, which must then work in service to the main one.

Try this, Jess: Write a three-paragraph summary of your story that would serve as the back copy.  I bet, at this point, you cant do it.

And ask yourself that crucial question that unlocks the heart of every story: What does Archie want? Then plumb the depths:

  1. Most superficially: He wants to save the kipnapped boy
  2. Next level: He wants to prove himself within his department
  3. Deeper: He wants to find out who murdered his beloved father.
  4. Deepest: He wants to quell his own demons.

Whatever backstory you employ, it has to shed light on all of those levels. All else is…well, maybe gist for a different book.

Please feel free to weight in.

 

Fluff, Flab, and Filler

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Canada wildfires are affecting the air quality in my area. The National Weather Service wrote, “acceptable; however, the air quality may pose a moderate health concern for a very small number of individuals.”

Strange statement, considering three out of four of my closest friends feel like they have a sinus infection or head cold. I wouldn’t classify 75% as a “very small number of individuals.” Also, who writes for the National Weather Service? Can’t be a professional writer, or “very small” wouldn’t be the term they used.

Substitutes for “very small”

  • Tiny
  • Minuscule
  • Minute
  • Few
  • Diminutive
  • Limited
  • Trifling
  • Teensy-weensy
  • Slight

The subject of fluff arose last week while I was reading a brand new writer’s partial manuscript, including a prologue that was all backstory—important for her to know but irrelevant to the reader.

Rather than teach her how to tighten her writing, I focused on scene structure and techniques to force her characters to do something, anything. After several pages of notes, the fluff conversation could wait. The last thing I wanted was to obliterate a young writer’s dreams. Instead, I gave her a gentle nudge in the right direction.

For those farther along in their journey or career, recognizing fluff is an important subject. Those pesky buggers that sneak into first drafts and weaken our writing are better known as filler words and phrases aka fluff or flab.

If a filler word serves a purpose, such as to enhance characterization in dialogue, keep it. The objective is to tighten the writing by eliminating unnecessary words or phrases that might distract the reader.

Filler/Fluff/Flab Words 

Just

Just should almost always be deleted.

Original: I just couldn’t bear to say goodbye.

Rewrite: I couldn’t bear to say goodbye.

That

That litters many first drafts, but it can often be deleted without any harm to the original sentence.

Original: I believe that all writers should kill their darlings.

Rewrite: All writers should kill their darlings.

The original sentence has another problem. Did you catch it? Believe in this context is a telling word. Any time we tell the reader things like “I thought” or “He knew” or “She felt” or “I believe,” we slip out of deep POV. Thus, the little darling must die, as I did in the rewrite.

So

Original: So, this huge guy glared at me in the coffee line.

Rewrite: This musclebound, no-necked guy glared at me in the coffee line.

Confession: I use “so” all the time IRL. It’s also one of the (many) writing tics I search for in my work. The only exception to eliminating this, or any other, filler word is if it’s used with purpose, like as a character cue word.

Really

Original: She broke up with him. He still really loves her.

Sometimes removing filler means combining or rewording sentences.

Rewrite: When she severed their relationship, his heart weakened.

Very

We’ve established where the National Weather Service went wrong with very, but I’ll include it anyway.

Original: He made me very happy.

Rewrite: When he neared, my skin tingled.

Of

To determine if “of” is necessary read the sentence with and without it. Makes sense without it? Delete. Doesn’t? Keep it.

Original: She bolted out of the door.

Rewrite: She bolted out the door.

Up (following an action)

Original: He stood up tall.

Rewrite: He stood tall.

Down (following an action)

Original: He sat down on the sofa.

Rewrite: He sat on the sofa.

Want(ed)

Want/wanted are telling words. Rewrite to preserve deep POV.

Original: I really wanted the chocolate cake.

Substitute with a strong verb, such as: I drooled over the chocolate cake. One bite. What could it hurt?

Came/Went

Both are filler words because they’re not specific enough.

Original: I went to the store to buy my favorite ice cream.

Rewrite: I raced to Marco’s General Store to feed my craving for coffee ice cream.

Had

Too many had words give the impression the action took place prior to the main storyline. If it is used in a flashback, one had in the opening sentence signals the beginning, one at the end closes the scene. But if it’s clear the action occurred in the past, had can often be omitted.

Original: I had gazed at the painting for hours, waiting for the eyes to move.

Rewrite: For hours, I gazed at the painting. The eyes never moved.

Well (to start a sentence)

Original: Well, the homecoming queen attended the dance without the homecoming king.

Rewrite: The homecoming queen attended the dance, stag.

Literally/Basically

Original: I basically had to drag her out of the bar by her hair.

