Flogging the Quill

Plot structure tutorial from Joe Nassise

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20 steps to get you from start to climax Friend of the blog and terrific horror author Joe Nassise
posted the following “tried and true plot structure” on the GENREALITY blog to help writers prepare for NANOWRIMO
. I thought it might be of help to you, so asked to pass it on. Joe was happy to share—click his link and get to know Joe.

Step 1: Characters, Conflict, and Major Story Goal are introduced
At the very beginning of your story, the characters, the opposition/conflict, and the overall goal of the tale are introduced.

Step 2: Characters begin their journey
The characters begin consciously or unconsciously making preparations for the “journey” or adventure that they will be undergoing throughout the tale. A deeper sense of their abilities and motivations is given to the reader during this section, a means of letting the reader “get to know them” better.

Step 3: First Goal is determined
The characters make a decision to take some action relative to helping them reach the story goal. That goal is identified for the reader, as are the reasons behind it.

Step 4: Actions are taken to reach that goal
The characters take action designed to bring them closer to the goal outlined in the previous step.

Step 5: Characters are prevented from reaching their first goal
The first goal is thwarted, either through the actions of the opposition or other circumstances that are not under the characters’ control.

Step 6: Characters react
The characters react to the fact that they failed to reach their goal.

Step 7: Stakes are raised
The stakes the characters are facing if they do not reach the story goal are raised, which in turn raises the tension and excitement of the story for the reader. This is also where the characters react to the raising of the stakes.

Step 8: A new (second) goal is developed
Determined not to let one set-back prevent them from reaching their goal, the characters develop a new, larger goal (since the stakes are now higher.)

Step 9: Actions are taken to reach the second goal
The characters take some action designed to bring them closer to the goal outlined in the previous step.

Step 10: Characters are prevented from reaching their second goal
The second goal is thwarted, again either through the actions of the opposition or some other circumstances that are not under the characters’ control.

Step 11: Characters react
The characters react to the fact that they failed to reach their goal for the second time.

Step 12: Stakes are raised
The stakes become even higher, with greater consequences in the event of failure. The characters react to this change.

Step 13: Low Moment Begins
At this point the characters are feeling their failures. They are demoralized and uncertain just what to do next. Some may even be on the verge of giving up. It is only the high stakes that keep them in the game now.

Step 14: Third Goal is developed
With uncertainty and confusion running rampant, the characters try to rally and push onward. A new goal is developed, though this time the specter of failure looms close at hand.

Step 15: Actions are taken despite uncertainty
Determined not to give up without a fight, the characters push through and attempt to reach the goal one more time, despite the fact that their chances of success look slimmer by the minute.

Step 16: Dark Time Begins
The characters fail miserably and the terrible circumstances they have been trying to avoid seem all too likely.

Step 17: Characters react to the dark time
Despair sets in as the characters reach their lowest emotional point in the story. Everything they feared is about to come to pass and they seem to be completely out of options. The stakes are at a fever pitch by this point.

Step 18: Pivotal change occurs
A crucial event takes place that makes the character’s all too well aware that they don’t have the option of failing. Maybe their lives are on the line. Maybe it is the life of a loved one or the fate of the entire world. Whatever it is, the characters must face it and decide that they have to give it go or die trying.

Step 19: Goals are revised one last time
For the last time, the characters set a goal and go for it with all they’ve got.

Step 20: Final showdown happens, the opposition is defeated and the characters react to their success
The characters face off against the opposition and this they succeed. The opposition is defeated and they are left to figure out just where they go from here.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

Submitting to the Flogometer:

1. Email your 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (.doc or .rtf preferred, .docx okay) and I'll critique the first page.
2. Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Cooking up some tasty beats

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I’m traveling, and forgot to bring the next floggee with me, so here’s a post from the past. It’s also the basis from one of the chapters in my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells.

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It’s such a pleasure when you see skilled writers use “beats”— action interwoven with dialogue (including thought as action)—to invisibly accomplish a number of vital storytelling tasks, including:

• Advancing the story.
• Illuminating character.
• Identifying speakers without having to use dialogue tags.
• Adding meaning to speeches that wouldn’t otherwise be there.
• Breaking up long strings of quotations to avoid a staccato effect and to create a pleasing rhythm.
• Creating pictures in the reader’s mind of what’s going on. (In storytelling, construe “picture” to include time [pace], scents, sensations, and sounds as well as action and physical description.)

Here’s an example of a beat that does one of those things…and yet is a waste of words. The scene: a man and a woman sit at a table in a café, talking about a woman (his wife/her friend) who has been missing for over a week. In the course of the conversation, this happens:

A man from the next table asked to borrow the extra chair to my right. As I nodded, Robert said, “I have not told you everything.”

“What?”

“Her car was found abandoned in Stewart State Park.”

“Oh my God! When? How long after…”

The solo beat at the beginning did inject action into the scene…but the action had nothing to do with story. Not with the subject of the conversation or the people having the conversation. It had no impact on the conversation or the scene. It’s just there to provide activity. And then the rest of the dialogue lies like a rug.

The remaining dialogue suffers due to missing beats. How about a little body language when Robert confesses he hasn’t told his listener everything? Or a reaction when the narrator learns fraught information? Wouldn’t the scene have been better with something like this…

Robert shifted his gaze away from me. “I have not told you everything.” (This tells you who is speaking and gives character and nuance.)

How like the man to withhold information. “What?” (Internal monologue adds characterization for both parties.)

“Her car was found abandoned in Steward State Park.”

“Oh my God!” Fear for my missing friend jolted through me. “When? How long after…” (Injects emotion and characterization.)

Let’s beat up some more dialogue. Here’s a partial scene from my work in progress with all of the beats removed. In the scene KB, a junior law enforcement officer, reports to her superior officer, and she expects him to praise her for an engagement the day before.

Captain Berman’s door is open, as usual. His white-haired head is bent over a stack of paperwork, as usual. Adrenaline pumps KB up, and she taps lightly on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual, the radiator has to be cranked all the way open.

