Flogging the Quill

Upcoming Flogger workshops, and the pursuit of quality

I'm pleased to report that I'll be doing two of my Flash Editing workshops at Northwestern conferences this summer and fall.

The first is at  Writer's Weekend in Bellvue, Washington. I'll be doing my bit on June 22. Writer's Weekend focuses on genre writing, and has excellent attendance by top editors in that arena as well as helpful workshops.

Then on October 7 I'll be at  Write on the Sound, an excellent conference in Edmonds, Washington. WOTS has a broader focus on craft and looks at a wider variety of genres with high-caliber speakers and workshoppers. They've just decided the 2006 program so it won't be up on their website for a while.

If you attend either of these and follow this blog, it would be great if you stopped in to say hi.

I call it "Flash Editing" because I lead the participants in editing samples of the opening pages of novels submitted by conference attendees. It's an interesting and often entertaining way to coach a bunch of writers at once in storytelling craft. As a group, we go through a sample, looking for things that need attention. When we spot something, there's an opportunity for a dialogue about how the shortcoming affects the storytelling and how to fix it. The authors are there, absorbing all the input from dozens of pairs of fresh eyes. The authors have found it to be highly valuable, and the other participants tell me that they learned something.

The trickiest part is arranging to have submissions ahead of time so I can make printouts of the samples to hand out to the workshoppers to read before we edit, and to have time to do a quick edit myself that I can share with the authors when it's all over. But, even if no one sends in a submission, I can use submissions to the blog to do the same thing. As usual, I learn something, too.

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Words of wisdom from Miss Snark

So why all the focus on editing, editing, editing? In a recent post,  Miss Snark, sharp-tongued literary agent, said "Quality, quality, it's all about quality." In another entry, she passed on a novel because the plot was weak even though it had a very fresh and original voice.

She was referring specifically to the sample pages writers submit with queries for their novels. For her, the writing sample is what either opens her door or shuts it.

With her, and many agents, it's the quality of that 5-page sample that determines whether or not she asks the writer for a "partial." That's often the first 50 pages or 3 chapters of a manuscript. And it's the quality of the writing and storytelling in the partial that decides whether or not she asks for a "full." And, of course, the quality of the full manuscript is what settles whether or not she offers representation. And those are just the first three hurdles your work has to clear. Then comes the acquisition editor at a publishing house.

Now, if you're like me, you work and work and work on your narrative to make it the best you know how. Finally, you reach a point where you think it's good, good enough to be publishable. If you're unlike me, you then put together your query and sample pages and send it out, expecting that whoever receives it will feel about it pretty much the way you do. We all expect, at some level, approval.

Me, I seek fresh eyes first. I have three varieties of fresh eyes to help me see what I can't see -- flaws in the manuscript hidden from a mind enamored with my own wonderful writing. The first is a group of friends who are avid readers of good books. I've found that they can't give me the kind of specific criticism a writer or editor might, but are good at spotting problems with pacing or characterization or plot.

In group two are fellow writers I've met in critique groups, writers whose work I respect and whose insights into the craft are sound. They know the craft well enough to be good at editing as well as writing. These good folk help with all of the points above, but also with specifics of language and structure. They are also capable of making suggestions and line edits that help strengthen a manuscript in a hurry.

Group three is the smallest, but the most accomplished. I "trade" critiques with the managing editor of a small publishing company whose eye I've found to be keen, and with a fellow litblogger and MFA who has an equally keen eye for the literary qualities of a work.

Given the time -- and that's what I urge you to do, is to take the time -- those people will help my manuscript reach a professional level of quality that increases my chances of making an agent like Miss Snark, or an acquisitions editor, want more. From that point, it's the story that decides whether or not a manuscript moves from a hope to a book.

I'm chagrined to admit that I don't always follow my own advice, and sometimes get caught. I recently rushed out a sample of the newly finished WIP. It had gone through the rigors of a top-notch critique group, and I'd revised the first chapter accordingly. But I didn't get anyone to read through the revision. Sure enough, it went out with a typo and a word missing. Arrrgh! I've probably poisoned that particular well, all because of my haste to get it out. And haste was the least necessary -- actually, unnecessary -- part of the process.