Rewrite: I dragged her out of the bar by her hair.

Original: I literally laundered money today. Still plucking bills from the lint filter.

Rewrite: I laundered money today. Still plucking bills from the lint filter.

Actually

Original: Actually, I did mind.

Rewrite: I minded.

Highly

Original: She was highly annoyed by his presence.

Rewrite: His presence infuriated her.

Totally

Original: I totally didn’t understand a word.

Rewrite: Huh? *kidding* I didn’t understand a word. Was that English?

And any other -ly adverb. Can you substitute with a strong verb or noun instead?

Anyway (to start a sentence)

Original: Anyway, I hope you laughed, loved, and lazed on your summer vacation.

Rewrite: I hope you laughed, loved, and lazed on your summer vacation.

Fluff Phrases

Most of these phrases should be omitted. If used for a purpose, like to enhance characterization with a catch phrase, feel free to keep it. Otherwise, delete. It’s even more important to eliminate fluff if you’re still developing your voice.

A bit

Original: The movie was a bit intense. Lots of blood.

Rewrite: Intense movie. Blood galore.

There is no doubt that

Original: There is no doubt that football season begins in the fall.

Rewrite: Football season begins in the fall.

The reason is that

Original: The reason is that I said you can’t go.

Rewrite: Because I said so, that’s why (shout-out to moms everywhere!).

The question as to whether

Original: The question as to whether the moon will rise again is irrelevant.

Rewrite: Whether the moon will rise again is irrelevant.

Whether or not

Original: Whether or not you agree is not my problem.

Or worse: Whether you agree or not is not my problem.

Rewrite: Whether you agree is not my problem.

This is a topic that

Original: This is a topic that is close to my heart.

Rewrite: This topic is close to my heart.

In spite of the fact 

Original: In spite of the fact that he said he loved you, he’s married.

Rewrite: Although he professed his love, he’s married.

Or: Despite that he claimed to love you, he’s married.

The fact that

Original: The fact that he has not succeeded means he cannot do the job.

Rewrite: His failure proves he cannot do the job.

In order to

Original: In order to pay bills online, you need internet access.

Rewrite: To pay bills online, you need internet access.

At the end of the day

Original: At the end of the day, we’re all human.

Rewrite: We’re human. Fallible.

Not gonna lie

This phrase irritates me, is overused by the younger crowd, and only raises questions.

  • Why would you lie? We’re having a friendly conversation.
  • Never considered you’d lie, but now I’m suspicious.

Original: Not gonna lie, that chocolate cake almost killed me.

Rewrite: That chocolate cake almost killed me.

I’ve joined the crowd affected by air pollutants from the wildfires. Please bear with me today. Not feeling my best. But don’t let that stop you from adding filler words & phrases I missed.

What Writers Can Learn From The Twilight Zone

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

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

Rod Serling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ed Wynn in “One for the Angels”

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

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

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

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

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

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

James Daly in “A Stop at Willoughby”

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

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

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

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

***

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

 

A Different Yarn

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The clear, waist-deep creek was full of salmon finning nose to tail as I eased up over a low rise. The sun was bright in a fresh new blue bowl overhead, and the mild July day it felt like fall.

We’d been told mosquitoes were the state bird of Alaska, so I smelled like a walking DEET factory. The scent of clothes and skin soaked in insect repellent me of camping when I was a kid. The Old Man was a firm believer in spraying us down until we virtually dripped.

We hadn’t seen a mosquito on the whole nine-day salmon trip, so the stuff must have worked great!

Unfamiliar birds flitted through the spruce trees that made me think of Christmas. Willows and alders lined Montana Creek, making casting difficult. There were other bushes I couldn’t identify, but I gave each of them unmentionable names when my leader tangled up so bad I had to break off the limber branches to free the fly.

That extra issue was irritating, because that day we were casting 9-weight rods with big fat salmon flies that apparently were a favorite treat for those bushes.

The fish ignored my offerings.

Frustrated, I dug in one of the many pockets on my fishing vest to find a box of flies I hadn’t yet tried. It was filled with pink, blue sparkles, yellow, black, and chartreuse morsels all crowded together in the foam holders.

It reminded me of five-year-old girls’ birthday party with dresses and favors.

Clipping off the unmolested fly, I chose a black streamer designed to resemble a leach. It’s kind of a Catch-22. The salmon aren’t hungry, but we throw flies that look tasty.

Strip line, cast, back cast, forward, one more back cast to stretch the line out and lay it in the water. The fly sinks, bumps along the gravel and sand bottom and slides down the back of a big King who is patiently waiting for the one immediately in front to get off her phone and go.