“Take a seat, Lieutenant. So, you think you found a subject of interest.”

“Yessir!”

“Did you see it with the thermal imaging device?”

“I did, sir.”

“Did you record it?”

“No, sir.”

“I see. You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”

“From something that didn’t look human to an older woman, then to a hick, then to a girl. Yessir.”

“Did any of your team see these apparitions?”

“Schultz saw it come in. Sanchez saw it on the stairs, and Bailey saw it come out.”

“After receiving your email, I asked your team for their input. Schultz didn’t mention an ‘inhuman’ face.”

“He didn’t get a good look. But he saw the glow in the camera.”

“I see. No one else saw the older woman?”

“Not until she changed into a farmer.”

You learn things, but there’s no tension, no depth, you can’t see a damn thing, and there’s no rhythm—it’s like a radio machine-gunning words at you. Now here’s the full narrative:

Captain Berman’s door is open, as usual. His white-haired head is bent over a stack of paperwork, as usual. Adrenaline pumps KB up, and she taps lightly on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual, the radiator has to be cranked all the way open.

He looks up and nods. No smile. “Take a seat, Lieutenant.”

The old fart is old-fashioned and formal, so maybe he’s not gonna come right out with her attaboy. Sitting, she tells herself to be patient, something that never comes easily.

He signs a piece of paper, places it in an out box, leans back, laces his fingers over his belly, and gazes at her. “So, you think you found a subject of interest.”

She smiles. “Yessir!”

“Did you see it with the thermal imaging device?”

Inside, she smirks at his fussy way of talking. “I did, sir.”

“Did you record it?”

Oh, shit. She’d been too excited. “No, sir.”

“I see.” He leans forward and studies a printout of her email. “You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”

“From something that didn’t look human to an older woman, then to a hick, then to a girl. Yessir.”

“Did any of your team see these apparitions?”

Couldn’t the old idiot read? “Schultz saw it come in. Sanchez saw it on the stairs, and Bailey saw it come out.”

“After receiving your email, I asked your team for their input.” He picks up a printout. “Schultz didn’t mention an ‘inhuman’ face.”

“He didn’t get a good look.” Why does she feel like she’s on trial? “But he saw the glow in the camera.”

“I see.” He reads more. “No one else saw the older woman?”

“Not until she changed into a farmer.”

The beats give pace to the conversation and much, much more. Through the beats you “saw”…

• His chilly greeting when she expects warmth, and then his dawdling even though she is anxious. (finishing with papers, leaning back, lacing his fingers)
• Her smugness (the old fart is old-fashioned…)
• Her eagerness (she smiles)
• Her low opinion of him (smirks at fussy way of speaking)
• Her realization of a mistake she’s made (oh shit, too excited to record)
• His calm, steady approach (leans forward and studies a printout)
• More of her disrespect (can’t the old idiot read? )
• His steady pursuit (he picks up a printout, he reads)
• Her increasing anxiety (is she on trial here??)

You get a sense of escalating tension in KB. The scene continues to build from here, and ends with her feeling defeated, angry, and near tears when she’d begun the scene expecting praise. And it is the beats that take you there.

Not every line gets a beat—that’ll wear a reader out. Every beat is tied to characterization and/or giving a picture of what is going on. The scene utilizes physical action and internal monologue (Couldn’t the old idiot read?) to add meaning to the words. Another example: I think the action beats after the Captain’s two “I see.” lines add meaning and intonation to those simple words.

The beats help pace the exchange, creating pauses (signs a piece of paper, places it in an out box, leans back, laces…) and emphasis (reading from something, etc. ). Also note that there’s not a single dialogue tag, not a “said” or a “gasped” or an “asked,” yet you always know who’s speaking and how they deliver their speeches.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

Questions, anyone? I’d like to start up an occasional Q&A post, so please send questions you might have about storytelling or writing craft. Thanks.

For ARCHIVED POSTS of Flogging the Quill, click here.

© 2005 Ray Rhamey

What are the odds of your first novel actually being your first novel?

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So you’ve finished your first novel, set it aside to chill, then done a thorough polishing. Perhaps you’re lucky enough to have a critique group, and they’ve vetted it as well. You’re ready to go, right? Ready to get your queries out there and find an agent, right?

The answer is definitely maybe. Or, for many of us, not likely.

While it is absolutely true that some first novels find an agent and publication, my research shows that’s a rarity.

Agent Janet Reid wrote a post in which she says that the most common mistake writers make in querying is that they do it too soon. Her number two definition of how soon is too soon was this:

It's your first novel. No matter how hard it is to hear and follow this advice, it's probably the best advice I'll ever offer: write a second novel before you query on the first one. You'll learn so much while writing that second novel that you'll go back and either revise or discard Novel #1. AND you won't have all the baggage from those damn form rejections to weigh you down.

Your desire to get past the query stage to publication stage is the biggest block to actually achieving your goal.

Is it all bad that your first novel is unlikely to make the grade? Actually, not really. Add to Janet’s advice that what freelance editor and book doctor Ed Stackler told me. Ed was an editor for St. Martin’s Press and Penguin’s New American Library, and his client list includes a number of bestsellers.

My colleagues and I have observed that it’s not until about the third novel that an author “gets it,” finally acquires the ability to create a publishable novel, both from the storytelling and craft point of view. It might happen sooner or later, but that seems to be the average.”

Should you be discouraged by those words?

Not if you have the persistence it takes to succeed as a novelist. These are part of the dues that have to be paid. A candidate for a Ph.D. knows he has to put in years of study, do research, write countless papers and a thesis—why should becoming a novelist be any different?

Doctoral students, however, have professors to guide them. For most of us, learning to write a novel is self-taught, so our success depends on how good a teacher we are. If you’re like me, you’ve read the writers’ magazines, and you buy the books and study the techniques.

