Writing Without Resolutions

Shampoo Mohawk by TedsBlog

In the 1920s, a shampoo company was looking to boost its revenue. One of the salesmen suggested adding the word "Repeat" to the directions. It worked. People started using twice as much shampoo.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

We know it by heart. It's the subject of parodies and comic relief, and rightfully so. And I still repeat, even knowing that story. One simple direction works.

Write. Edit. Repeat.

It doesn't work as well, but it should. The basic steps are there. Write. Edit. Repeat. Until you get it right. By following those three simple steps as often as you bathe, you'll be amazed at how much writing you get done.

Now, sure Write. Edit. Repeat has its problems:

1. You only repeat shampooing once. Writing can be four, five, six (or more) drafts.
2. No one tells you you're washing your hair wrong. Writers, readers, and editors will have suggestions for you. Your mother will praise you, but that's also how she got you to wash your hair.
3. Try not washing your hair for a week and you'll feel disgusting. Try not writing for a week and you might feel good about it. You'll even make excuses.

The point is, it's a simple formula -- three words that are three separate sentences. Say them often. Write them down. Stay motivated without New Year's Resolutions. Say them when you wake up in the morning and mumble them as you drift off at night. Attach them to your shampoo bottle so they stare at you in the shower.

And if need be, get someone else to give you the order. It worked for shampoo.

Have a Happy New Year, and may you meet your writing goals!

Showing, Not Telling

It's an age-old adage in the writing world: show, don't tell. But how does a writer go about this? There are basic guidelines to follow and tricks to use regardless of genre.

1. Create action. It's easy to write, "The cook chased us down the street after we skipped out on the check," but it's much more effective to describe the diversion created to "skip out." Did your characters bolt out the door or slip away slyly before being discovered? Did the waitress yell? Did the cook brandish a knife or a shish kabob skewer? Did he threaten to make them tomorrow's lunch? Did they escape in a taxi, a delivery truck, or by hiding in another restaurant? Action creates full scenes, and in so doing, shows the reader what is happening.
2. Use active verbs. Avoid forms of be, have, etc. Not "We were racing down the street to avoid capture " but "As we raced down the street two steps ahead of our captors, we flipped boxes and barrels behind us to slow their pursuit."
3. Describe emotions. Not "I felt sad" or "upset" or "dispirited," etc., "but tears streaked my dirty cheeks" or "my throat tightened like a miser's fist," etc. Readers can figure out the emotion based on description and context.
4. Deveop Dialogue. Good banter, when used properly, almost always shows rather than tells, but be careful. Long monologues or discussions about things two characters already know falls into the "telling category."
5. Avoid flashbacks. Flashbacks are usually just exposition. Don't tell us what happened in the past, particularly in third-person, detail-oriented tracts that distract from current action. Let us know what happened in the past by exploring its effect on the present. If describing the summer two characters met, reveal it slowly, not by discussing it or telling the story to a third person, but by injecting moments and developing consequences from previous actions. Not as easy as a simple flashback, but far more rewarding.
6. Proper foreshadowing. Tease us with details that make us want to keep reading. Mention a character two chapters before we meet him. Create mystery and interest. This way, the reader will know something about said character when he finally makes an entrance, preventing you from having to "tell" us nearly as much.
7. Lead a reader. Don't simply put a scene in a reader's lap. Don't write, "We had lunch in an Italian restaurant," but rather "We entered Giuseppe's for a late-afternoon lunch, aware that heavy, manicott-stuffed shells would likely be our dinner, too." Even place names, etc., set the stage for a reader without being heavy-handed. We expect different atmospheres from restaurants named Francesca's, Don Giovanni's or Frank's Pizzeria.

Much of Showing, Not Telling comes down to trusting your reader to fill in the pieces, to understand basic emotions and thoughts; to put themselves in the story and empathize with your characters. Think Agatha Christie when it comes to showing: the classic murder plot where the detective doesn't just tell us who the killer is, but shows us. Her writing reveals details easily missed and creates dramatic tension in the process. Showing is a great way to intrigue your reader, to draw her to the next page.

Remember: showing is the best way of telling!

Rewrites: When an Editor Calls

Writing is solitary, rewriting is a group effort.

When an editor calls and asks for rewrites before finally purchasing a piece, there’s a panicked moment of “Oh, my God, I better get this right. And now I’m on deadline!”

 

At least I feel that way. I know the old axiom about making a piece as good as possible before submitting it, and I believe it wholeheartedly. but editors ask for rewrites, big or small, regardless. I think the pieces are good when they go out the door. Getting an editor to call (or more likely email) telling you she’s interested but would like a change or two confirms that it’s good. Well, at least good enough to get your foot in the door. Changes to the story are inevitable.

 

Whoever said that movies are collaborative while book writing is solitary has never gone through the publishing process. Writing is solitary; rewriting is a group effort.

 

Follow me on this story’s journey…

 

In June, an editor assigned to critique my picture book, The Spaghettisburg Address, said she was excited about it, etc., and that this had “never happened (to her) at conference before.” She wanted one or two lines added to one paragraph and that was it. Her last words to me were, “We will go further with this.” I was, to say the least, excited. I added the one or two lines she wanted and waited.