Ah, well.

Call for questions

You would help me a bunch if you would either email or use the comment feature to ask questions about storytelling and craft that you're interested in.

For what it's worth.

Ray

Free edit in exchange for posting permission. You send a sample that you have questions about and of which you'd like an edit. I won't post it without your permission.

ARCHIVES .

© 2006 Ray Rhamey

Edit: do the last one on paper

It never ceases to amaze and sometimes consternate me how differently I perceive a narrative on a computer screen versus on paper.

This was recently driven home yet again to my slowly-catching-on-brain by a rewrite of good old novel number one, We the Enemy. Long story short, I decided to switch it from present tense to past. That REQUIRES a paper read because it's too easy to miss small mistakes such as a shift in tense onscreen.

The sample below, the opening of the first chapter du jour, has been read and reread onscreen dozens of times. I thought the polishing was done, and that I only needed to check it for translation errors. Here it is:

Sleepy equaled dead. Jake Black stretched in the car seat and shook his head to clear the drowsiness seeping into his mind. Surveillance was not his strong suit. He studied the apartment house across the street and imagined the suspected terrorist inside charging out the door, AK 47 blazing, Jake leaping from his car and returning fire. Anything to break up his boredom.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He took it out; it showed his home phone number. Gretchen, the tiny red-haired English nanny who cared for his daughter, had orders never to call him on the job -- except in an emergency. "What is it?"

Her whisper had the edge of a scream in it. "She's here."

Impossible. "How?"

"I don't know. The doorbell rang, and there she was."

His gut tightened. "Does she have Amy?"

Gretchen's voice broke. "I tried to stop her, Mister Black, I tried to stop her."

Dear God. He started his car. "I'm coming. Call 911 now!" He disconnected, slammed the gearshift down and floored the gas. Driving one-handed, he called the Agency. "This's Jake."

"Kamura. Is he moving?"

"I am. Emergency at home. Get somebody out to cover for me, now. I'm gone."

"Tell me -- "

Jake ended the call. How could Marcie have escaped from the sanitarium? Still locked in the grip of abnormally deep postpartum psychosis, no way she'd have been released. The "baby blues" that had come with Amy's birth had intensified until one night he'd been awakened by screams, Marcie's and the baby's. He had raced to the nursery and found his wife hitting their four-month-old daughter, screaming, "You can't do this to me! You can't!"

He had dragged Marcie to their bedroom, tossed her on the bed and pinned her until her rage subsided into sobs. The diagnosis had been quick; she agreed to admission into a psychiatric facility, and she hadn't come out. Any exposure of Marcie to Amy still brought on a violent attack. He couldn't even mention their daughter's name to her.

Now, I'm hoping that you're not seeing any obvious flaws. I feel confident that many would think it's fine. But you just read it onscreen. How differently does it appear in a printout? Well, I saw lots of flab after I printed it out and looked at it critically:

Sleepy equaled dead. Jake Black stretched in the car seat and shook his head to clear the drowsiness seeping into his mind. S -- surveillance was not his strong suit. He studied the apartment house across the street and imagined the suspected terrorist inside charging out the door, AK 47 blazing, Jake himself leaping from his car and returning fire. Anything to break up his the boredom.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He took it out; it showed flicked it open to see his home phone number. Gretchen, the tiny red-haired English nanny who cared for his daughter, had orders never to call him on the job -- except in an emergency. "What is it?"

Her whisper shook had the edge of a scream in it. "She's here."

Impossible. "How?"

"I don't know. The doorbell rang, and there she was."

His gut tightened. "Does she have Amy?"

Gretchen's voice broke. "I tried to stop her, Mister Black, I tried to stop her."

Dear God. He started his car. "I'm coming. Call 911 now!" He disconnected, slammed the gearshift down and floored the gas. Driving one-handed, he called the Agency. "This's Jake."

"Kamura. Is he moving?"

"I am. Emergency at home. Get somebody out to cover for me, now. I'm gone."