But studying books doesn’t a publishable novel make. I just watched the Wimbeldon final, and the talent and ability of Nadal and Federer are stunning—but it took them many years of practice (with coaching) to achieve their championship level. Getting to a publishable novel isn’t any different, it’s just that it’s your head that has to do all that practice and training.

And even then you’re probably a couple of yards short of the goal line

Once your manuscript (whether it’s first, third, or fifth) reaches a point of being capable of being perceived as being publishable by an agent or an editor, the odds are just about 100% that you’ve got more work to do. Luckily, this time you’ll finally have a coach or two.

Many agents (more and more, now that editors are leaving publishers and donning agent hats) will give you notes for improving your manuscript before it goes out on submission. Even if you find an agent that doesn’t do that, once you’ve signed with a publisher there will be an editor who takes on that role.

Having a coach or two at this final stage of finally getting your book published is, I think, especially necessary for novelists who try self-publishing. We all know that self-published fiction has a terrible reputation for quality, and the lack of an editor is the cause.

I’ve looked at of a number of self-published novels, and there are ALWAYS storytelling and craft issues. Even if the grammar is sound, the narrative craft (creating tension, avoiding speed bumps such as backstory) is usually not, well, professional.

How to substantially improve your odds

On the Internet, I’ve read more than one blogging agent advise that, if you must self-publish, have an editor go through your novel first. At the least, a copyeditor, who can pick up the grammar and technical errors that shout “amateur!” An English major friend, or a magazine editor you know, may be able to fill this role for little or no cost, but is that enough?

Not really. The kind of editor a self-publishing author needs (or, in fact, just about any first novelist who is about to submit a novel to agents and publishers) is a developmental/substantive editor, an editor who focuses on the storytelling and the writing craft with which you deliver it.

Hiring an editor can be costly, especially a top-level one (one that I know charged $125 an hour the last time I checked, and that was 4 years ago), but how wise an investment is it to put your dollars behind a flawed manuscript that’s destined to fail? Hey, I do that kind of editing (but not for a fee that high), and for one of my novels that I’m readying to self-publish if my last round of agent submissions doesn’t work, I hired a top editor at a fee of $2,500 for a professional critique. And it was worth it—while my actual writing/narrative has been at the pro level for some time now, he was able to see plot holes and debilitating detours. Fresh eyes. Fresh, professional eyes.

FtQ readers see it happen

Even with the mini critiques and edits of the Flogometer, regular FtQ readers have seen the improvement that my coaching and theirs has made in writers who rewrite and resubmit. More than once they’ve gone from no page turn to a turn of the page. But that’s just focusing on the first 16 lines. What about the rest of their manuscripts?

As my clients can tell you, even those who just went for a first-chapter edit, there’s a LOT more to an in-depth, substantive critique and edit. A full-manuscript approach to editing that I want to try is this: first, a critique of the whole manuscript (you need to see where it’s going and how it gets there). And then an intense edit, with extensive coaching, of the first 50 pages. For the next 50 pages, the writer applies the coaching from the first 50 before submitting them for editing. This way the writer has a chance to learn and improve her craft with coaching focused on her own work, not merely on exercises for a class.

As a less expensive alternative, I’m thinking about inaugurating a “Private Lesson” plan for a novel’s first 50 pages—it will lack the full-novel read, but the line editing and coaching should still be a learning experience that not only lifts the first 50 pages but guides a rewrite of the rest of the manuscript. To get the most value from this plan, I would recommend that a writer apply the coaching in my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, before signing up.

The bottom line
Write a novel. Then write another novel. Get professional fresh eyes if you can. Then maybe write a third novel. I’ve written 5 now, and three of them are publishable. I can’t stand to look at the second one. But was it a waste? Heck no, I learned a lot from writing it.

For what it’s worth.

Comments, anyone?

Ray

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Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

A reminder: why we’re doing this (flogging)

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Two recent posts by blogging agents illustrate once again the importance of your first pages. They have to TURN.

Where’s the urgency?

Agent Kristen Nelson, on her Pub Rants blog, wrote about doing a workshop at a writers conference. In the workshop, she and two other agents listened to authors read their opening pages, and called “Stop.” at the point they would have stopped reading in their offices. They then explained why they wouldn’t read on. Kristen says:

Without a doubt this was the biggest issue we found in the pages that were read: The openings lacked a sense of urgency that would have propelled the story forward or would have engaged the reader immediately in the story or the characters presented.

In other words, most opening scenes had nothing at stake. A lot of the opening pages we saw were really back story disguised as an opening chapter

Now don’t mistake me and assume that you have to have an action-packed scene or bombs going off or some hideous moment occurring. Having something at stake can be a small thing, such as a missing photo, but it’s not small for the character in the story. For example, you could have a woman searching for a missing photograph and perhaps this photo is the one surviving shot she has of her father and so there is real panic that it could be missing—maybe even forever. That she can’t find it, that she can’t remember when last she saw it, that maybe there is something coupled with it that makes this missing photo even that much more crucial to have at this moment in time. There is something at stake for the character.

The goal of your first pages

Agent Jennifer Jackson, at the Donald Maass Literary Agency, asks for the first five pages in queries to her. On her Et in arcadia, ego. blog, she posed this rhetorical question:

What do I think is the purpose of the first 5 pages?

She answered the question this way:

To get me to want to read page 6 (and hopefully 7, 8, 9, etc.).

They don't need to be perfect. In fact, watch out for over-editing because that can make them seem stale. They do need to be exceptional.

These pages don't need to have bombs going off or start with a big action scene. Though starting in media res can be helpful -- watch out for backstory that can bog down your opening. Someone recently repeated to me this advice: "Start the story as late as you can."

Obviously, the whole story is greater than the sum of its parts. I'm not expecting to know everything about the book in just five pages. That's not why I'm reading them. I'm looking for a sense of things. The writer's style or voice, perhaps. A compelling character. A strong plot hook or concept. A taste that makes me want more.