 

After 2 ½ months, I sent a status letter, but received no response. Three months later, I sent the story to an agent. Six days after that I got a response and we set up a time to go over that story and several others. The agent very helpful. I rewrote Spaghettisburg to address her concerns and contacted the above editor at her suggestion.

 

Two weeks later I got a response -- Send me what you have on Spaghettisburg. Well, at this point, I thought it was ready to go out again. The editor and the agent had made good suggestions. But I reread it anyway, and uh-oh -- hated it (well parts of it). Three days of hurried rewrites, torn copies, torn hair, a better rhythm, more jokes, a revised ending with a call back, and... I hated it even more. I was frustrated and close to panicking as I realized she asked for this story. Maybe she needed this story. 

Maybe I needed a break.

 

I pulled out a copy of what I first sent her. The one she liked. I compared it with this new version and found that in many ways they were similar, even compatible. They complemented each other nicely. Bits here, bits there, and suddenly I had a story I once again enjoyed. The joy was back on the page and in my persona. I knew this when I threw down my pen and beamed with satisfaction.

 

I felt comfortable emailing it back to her.

 

I don’t know what induces that panic to set in, this idea that’s it’s not good enough when I know, really know, that they’ll probably ask for another line or two, a tweak here or there, a new angle, a new joke. What I’d like to see as the final copy is probably not the final copy. Now, I’m thrilled she’s interested in my work, but also recognize that I’m only halfway through the process, the big picture. This experience, this banging away on the keyboards at wee hours, odd hours, all hours, is the electronic version of hesitating before placing your manuscript in the mailbox. In the end, you just have to tell yourself you have to do it. The story is as good as you can make it. At least until the next round of suggestions come in.

 

I’m ready for the next level. And I’m pretty sure the story is, too.

Picture Book Titles -- What's in a Name? Marketing & More

Action is important in titles.

 

An editor suggested I change the title of a submitted picture book, The Solitary Witch, by saying, “It sounds too YA.”

 

I agreed with her; after all, I was concerned that the word “solitary” was too adult. But what was wrong with that? I reasoned. Her follow-up, however, required a response. “Why did you choose it?”

 

“It’s an actual Wiccan term. A solitary witch is one without a coven.”

 

“Then we definitely can’t use it. No way.” No way is emphatic. Now, she wasn’t too worried about offending Wiccans so much as Christians who wouldn’t buy the book if they discovered or knew it was a real term. “They like books about witches, but traditional witches. Halloween. Pointy hats. We can’t use a real term.”

 

So I had to sit down and come up with a new title before submitting the rewrites to her. I reflected on this long and hard. I mean, I like The Solitary Witch. That’s what she is. Solitary. Alone.

 

A quick review of titles at three bookstores and the library led to the discovery that picture book titles come in three categories:

 

1. Those that tell you everything.
2. Those that use the character’s name (often combined with number one)
3. Those that are a recurring reference in the story.

 

Those That Tell You Everything: Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. What’s it about? Not letting a pigeon drive a bus. Bad Kitty? What’s it about? A bad kitty. You have a pretty good idea what’s going to happen before you open the hardcover. Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed, Dirt on My Shirt, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, and you get the idea.

 

Those That Use The Main Character’s Name (or Place, etc.) Olivia, Max and Ruby, Cat the Cat, etc., etc. Then there’s Trucktown. Or multiple names like John, Paul, George & Ben. Combine this type with Rule Number One and you get Fancy Nancy (she’s named Nancy , but she likes fancy things), Bad Kitty Takes a Bath, Ruby the Copycat, Duck for President, and so on.

 

Those That Are a Recurring Reference/Theme in the Story: Croco-daddy, used repeatedly in this rhythmic story, or Where the Wild Things Are. Zen Shorts, with its Zen stories; Goodnight, Moon and Goodnight, Gorilla, and this list, too grows. The theme of the book can be directly referenced (Big Words for Little People) or indirectly (Click, Clack, Moo).

 

So, The Solitary Witch became The Bossy Witch. It tells the reader a great deal. So what’s it about? A bossy witch. Conflict built right into the title. It also helped me during the rewrites because now I had an overarching personality trait to use. As an author, the new title gave me direction.

 

The same thing happened with a book I had called Lemming Alone (OK, I likely the concept of loneliness). I like the alliteration, but a former editor at Highlights suggested a title change. It became Lemming Takes a Leap, but I wasn’t crazy about that one. So that became Leaping Lemmings. Guess what? It’s about leaping lemmings, or more specifically, one lemming who refuses to leap off cliffs with his friends. The title now has alliteration, description and action.

 

See rule Number One. Action is important in titles.

 

So give your picture book title serious consideration. Your preference may not be the right one. Think of your readers. What will they understand from your title?

 

Oh, and if The Bossy Witch gets picked up by the editor who made the suggestion, I’ll reveal her name. Credit where credit is due. She deserves it.

 

Any examples of other titles that fit the above categories? Or better yet, some that don’t?