"Tell me -- "

Jake ended the call. How could Marcie have escaped from the sanitarium? Still locked in the grip of abnormally deep postpartum psychosis, no way she'd have been released from the sanitarium. The "baby blues" that had come with from Amy's birth had intensified until one night he'd been awakened one night by screams, Marcie's and the baby's. He'd raced to the nursery and found his wife hitting their four-month-old daughter, screamingshrieking, "You can't do this to me! You can't!"

He had dragged Marcie to their bedroom, tossed her on the bed and pinned her until her rage subsided into sobs. The diagnosis had been quick; she agreed to admission go into a psychiatric facility, and she hadn't come out. Any eExposure of Marcie to Amy still brought on a violent attack. H--he couldn't even mention their daughter's her name to her.

Here, without all the mark-up, is how it now reads:

Sleepy equaled dead. Jake Black stretched in the car seat and shook his head -- surveillance was not his strong suit. He studied the apartment house across the street and imagined the suspect charging out, AK 47 blazing, himself leaping from his car and returning fire. Anything to break up the boredom.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He flicked it open to see his home phone number. Gretchen, the tiny red-haired English nanny who cared for his daughter, had orders never to call him on the job -- except in an emergency. "What is it?"

Her whisper shook. "She's here."

Impossible. "How?"

"I don't know. The doorbell rang, and there she was."

His gut tightened. "Does she have Amy?"

Gretchen's voice broke. "I tried to stop her, Mister Black, I tried to stop her."

Dear God. He started his car. "I'm coming. Call 911 now!" He disconnected, slammed the gearshift down and floored the gas. Driving one-handed, he called the Agency. "This's Jake."

"Kamura. Is he moving?"

"I am. Emergency at home. Get somebody out to cover for me, now. I'm gone."

"Tell me -- "

Jake ended the call. How could Marcie have escaped? Still locked in postpartum psychosis, no way she'd have been released from the sanitarium. The "baby blues" from Amy's birth had intensified until he'd been awakened by screams one night. He'd found his wife in the nursery, hitting their four-month-old daughter, shrieking, "You can't do this to me! You can't!"

The diagnosis had been quick; she agreed to go into a psychiatric facility, and she hadn't come out. Exposure to Amy still brought on a violent attack—he couldn't even mention her name.

I'm probably not done with this, but I like the quicker version that resulted from the edit. Whether you agree with my edits on this or not, I hope you see the difference a paper edit can make in your work.

So what do you think? Any suggestions, thoughts? Questions?

For what it's worth.

Ray

Free edit in exchange for posting permission. You send a sample that you have questions about and of which you'd like an edit. I won't post it without your permission.

ARCHIVES .

© 2006 Ray Rhamey

Flogging a newly published book

I get requests from publicists now and then (via email) to review new books. Usually I just decline because I don't review books. But I told the most recent one that what I would do was look at the novel's opening for effective storytelling, just the way I do writer's samples. Summer Smith, an account executive at Carol Fass Publicity & Public Relations, was confident in her writer's work, and sent the book. So here's a look at the opening.

Journey Back

By Dan Martin

One day it dawned on me that I had to leave and I had to do it quickly because they knew where I was and how to find me. I don't know how I knew, but it didn't matter.

So I packed my bags, and I turned off all the lights, and I left. I crossed over the George Washington Bridge and drove west, stopping only to use the bathroom, to get gas and coffee, and once a day to eat. I reached San Francisco in less than forty-eight hours. Got there at daybreak, just as the sun rose pale orange over the Bay. And once I got out there I started over. Right from scratch. Even changed my name, thought I didn't change it much, from Rich to Mitch, from Jones to James. I was determined to do things right this time, though I wasn't sure exactly how.

For a start I bought a dark blue double-breasted suit, the first one I'd owned since high school. Next I had a nice résumé done up, on fancy off-white paper, with an elegant type style. None of it was true, but so far from home who would know. I decided I'd been an English teacher at a prestigious little prep school in Vermont. Parsons was what I called it. There may even be a school by that name somewhere. I don't know.

I actually think I would've made a fine English teacher. I know the kids would've loved me, because in my class there'd be no rules, no tests, no specific assignments. Anyone who wanted to could suggest books to read and topics to discuss, and most of our time in class would be spent writing short spontaneous pieces that could be expanded on later if they seemed promising.