All they have to do is get me to turn the page and want more when there isn't any more.

Pick up the nearest novel you have at hand and read the first page. What makes you want to keep reading? Or what makes you want to skip it for something else?

The reason I bring these up is that, occasionally, a writer gets a flogging here and then I’ll see them talk about it on their blog, saying that, well, really, the gotta-turn-the-page requirement doesn’t apply to my jewel because. . . It’s a natural response to defend what you’ve spent time and effort crafting—I do it too. So go ahead and have that reaction. And then move past it. Put on your objective eyes and look for a way to start the story more strongly. You don’t have to throw away the original that you love, you just have to try to beat it.

If, that is, you want one of these agents to ask for more.

Remember these words of advice regarding your first pages:

Kristen Nelson: Have something at stake.

Jennifer Jackson: They need to be exceptional.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Channeling Characters

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I’m a pantser; I write the story to discover what it is—and who it’s about. For example, in the opening scene of my first novel I had a couple of punks assault a young woman in order to show my protagonist’s prowess in dealing with violence. That was her sole purpose—she was a “spear carrier.”

But she followed the protagonist to thank him, and then became the co-protagonist in the novel. She was completely unplanned, and I’m glad she stepped up the way she did.

Channeling a character is about opening your inner doors and letting the character step out without you pre-defining most of his or her character traits—appearance, politics, shoe size, quirks, past, likes and dislikes, all the things that make up a person. It could be that all that stuff is already there, in your subconscious, and only needs a turn of the latch to make an appearance. That’s how it worked for me in the novel above, and in others.

I know that some pundits advise writing a thorough character biography with a list of as many character traits as possible, and it may be that doing so calls upon the same kind of subconscious mining that channeling does. If that works for you, fine. I’ve always resisted it.

Can channeling be better in some way?

For some writers, at least this one, channeling allows a character’s characteristics to surface in the context of a scene. A scene’s action evokes the characteristics a character needs to deal with it, and those characteristics guide the action. For me, this interaction between characteristics and story can’t happen in the process of simply listing them.

Here’s an example drawn from another novel. Before I put fingers on keyboard to write the scene that introduced this character, I “knew” only this:

• the character’s name and his role as an antagonist
• that he was a leader of a clan of people like him
• that he was inside a vehicle in which he traveled and lived
• that the outside of the vehicle was wooden -- I didn’t even know what kind of vehicle he was in
• that he was in a forest preserve outside of Chicago in wintertime.

And that was it. I didn’t know what he looked like, nor did I know any of the details about the other things in that list. No description; no psychology other than his desire to eliminate humankind, and even then only half the real reason why; no list of likes and dislikes. I had no idea of what the room he was in was like.

Pretty much a tabula rasa. Here is the earliest draft I could find of what I wrote, and although it is richer in detail than the true first draft, it all stems from my process of discovery via channeling. I’m going to cut big chucks of narrative so you’ll just see the description of the character and his environment that I discovered. Note: “lledri” is an old Celtic word for “magic.”

Drago slides a blue velvet curtain aside and peers out a porthole in his galleon’s quarterdeck cabin. Though the morning is well past dawn, the light is dim, of a piece with the gray sky. With distaste, he eyes the sparse snowflakes that fall on the barren trees and snow-covered forest floor surrounding the half-acre clearing where his ship rests.

Within view are the tall, curved hulls of three of his clan’s twelve vessels, sixteenth-century Spanish ships long gone from the high seas. Their glossy wooden flanks provide a warm contrast to the dull, gray-brown bark of the trees that surround the snow-bound meadow. He has never been partial to the supports that, like the legs of daddy longlegs spiders, angle out from lower decks to hold them upright while their keels rest on the forest floor, but there was no better way to park a sharp-keeled ship on land.

(snip)

Drago shivers, closes the curtain against the draft, and gathers enough lledri to increase his personal warmth. Warm light from kerosene lamps gives the impression of comfort, but despite woolen Oriental carpets insulating the hardwood floor and the heavy oaken wall panels, the cabin is unpleasantly chilly. He’s tempted by the pot-bellied woodstove in the corner, but a column of smoke couldn’t be hidden, and the danger of discovery is too great this close to a lessi city acrawl with people like maggots in a carcass.

Drago gazes at a scene from clan history a master craftsman has carved into the nearest wall panel, a portrait of his direct ancestor, Merlin, deep in conversation with King Arthur. The artist portrayed Merlin as tall and lean, with a handsome beard that reaches his chest. Drago wishes he looked like the carving instead of sporting the balding, plump appearance he associates with a ruddy-cheeked butcher in a small-town grocery store. He suspects that the real Merlin looked much like he does, and the majesty portrayed on the panel is no more than imagination at work.

(snip)

He strokes his moustache, the one thing he has in common with the carved image. His is still dark brown, as is what remains of his hair. If only he had found his key to rejuvenation before he reached his thirties and his scalp had become a barren pink dome rising above a low hedge of hair. That he’s stuck with his looks for the rest of his days -- unless he decides to allow himself to age -- is one of life’s minor irritants.

I swear to you that before I sat down to write, I didn’t know that he was bald and pudgy, and a little vain. I did add things later. For example, he was totally one-dimensional at this point, all rage and bent on revenge for the death of his son. I added a couple of elements to his character to humanize him—his concern for clan children, and his affection for two blue jays that he had trained—and those were deliberate. But most of the things that put flesh on this character were, well, “received.”

Sometimes they talk to you

For a time, when I moved to a new job, I commuted most weekends across the state of Washington, about 5 hours one way. I’d been toying with an idea for a new twist on the vampire genre, a vampire kitty-cat. But how to tell the story? I really didn’t know where to begin until, on one of those drives, the character’s voice entered my head and started telling me his story. His first words were,

Just after dark, death grabbed me by the tail.

Honest, that’s what came into my mind. In a way, after a little preliminary thought about aspects of the world this character inhabited, but very little planning, the character pretty much dictated his story to me, one episode per week. I’d sit down at the computer, re-read the last week’s episode, and then “listen” to what happened next.