Five casts later, the fish still weren’t interested.

Clamping the rod under my arm, I slipped off the fly and rummaged through another pocket to locate a different box. The other pockets were so packed with equipment I looked as if I were wearing an inflated lifejacket.

Two young men appeared in shorts, ancient hiking boots, and nothing else. Mutt and Jeff looked to be about eighteen. I looked down at my chest waders and wading boots, fully conscious of my vented shirt, polarized glasses, and hat.

The kids had nothing else but lots of hair and salmon rods.

Both broke out in wide grins. The tallest I’d named Jeff chinned toward the creek. “You catching anything?”

“Can’t buy a bite. How about y’all?”

“Caught half a dozen. We threw them back.”

“Figures.” I sighed. “What are you throwing?”

The shorter one I’d named Mutt held out a 7-weight rod and unhooked his lure to show me. It looked like a piece of yarn from his grandmother’s knitting bag.

I adjusted my glasses. “What is that?”

A piece of yarn from my grandmother’s knitting bag.”

“What makes it appealing?”

Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a fish, but it works.”

Mutt nodded. “It’s how you twist it on your hook.”

“Give me a bare hook.” Jeff held out his hand.

“The only bare ones I have are trout hooks.”

Mutt looked puzzled. “What do you catch trout for?”

I’d heard most Alaskans considered trout a trash fish. “I like to eat them.”

“Are you as good on trout as you are salmon?”

“Funny.”

Mutt took the streamer on the end of my leader and studied it for a moment before taking out his knife and stripping everything off except for the head. Then he plucked a wad of blue yarn from his wet pocket, untangled a piece, and somehow wove it onto the hook.

He held it out. “There. Did you see how I did that?”

I thought about the diopters in my fly vest, and how I wished I’d attached them to my trifocals to better see what he was doing. “Sure.”

He handed me two more pieces. “Keep these. I have plenty.”

Jeff pointed. “Mind if we play through?”

I shrugged. “Have at it.”

He flipped out a little line, made a cast, and we watched it drift. The line tightened, his rod bowed, and he had a fish on.

I sighed. “All right. Good luck.”

Engrossed in the fight, neither looked up and I made my way upstream to spend the rest of the day without a strike, but the twist of yarn worked the next day telling me I was onto something.

Now, I know this isn’t an outdoor blog, but as I told my girls when they wanted to know if reality and family are included, “Read between the lines.”

Today’s little suggestion relates to the way we write. Some would-be authors complain about how their submissions keep coming back, and I wonder, are they doing the same thing repeatedly without success?

Is their query letter a little off?

Is their elevator pitch wrong?

Is their entire story written from the wrong viewpoint? First person present tense?

Einstein supposedly defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results. There’s no evidence he actually said it, however, the idea describes a lack of progress or a futile approach, which was the way I wrote thirty years ago without success.

Bestselling author Craig Johnson of the Longmire series and I were talking a few weeks ago in Amarillo and he mentioned the state of western writing. His series are contemporary westerns with a traditional feel. He suggested new authors abandon the idea of writing like Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour.

“That’s already been done, by Grey and L’Amour. And done very well. With that in mind, writers need to find a different approach.”

It reminded me of the first writing panel I ever attended. A gentleman behind a mounted video camera in the audience raised his hand during the Q&A portion of the presentation. “I’ve submitted a dozen books, over and over to different houses and agents, and not one has ever been accepted. What’s wrong with these people?”

An author leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “Maybe you aren’t any good.”

It was a harsh thing to say, but maybe true. He’d been trying the same thing over and over again. It was time to adapt.

Which is what I had to do that morning on Montana Creek in Alaska. The next day I brought a 43-pound King salmon to hand, using that bit of twisted yarn. I’d changed my approach.

Think about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reader Friday-What Would You Say If . . .?

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A couple of weeks back we discussed the Awesome Power of One Word. Today, boys and girls, we’re going to build on that.

Cast your mind back to your younger self.

Picture what you looked like and what you were doing.

How old are you?

In this picture in your mind, are you sitting in your third grade classroom listening to an impossibly old person drone on about periods and commas?

Or, are you scrapping with your brother? Riding your bike all over town with an abandon that present-day kiddos can’t even fathom?

Maybe you’re hiding under your covers with a flashlight and a comic book.

Now that you’ve got that image, whatever it is, firmly fixed in your mind, I give you an assignment.

Look that younger self in the eye and speak one sentence that might change your thinking forever—if you listen, that is—and set you on a course living your best life.

My sentence to me, at age 16, would be this:  Don’t listen to anyone who tries to talk you out of your dream–go for it!

What do you say to you? Do tell . . .