Besides teaching, my résumé said I'd also owned a bookstore and done desktop publishing, whatever that is. And my educational background was equally impressive, magna cum laude from Dartmouth, with a double major in European History and English Literature.

For me, the first sentence was a grabber. Raised all kinds of story questions: why did he have to leave? Who were "they?" The next paragraphs kept drawing me forward with hints of a very different character. Someone with little or no attachment to his life in New York, otherwise he couldn't so easily and simply pick up and leave.

The writing is clean and no errors showed up there. There were a couple of storytelling things I'd point out to the author, though. See below.

One day it dawned on me that I had to leave and I had to do it quickly because they knew where I was and how to find me. I don't know how I knew, but it didn't matter.

So I packed my bags, and I turned off all the lights, and I left. I crossed over the George Washington Bridge and drove west, stopping only to use the bathroom, to get gas and coffee, and once a day to eat. (While this suggests that he's leaving New York City, I think many readers unfamiliar with the city would need more of a clue, and it wouldn't have been difficult to add one.) I reached San Francisco in less than forty-eight hours. Got there at daybreak, just as the sun rose pale orange over the Bay. (while this paints a pretty picture in a reader's mind, in actuality the sun would be rising from the east, behind him as he arrives. The sun doesn't really rise over the bay in the way this caused me to see it, not unless you're standing on the ocean shore and looking back) And once I got out there I started over. Right from scratch. Even changed my name, thought I didn't change it much, from Rich to Mitch, from Jones to James. I was determined to do things right this time, though I wasn't sure exactly how.

For a start I bought a dark blue double-breasted suit, the first one I'd owned since high school. (there's a vagueness to this: was it the first suit he'd owned since high school, or the first double-breasted suit?) Next I had a nice résumé done up, on fancy off-white paper, with an elegant type style. None of it was true, but so far from home who would know. (the preceding sentence is "telling," and the following narrative shows this quite well -- I would suggest deleting it)   I decided I'd been an English teacher at a prestigious little prep school in Vermont. Parsons was what I called it. There may even be a school by that name somewhere. I don't know. (I'd cut "I don't know." Too. The preceding sentence makes it clear that he doesn't, so this is redundant.)

I actually think I would've made a fine English teacher. I know the kids would've loved me, because in my class there'd be no rules, no tests, no specific assignments. Anyone who wanted to could suggest books to read and topics to discuss, and most of our time in class would be spent writing short spontaneous pieces that could be expanded on later if they seemed promising. (Interesting characterization, as it suggests he knows little about today's kids, especially the older one, for whom books are not popular things to be engaged with, and for whom writing would be a chore, not a beloved activity, if you're to believe the research.)

Besides teaching, my résumé said I'd also owned a bookstore and done desktop publishing, whatever that is. And my educational background was equally impressive, magna cum laude from Dartmouth, with a double major in European History and English Literature.

That last paragraph, in particular, portrays a character with great self-confidence -- and potentially someone headed for a great fall because of over-confidence -- someone could call him on these fancy credentials at any point. This creates a certain tension (and expectation) in this reader -- when/how is that going to happen?

This sample got me well into page two of the book and kept raising story questions. There's no direct conflict (yet), but certainly some is implied with the mysterious "they." The character has a very clear goal established -- creating a new life to escape an unnamed threat -- that the author can frustrate and complicate.

If there's anything that was a drag on this for me it was the lack of a scene. It's all telling, all summary and, for me (remember the subjective nature of reading), less involving and less evocative of character.

Still, I kept reading for a while, and that's what the author wants. I can tell you that the next ten pages collapsed six months and a relationship with a woman into mostly telling and summary, with interesting snippets of scenes here and there. I feel he could have lingered more. The effect was to keep me distant from the character because I wasn't experiencing what was happening, I was being told about it. In essence, there came a time when I was able to easily put it down, something the author doesn't want. But that's just me.

Your thoughts?

For what it's worth.

Ray

Free edit in exchange for posting permission. You send a sample that you have questions about and of which you'd like an edit. I won't post it without your permission. Please attach samples as documents to your email.

ARCHIVES .