I channeled “catness,” too—my character’s voice has an arch, sorta smart-ass quality to which cat people say, “Yep, that’s the way a cat is.” So my subconscious, apparently, contains a cat. (Hmm. Does that mean there’s a litter box in there, too?)

That novel is currently on Authonomy and was recently requested by an editor at a U.S. publishing house after a fan wrote to her and pitched it. Sometimes it pays to listen.

If you haven’t channeled a character, can it work for you? There are as many ways to write a story as there are writers, but you might find it fun to try.

If you’re just starting a project and a character is just beginning in your mind, sit down and write a scene through his or her point of view. See what you can discover. Try for an organic way to become aware of his or her appearance (NOT standing in front of a mirror!) and characteristics.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

My new Authonomy addiction

Have you heard of Authonomy? It’s a website created by HarperCollins in the United Kingdom. Authors can post 10,000 words or more of works in progress or completed books. I decided to try it, and am in the early stages of addiction.

There are books of every genre, both fiction and non-fiction. You can search by keyword, and there are sub-categories of listings organized by genre that you can browse.

How it works

There are bookshelves on each member’s page. If you “back” an author’s book, it goes on your bookshelf (members call it “shelving”), and he/she gets a credit that can raise their book in the rankings. Rankings have a payoff—possible publication.

At the end of each month, the top 5 books on the site’s collective bookshelves have their first 10,000 words reviewed by HarperCollins editors. And a few publishing contracts have been awarded. This is not a quick process—it can take several months to reach the top 5.

There’s good writing on Authonomy, so it can be fun, and you can comment on the books you sample (if you’re registered). From what I’ve seen, comments are generally positive and/or helpful. It’s a great way to get fresh eyes for your novel. To be honest, there’s also writing you can feel superior to. But give those writers credit—they’re putting it out there, and working on their craft.

In addition to the writing, there’s a social side. You can “friend” writers, which may ultimately help your book rise in the ratings because friends see the activity of friends. If yours back your book, their friends learn about it, and word can spread virally. You can also leave messages for authors, too.

There are those who are working the system to try to increase their book’s ranking. One that I think of as a butterfly is a woman who “shelved” my kitty-cat. She adds several books a day to her shelf, which can hold only 5, so hers come and go at a rapid rate. I’m not interested in doing that, and hope my book will rise on its merits.

You have to pitch your book

It’s good practice on the marketing side of being a novelist, too. You have to make up a “short pitch” using no more than 25 words, and a 200-word full pitch. This takes discipline. Here’s my short pitch for The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles:

In this chuckle-out-loud satire/fantasy for cat lovers and vampire novel for people who dislike vampire novels, a newly undead tomcat struggles to find a life.

And then my full pitch:

It's never pleasant when a vampire sucks out most of your life and leaves you for dead. It's even more unpleasant when you don't die and you learn that you're now a vampire.

So what does a new vampire do, especially if you are a calico tomcat who was just on the way to hook up with a seductive Siamese when a starving vampire turned you into breakfast? You decide on revenge, and you’re plunged into the vampire underground of Bloomburg, Illinois.

But your attacker is a victim too, and she becomes your new associate. She runs for city council to fight for vampire rights, with you as her running mate.

In the process, you are almost skewered with a wooden stake by a mob with blazing torches, tried for murder, nearly crunched by a seven-foot undead guy, almost shotgunned into undead pieces, come inches from having your tail cut off and seconds from being fried by the sun, and kidnapped twice.

Oh, yeah, and almost turned into a (shudder) politician. And you’ve just gotten started.

As it turns out, life doesn't get any easier when you're dead.

If you have the skills, you can create a cover for your book. Tip: make sure the title is readable small. This is mine, at the size you have to work with.

The addiction

Here’s where the addiction part comes in: when a person comments on your book, you get an email. My book soon started getting comments, and suddenly I was checking my email every couple of hours, hoping for yet another one, and then going to the website to see if my book had risen in the ranks. It rose very rapidly in the first week (over 1500 rankings), perhaps due to comments like these (although it has slowed this week):

“Had to wait until I stopped laughing before I could make these comments. Pure comic genius. . .”

“I so enjoy this, I think I'll be reading it to my German shepherd tonight at bedtime. It could give him nightmares, though.”

“Bwahahaha! This is great! I'll be picking this up and reading it often. Sometimes a person needs a little laughter.”

“How much fun is this? Just the right balance of... well... everything. Love it. If I could write like this I'd be rich. Or perhaps changing my name to Terry Pratchett. Or Ray.”

I confess that I had to look Terry Pratchett up. Turns out this is high praise: Sir Terence David John Pratchett is a contemporary British author known for his frequently comical work in the fantasy genre.
Things I hope will come of your reading this post

1. You check Authonomy out. Interesting, and entertaining. http://authonomy.com/
2. Check out my novel—you can just do a search for my last name, Rhamey, and you’ll find a link.
3. If you like what you see, please register and then back my book—after all, I’d like to end up in that top 5 for an editorial review. I’d consider it a great favor.
4. Post your work and see what happens. If you do, look me up and let me know so I can check out your stuff.
   

Caution: there may not be a cure.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

ARCHIVES

Raising story questions: a little writing fun

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action. I’m going to rest my flogging arm today and for the holidays, and will return to that cruel practice next Monday. Meanwhile, maybe this will be a little bit of writing fun for you.

What follows is an example I created to illustrate building tension through story questions from the very beginning of a story. But I’m going to leave off part of the last line and. . .well, you’ll see. Here’s the excerpt:

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Perhaps my list (of 6 vital story ingredients) should have started with story questions, for without them there would be no tension. You create story questions with information that forces a reader to wonder what will happen next (by information I mean action or dialogue in a scene). For example, how about this for the very first sentence you encounter in a novel?

The spider crept onto Judy's bare neck.

Your knowledge of spiders raises instant questions: Will it bite Judy? Is it poisonous? Is it deadly? What will happen if she's bitten? Will she feel the spider and avoid the bite? What's going to happen next?!

Let's add a little more information and see what happens to the story questions.

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck.

Uh-oh. Now you know it's poisonous, and its bite has more serious consequences—the stakes have been raised, the story question is intensified, and the tension mounts. And now you “see” the spider more clearly—it’s black! Is that enough tension? Enough story questions? Maybe, but we can do better.

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck. She stirred in her sleep.

She's asleep? Ohmygod! New story question: will she wake up in time to deal with the spider? Once more:

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck. She stirred in her sleep. A second black widow crawled onto her naked skin.

New story questions (and tension): How many black widows are there? Where is she that there are so many? What will happen next?! And we did this with only three sentences. Just for fun, what if this comes next?

Judy opened her eyes just as the first spider crawled onto her cheek. She looked down to see what tickled, and . . . (snip)

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Okay, your turn. How would you end that last sentence in a way that adds yet another story question? Tell me with a Comment. When I return on Monday, I’ll show you how I finished the sentence with a twist that I think multiplied the tension and “compel factor” already created.

Have fun. And have a great Thanksgiving.

For what it's worth,

Ray

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Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Creating a really good bad guy

I'm deep into a serious rethink of one of my novels as a result of a critique by Lou Aronica, a top editor/publisher. A main focus is a primary antagonist. Lou says he's not strong enough or smart enough to be an interesting character, and I have finally understood that he's right.

This WIP is the first novel I wrote (5 novels ago) and I'll admit that the bad guys were created just to be bad, just to attack the good guys. I didn't like the bad guys, and I didn't want my readers to like them either. So all of their characteristics are unlikeable -- weak, corrupt, greedy, cowardly, dishonest, arrogant, and not all that bright.

Cartoony, to be honest. I couldn't see that then, but a light turned on a week or so ago. So here I am, faced with what to do with this cartoonishly nasty, inept, cowardly guy.

An aha experience arrives

Finally it hit me. I need to treat the antagonist like a protagonist. After all, he's the protagonist in his story, right? He believes in what he does, and that he's doing the right thing. It doesn't matter, at this moment, that I disagree with him or that the things he will do are evil. What matters is that for him they are the right thing to do, and that his cause is just. We're all like that, aren't we? Even when we do something we know is wrong, we do it anyway because, at that moment in our lives, it's the right thing to do. Think of that last piece of chocolate pie you knew you shouldn't have eaten. . .

Bad guys don't think of themselves as bad guys. They're the heroes. So a narrative that intimates this person is bad and what he's doing is nefarious isn't true to character. And it's character that makes a novel interesting and convincing.

I'm sure I've read advice on thinking about an antagonist in this way, but I never internalized it. Once this epiphany finally hit -- and I'm sure that for many of you this is old hat -- I started thinking again about how to open the scene that introduced my good/bad guy. The way the narrative delivers what he thinks and does shouldn't signal that he or his actions are evil because they're not, to him. And if the reader starts out feeling some empathy for this guy and his goals, then the arc of his story will be bigger and more dramatic.

Also, the smarter and stronger my bad guy is, the stronger the conflict, and the stronger my protagonist will be when he finally wins. Greater conflict! Bigger stakes!

The point is, once I viewed the world from inside his (now smarter) head, even my word choices changed. The way he reacts to people and events in his world changed. From his viewpoint, I was able to see my good guy as a bad guy.

Holy schizophrenia!

My first 16 lines are below, fresh out of my brain cells. This is a very raw first draft and will likely change or could even be discarded. My goal is that the person you're meeting here doesn't bellow BAD GUY. I'd appreciate your comments.

Kurt Dengler aimed the Colt .45 automatic at Noah Stone's face, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger.

On the cover of TIME magazine, beneath the headline "Pied Piper of the West," Stone smiled up at the Colt's muzzle. The firing pin clicked on the empty chamber, and there was no hole in the enemy of freedom's forehead.

So much for wishful thinking.

Kurt used his cell phone to call the number only he, the First Lady, and the Secret Service had. The president's gravelly voice said, "Hey, Kurt."

"We need to talk about a problem that needs to go away, Mr. President."

Leo chuckled. "You're my chief of staff, why don't you see if you can work you in?"

Not in the Oval Office, not with all those microphones. "Remember when we were kids, plannin' to run away?"

"All right. The garden. Now's good."

Kurt placed the gun back on a plaque that displayed a Bronze Star medal and a brass plate that read, "Major Jefferson T. Dengler." His grandfather hadn't made it home from World War II, but his heroism and his sidearm had. Kurt used his tie to polish away a fingerprint, snatched up the TIME and the new polls, and left his West Wing office for the Rose Garden.

Would you turn the page?

And tell me this: does this narrative telegraph antagonist, or could he just as well be a protagonist?

I have to say, it's great to be able to talk to you guys about this kind of stuff because you understand. And talking about it helps clarify my own thinking. If it helps yours, even better.

For what it's worth.

Comments, anyone?

Ray

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Creating the care factor.

Readers demand a protagonist that they can care about. Not necessarily "like," but care about. Uber-fiction-agent Donald Maass, in his Writing the Breakout Novel, tells us that one key characteristic of the 100 bestselling novels that he analyzed is that the authors created protagonists that readers cared about.

Thus it comes to pass that acquisition editors at publishing houses demand that your manuscript and mine have that characteristic. But how do you make it happen?

Relationships
Lou Aronica, an editor and the publisher of scores of best-selling novels, told me that the number one way to create caring for a character is to show the character in a relationship. This is not, he stressed, to make a reader like a character, but to create a person-to-person connection that can cause a reader to care about what happens to a character, even one that is otherwise not appealing. We all have relationships, and experiencing one on the page makes the character more "like us." I read a novel in which the protagonist was a pedophile and killer, and while the character was disgusting in many ways, there were sides of him with which I empathized.