© 2006 Ray Rhamey

Don't get me started

A common locution I see in manuscripts (and published novels) is "started to." Also, "began to." While there are times when those expressions are appropriate, they aren't nearly as frequent as some writers seem to feel.

When/if you use "started to" and "began to" in your narrative, spend a moment and really think about what the words mean. Another usage that tangles meaning is "with." I'll get to that later.

Here are some examples of "started to" drawn from a number of submissions to me. I've changed wording to protect the innocent.

When we started to get repeat responses to stimuli, we changed the system.

This implied that the two things happened simultaneously, for one thing. And they didn't change the system until after the repeat responses occurred. Rewrite:

After we got repeat responses to the stimuli, we changed the system.

She turned away and started to laugh.

What is the start of a laugh? "H…" and then silence? No, in this narrative, the character laughed. Rewrite:

She turned away and laughed.

Her tears started to flow.

So they appeared in the corners of her eyes and then just sat there? Nope, they rolled on down her cheeks. Rewrite:

Her tears flowed.

Larry slid from his stool and started to follow the beggar.

So did Larry get his feet on the floor, lift a foot, and then stop? Take a step or two and stop? No, he followed the beggar. See how much crisper it is to say:

Larry slid from his stool and followed the beggar.

He started to laugh but stopped short when he saw how angry she was.

Another "H. . ." here? Also, the sequence of events is out of order Wouldn't the following create a better picture of what might really happen:

He laughed, but then he saw her anger and stopped.

His mind started to whirl with crazy ideas.

So what's the idea here? His mind starts, like a song beginning, and then, "r-r-r-r," dies out? Not likely.

His mind whirled with crazy ideas.

She started to sob and Steve held the weeping child in his arms.

Okay, if she only starts (which implies that she stops), then how come she's weeping when she gets into Steve's embrace? Rewrite:

She sobbed, and Steve held the weeping child in his arms.

Actually, written this way, "weeping" isn't needed, i.e.

She sobbed and Steve held her in his arms.

She began to back away when a faint movement in the yard stopped her.

A really confusing set of words, for me. She was backing and a movement stopped her? Doesn't seem possible. Rewrite:

She backed away, but then stopped at the sight of movement in the yard.

She stopped him when he started to rise to his feet.

This one is okay because the action was interrupted.

Do without the with

Another common usage is combining actions and things by using the word "with." But, when you think about what the words really mean, there are times when "with" is the wrong world.

He watched her with a satisfied smile.

So his teeth are capable of vision? Maybe, in a sci-fi adventure, but most of us use our eyes for this sort of thing. Also, what does a "satisfied smile" look like? Rewrite:

He watched her and smiled, satisfied.

The dog started to chase the sheep with a snarl.

A double whammy: first the "started to, and then. . .how did the dog hold the snarl with which he chased the sheep? In his teeth? How does one use a snarl in a chase, anyway? Rewrite:

The dog snarled and chased the sheep.

With a roar of encouragement, the watchers pushed him back into the fight.

So how did they get a grip on the roar in order to push with it? Aren't those things slippery? Rewrite:

Roaring encouragement, the watchers  pushed him back into the fight.

She ran into his arms with a strangled sob.

Where did she get the strangled sob? Who strangled it, the poor thing?

Gloria watched her sister with a queer smile on her face.

Gloria must be related to the guy with the talented satisfied smile above. A note on the use of adjectives: what is a "queer" smile, anyway? That doesn't evoke a picture in my mind.

Margaret straightened her back with a groan.

Wow, where do you get one of those? I never thought to use a groan to straighten my back. Rewrite:

Margaret groaned when she straightened her back.

He touched it with a worried expression.

So did he place his face against it? Rewrite:

He touched it, his expression worried.

I searched a number of samples and many did not have these constructions, but it's common enough to point out. Do a search for "started to" and "began to" and "with" in your WIP and see if you find any of these potential befuddlements lurking in your narrative. I plan to with mine.

For what it's worth.

Ray

Free edit in exchange for posting permission. You send a sample that you have questions about and of which you'd like an edit. I won't post it without your permission. Please attach samples as documents to your email.

ARCHIVES .

© 2006 Ray Rhamey