Here's just such a character: Born-Again Bobby Strunk, when you meet him, is an obese, slovenly, crude, arrogant, corrupt religious leader -- I guarantee that you would not like him. Yet, by the end of the novel, you will care about him. The caring begins with this:

The wrought-iron gate at the Shady Farms entrance hung open. Residents were unlikely to run away. The Farms was their haven; they had no desire to leave, except on field trips into town for a movie or an ice cream treat. Bobby drove between rows of tall oaks with overarching branches that formed a leafy roof over the driveway.

He parked in front of the converted plantation mansion. Six three-story pillars graced the white Greek Revival structure. A thirty-foot magnolia tree littered the lawn with fallen pink blossoms. Bobby regretted leaving the air-conditioned comfort of his black Lincoln to crunch across the gravel parking lot to the main entrance.

Inside, ceiling fans moved the humidity around but created no relief. He wrinkled his nose at the aromas of mold and the ammonia the janitor used to try to get rid of it.

Sister Mary Agnes, stout in her black habit, came down a sweeping double staircase to greet him. Her somber clothing contrasted sharply with the mansion's high-ceilinged elegance, but the nun always seemed at home. Smile lines crinkling the corners of her blue eyes, she said, "Reverend Strunk, so good to see you. Sadie will be delighted."

Bobby thought Catholics had a crazy religion, what with their Latin nobody could understand and a mutilated Christ pinned to the cross. But integrity and devotion radiated from this woman, and that was what he wanted for his little sister. "How is she?"

"Just as healthy and happy as ever. I think she's out on the shuffleboard court with a couple of our teenagers."

Bobby found Sadie crowing and clapping her chubby hands at knocking her opponent's puck off the ten-spot.

He called out, "Little sister."

She spun, and when she saw him a huge smile glowed. She ran to him, her clumsy gait typical of the short-legged, heavy body of Down Syndrome. Sadie threw herself at Bobby with arms open for a huge hug. He returned it with equal vigor. Comforted and rewarded by her unconditional love, his troubles left him.

Bobby forgot about being the man liberals labeled "the leader of the nation's most volatile right-wing Christian sect." He was a big brother, happily spending the next five hours with his twenty-year-old little sister, pushing her in the swung, laughing on the teeter-totter, dancing, and playing go fish.

They danced the Twist to 50s rock and roll in the rec room. They ate hot dogs and potato salad on the lawn, and talked about her world, a safe place with caregivers always at hand, classes to help her learn, and activities to engage her.

Even dead people count

A story opens with the protagonist deep in an emotional fugue—he doesn’t really feel anything. And he’s a gun for hire, a killer. The reasons for his fugue are mysterious, and they need to stay that way for at least half of the novel.

So how can a reader feel empathy for a character that feels nothing? Through a relationship that both establishes the mystery and tugs at the reader just enough to understand the troubled nature of the man. From the chapter that introduces him:

Jake Black pulled the trigger again.

Again the woman staggered. Then she dove off the flat rooftop after the little girl, her muffled laughter falling away.

A nasty mechanical buzz blasted him—his alarm clock yelling at him. He groped and turned it off, then realized that he was holding his breath, his jaws clenched and aching.

Why?

As he did every morning, he turned to a snapshot in a plain black frame on his nightstand—Amy, forever five years old, in her favorite, flowery party dress. He touched the tiny silver crucifix hanging by its chain from a corner of the frame. Amy wore it in the picture.

Why could he see her face in the photo but not in his memory? The crucifix glittered, and then he couldn’t look at it any more.

When he swung his legs out of bed, a foot came down on an empty wine bottle. God, his head hurt—the price of self-medication. He scowled at all the damn sunshine coming in the picture window that faced east.

Outside, fat clouds drifted towards Lake Michigan in a sepia sky. On the water, white triangles of sails leaned before the wind. Sunlight flared from ant trails of cars thirty stories below on Lake Shore Drive. The view cost extra, but it was a waste.

In the bathroom, his red, puffy eyes stared at him from the medicine-cabinet mirror. He wondered about the moisture on his cheeks. More and more, he found it there when he woke. He touched it with a fingertip, then tasted. Salty.

Another care factor: passion
Aronica told me that a second trait that can create a caring connection with a character is passion for achieving something. People driven to achieve, or fighting for a cause bigger than themselves, is something we can admire, and that brings the character closer to us.

In the film Rocky, his passion for making the best of himself for the big fight takes him and the audience through rigorous training. The audience works with him every bit of the way, and then celebrates with him when he makes his triumphal run up the steps.

In Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, Howard Roark's passion for his design, and for his vision of what it could be even in the face of what would be crushing opposition, create a huge "rooting factor" for him.

This is one that can work with both protagonists and antagonists. In the film, Spider-Man 2, Doctor Octopus has a goal of achieving a new energy source, which is admirable. Unfortunately, he goes a little nuts about it and does bad things to get there, but his fundamental passion is positive, and that keep a human core alive inside him, and we can care when he sacrifices his life to save the city.

Lastly, caring about others
Showing a character caring is perhaps a form of having a relationship, but I think it's distinct enough to point out. Here's an example of putting that to work for an antagonist.

Wait, an antagonist? The bad guy? Caring? You bet. Sure, you can have a purely evil villain, and readers can enjoy the ride. But a novel has more depth and dimension when the antagonist is also seen as human by the reader. If a reader has just a little bit of connection with the opposition, then the lessons of how not to be a human being are more valid, and valuable.

After all, a good bad guy (good from a storytelling point of view) doesn't see himself as a bad guy. Nor does he see his actions as "evil." Nope, he's just trying to do what he thinks is right. Sometimes bad guys do evil in support of positive outcomes.

So if you can create connections between your reader and your antagonist, the story has set another hook, and the reader is drawn more deeply.

Here's an illustration of caring. When we first meet Drago, we don't have a clue that he will eventually do very bad things. It would be nice for the reader to be on his side, even if only a little bit, so his arc into evil will be greater and more meaningful. Here's how we meet Drago:

The percussive whup-whup-whup of a helicopter drew Drago to a porthole in his galleon's quarterdeck cabin. In the forest clearing where his ship and two others of his clan rested, a half-dozen clan children, teens to toddlers, built a snowman. The tall curved hulls of the sixteenth-century Spanish vessels, all grace when they sailed through the air, now seemed awkward, supports angling out like spider legs to hold them upright. The daylight was dim under the gray January sky, but that didn't seem to matter to the children.

Helicopter noise smothered their giggles, and the galleons vanished behind glaméres of snow-clad forest, the illusions broadcast by alert sentries.

All save one of the children disappeared as well, disguised as young trees. Little Alexandra, her skills not yet awakened, burst into tears. Drago swung the porthole open to help her with a concealing glamére, but then a sapling scooped up the child. In the flicker of a thought, a fat squirrel appeared in her place. Satisfied, he closed the port against the chill.

The helicopter sound faded, the ships and children blinked back into view, and a snowball fight developed. Intrusions by lessi -- and the danger they brought -- were normal to clan children, but for Drago they were a long-endured infestation that he would soon eliminate.

This man's instinctive move to protect a child, and then his desire to protect all of his clan's children, says something about his values. Only later will the reader learn how distorted his way of achieving his goals have been by a murderous desire for vengeance. And it took very little narrative space to add this grace note to his character.

This is a chapter from my forthcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action.

For what it's worth.

Ray

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Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

FtQ’s first Show v Tell Clinic

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Updates
1. I saluted you guys in a post on Writer Unboxed yesterday.

2. My take on the show v tell question is below. Thanks for your suggestions.

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Some time back, I wrote about how to show and when to tell, and at the end of the post said this:

Do you have something from your own work that you suspect is telling but you don't know how to show? Tell me about it and I'll see if I can help.

Now, two years later, a writer has finally taken me up on it. Kathy wrote,

I hope this offer is still open. I'd like to submit a couple of instances where a critiquer wanted me to show, not tell, and I'm flummoxed how to do so.

The answer is yes. But first, a plug. There was a litblogger known as Mad Max who retired his mouse a couple of years back, and it turned out that he was an executive editor at Penguin Putnam. He then moved on to become a literary agent at The Writers House. Here's what editor/agent Dan Conaway said in a comment on my show-tell post:

"While it'd be crazy to suggest that a writer's performance in the 'show don't tell' drill is what separates amateurs from Olympians, there's no doubt that internalizing Ray's wonderful encapsulation of the principle will improve the chances of a reader (like this grumpy editor, say) reading more than a single paragraph of your manuscript before tossing it on the scrap-heap."

Well, I for one hate to see a writer being flummoxed (great word). Then I had the idea of expanding her request into a "Show v Tell" clinic, and she said it was okay.

So here's the deal

In comments, share your thoughts about whether or not Kathy's critiquer was right about the need in these two examples, and then offer your suggestions for unflummoxing Kathy.

I will let it run for a day, and then add my own reactions in an update. If I may be so bold, you might want to read the post on how to show and when to tell before you jump in. Kathy's critiquer's notes are in red.

But first, a minor rant on "felt." As you'll see, Kathy's critiquer focused in on her use of felt. Felt is a passive, lazy verb that doesn't do much for picturing. An example from a sample sent to me:

She felt radiant.

I know that there are times when you must use that verb -- I have -- but it borders on "telling." If it's possible to describe the sensation in a more active way, I think it's better. For example, instead of "felt radiant," what about:

Joy filled her.

Or maybe there's an interesting way to use "felt:"

Her body felt like a smile

Okay, are you primed and ready? You've read how to show and when to tell? Then unflummox Kathy.

Sample 1)
Over the next two days, Julie found several ways to get Peter to pay attention to her. She dropped her books right next to him. He helped pick them up for her. Then she "twisted" her ankle near him. He supported her to the nurse's office. And carried her book bag for her after school.

Melissa felt show how she felt, not tell she was watching a drama play out in front of her that she couldn't stop.

What does Kathy need to do in that last paragraph, or is "felt" an appropriate way to express this narrative?

Sample 2)
To the brisk music, they jumped and whipped their legs together, landing in either a tight fifth or coupé each time, depending on the number of beats they did.

"Over cross the fifth in the air," Miss Sylvia told them.

Melissa felt show, don't tell uncoordinated as her feet spazzed through the moves. Most of the other students fumbled through the exercise as well. A few stopped after assemblé, bewildered.

Okay, please chime in, and then I'll add my thoughts.

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In my view, the first "felt" example isn't a show versus tell situation. The narrative is about her feeling as if something else were happening, and I think that part of the narrative works. If there's anything missing, it would be a little "show" on the emotions or reactions that sense of watching an unstoppable drama causes. Is she glad about it, or the opposite?

The second "felt" is definitely a tell that needs to be replaced. My first step would be to do as Stace suggested in her comment:

Melissa's feet spazzed through the moves.

That eliminates the telling of "felt" and shows the lack of coordination, and I think the reader will get it. However, it could be expanded a little to include more of the feelings, perhaps with something like this:

Melissa's feet spazzed through the moves like a beginner instead of someone who'd spent years in dance classes.

A word of caution on helping other writers out with things like this: while it's okay to offer completely new ideas and language, as an editor I seldom do extensive rewriting. It has to do with respecting the writer's voice. But constructive criticism about perceived shortcomings and direction on what and how to correct them is good stuff, and I'm sure Kathy has gained a great deal of valuable insight from your comments.

What about you?

Do you have instances in your work where you see a need to show versus telling and would like some ideas on how to do it? Email me with the piece as Kathy has along with permission to use it for a Show v Tell Clinic on FtQ and I'll get you some help.

For what it's worth,

Ray

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ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey