Flogging the Quill

Q & A: but; and then; and hamster wheels

Q: Renee asks:

Is it very poor writing technique to ever start a sentence with "but"?

One more question - what about "and then"? I recently read a comment on a writing site that stated those two words should never be used together. Is that true?

A: My view is that it's not poor technique to begin a sentence with "but." I read recently that there are no actual rules of grammar that say you can't. I do it now and then, but only when it feels like the most right thing to do. You can also start sentences with "and" if that suits your purpose. In fiction, there are no real rules, only guidelines.

As for "and then," I see a lot of sentences with construction like this:

He took a swig of moonshine, then spat it out.

I once used that approach. But you may notice that Word's grammar thing will always prompt for "and then." And I've come to think that's the most right thing most of the time. I think the rhythm is better, and I think the conjunction helps the reader tie the related thoughts together in a more fluid way. So I now change most ", then" usages to ", and then."

This last week, however, just to give you another point of view, I received the feedback on the WIP from a critique partner, a professional editor and novelist who is the managing editor for a small publishing company (she loved it). But she pointed out my usage of "and then" and suggested shortening it. And she has a better eye for grammar than I. But she didn't say that it was incorrect. (Note that the two last sentences began with "but" and with "and.")

As for those two words never being used together, that sounds to me like someone trying to impose a personal point of view on all of us. Never say never when it comes to art, I say.

Compare the rhythm and feel of this version of the example sentence:

He took a swig of moonshine, and then spat it out.

Let me add that there are times, especially in dialogue and in action sequences, that the abruptness of leaving out the "and" can serve your purposes better. I think it's the rhythm and communication, the creation of what's happening in the reader's mind, which matters most. We adapt the language to achieve that; we don't lose effectiveness for the sake of a "rule" or custom. At least that's my view. I'm sure that if you surf the Internet you'll find a dozen contrary ones.

Who are you to believe? What resonates best with you (and even that can change over time).

Q: Nienke asks:

I'm a newbie fiction writer and have been working on my first novel for 9 months or so. I am addicted to reading how-to books and articles on the craft of writing fiction, and every time I finish another book or workshop, I want to rewrite the few words I have of my first draft.

I've been up to 9,000 words, but keep starting over to make the ms more perfect. I'm at roughly 6,000 words on my current draft and recently attended a Debra Dixon workshop on goals, motivation, and conflict.

Again, I am resisting the urge to rework my hero/heroine's GMCs to make the book better.

I know I can write the perfect book. It won't be finished till 2055, but it WILL be perfect.

How can I stop looking for paths to perfection and just get the dang first draft done? What do I need to tell myself or believe?

A: I have sympathy for this syndrome. Not because I'm continually going back because I've learned a new technique, but because I'm a little compulsive about rereading and continuous tweaking. I must say that the occasional review of the last few chapters or from the beginning is frequently helpful in re-grounding me in the story and the characters, and helps to shape things to come.

But in your case, Nienke, where a new insight into the craft sends you into a writerly hamster wheel . . .

Seems to me there are two ways to approach this. One is to understand that every time you start over and apply new techniques, you're actually climbing higher on the learning curve. That means the re-starts aren't a waste of time, no matter how much if feels as if you're walking in place. You could just go with it. Perhaps make notes on what you need to do in the rewrite, but keep going. By the way, a great way to make notes to yourself with Word is to use the comments feature. There's an FtQ post on that here.

But, after 9 months of walking in place, it's understandable that you'd want to get at least one step further down the road. I suggest this: make your goal to keep forging ahead and get the story finished.

However, if you pick up another technique or learn something as you go, apply it from that point on but don't go back until you're ready for rewrite. Because you'll be practicing the new approach as you carry on, it will be that much easier when you finish the mss, put it in a drawer for a month, and then do the rewrite. Seems to me that one exception would be the need to go back and plant the seeds for an unexpected turn in story or character.

With a novel, I think finishing it is the hardest part. I have ENORMOUS respect for anyone who completes an entire novel, no matter what its quality. After that, rewriting can be almost fun at times. I say put your pedal to the metal and patch the potholes later.

For what it's worth.

See you next week. And if you have questions, please ask.

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.

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© 2006 Ray Rhamey

Potpourri

Two additions to my book shopping list: I don't plug books, but I e-know these writers and am looking forward to reading their work.

Becky Motew is a member of an Internet writer's circle that I'm fortunate to be a member of. She writes funny -- it is to laugh. Check out Coupon Girl

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Next, a novel by a visitor to Flogging the Quill for whom I did a sample edit some time back. I can tell you that I didn't have much to do. Congratulations to Cornelia Read for A Field of Darkness

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I've finished my WIP, Finding Magic, 82,000 words! A polished version has gone out to several trusted pairs of fresh eyes, and I anxiously wait to see if it plays. It went through a thorough critiquing by a critique group, but that's just 20 pages a month over a year and a half or so, and that's no clue as to whether the story works as a whole.

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Reminders: I'll be at the June  Writer's Weekend conference in Bellvue, Washington, to do my Flash Editing workshop. If you're there, I hope to meet you.

Same goes for October, when I'm doing the workshop at  Write on the Sound conference in Edmonds, Washington.

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Tip of the day: now and then I do a post on computer techniques that help with both creativity and productivity. I've found the bookmarks tool in Word and WordPerfect to be invaluable for navigating around a manuscript. I keep my mss in a single file, and bookmarks are what makes that possible. I know writers who have a separate file for each chapter -- I think all in one works much better. To see what I mean, check out this FtQ post.

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Bridging Conflict Uberagent Donald Maass writes well on writing in Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook. After analyzing 100 novels, and writing some of his own, I think he knows whereof he teaches.

One chapter is about "bridging conflict." It's conflict in a story element that's not the main conflict in your story, but one designed to keep the tension up until your story gets the reader to the primary action. He calls it an "interim worry" that makes the opening material matter in a storytelling way.

An example that comes to my mind is the opening scene in the film Raiders of the Lost Ark. In a wonderful action sequence, we watch Indiana Jones deal with deadly natives and a series of booby traps to acquire an antiquity treasure. The scene serves to hook us with conflict and action, to give us a great look at Indy's character, and to introduce the antagonist who figures into the story again, but at a much later date.

Maass writes, "Even the anticipation of change is a kind of conflict that can make us lean forward and wonder, What is going to happen?" And that's what every aspect of your narrative should be doing, raising that question, over and over and over again. I recommend Maass's work -- there's much to be learned with the questions and exercises he includes.

I bring this up because of a recently received sample that, while it opens with very nice, professional writing, there's little in the way of tension. I may suggest that the writer look for a way to include some kind of bridging conflict to bait and set a hook in the reader before he swims away.

I'll quote from Mr. Maass's book. "How do you bridge from your opening page to your novel's main events? Do you just get us there, filling space with arrival, setup, and backstory? Or do you use the preliminary pages of your manuscript to build tension of a different sort?"

Well, do you?

See you next week. And if you have questions, please ask.

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

Q & A

Q: Rachael asks, "When writing in a particular genre, do you think it's best to read other work in that genre, or anything but? I've heard varying, some very strong, opinions on both sides, and I go back and forth myself."

A: First, I think, you have to consider the nature of a genre (by this I assume you mean what we traditionally think of, i.e. romance, mystery, SF, chick lit, etc.). In some -- not all -- genres, a reader (and an agent, and an acquisitions editor) comes to a genre with specific expectations. A pattern, perhaps. The "usual" conflicts and resolution. Certain content or characters, even. If their expectations are not met, the mss could disappoint, and will not belong to the genre.

If, not having read deeply in the genre you hope to write in, you do not know the expectations, the patterns, the form, then how are you going to supply them?

However, some genres embrace a wider scope of story. In the December 2005 issue of Writer's Digest, author Debra Garfinkle writes about how she broke all the rules with her young adult novel, Storky: How I Lost My Nickname and Won the Girl. She says she hadn't read a YA novel since she was a teen a couple of decades earlier. She wrote the story she needed to write, and it worked in that genre because it, I believe, the genre was less confined by expectations than, let's say, the many sub-genres in romance.

My thought is that it won't hurt to read in the intended genre. You'll learn whether or not the expectations are handcuffs or open and flexible. You'll be better informed about your audience, too, and that can't be all bad.

Q: Susan H asks, "When is it time to say enough is enough on editing an MS? I think some people use editing as a procrastination tool, 'Oh, it just needs a little more (fill in the blank).' Until you are dreaming, eating and thinking of editing. Then you realize it's not really going anywhere but on your desk, to the floor and in a drawer to be forgotten until the editing bug bites one more time. Just wondering...not that I have every done this or anything! Really."

A: I know the syndrome -- I can pick up just about any page of a manuscript that I've polished a bunch of times and still find something to tinker with. I don't think the occasional tinker is a bad thing, and probably unavoidable. But I've never become that hooked on editing/rewriting/polishing a particular manuscript over and over.

Part of the reason is that I think my stuff is pretty good at the first draft stage, and one rewrite makes it even better (there is no guarantee that my opinion reflects reality, of course). For me, I'm quite satisfied with the second draft -- until my readers give me good criticism and I rewrite a third time. But I'm very much ready to call it quits at that point.

When it's time to say enough depends on where you are on the novelist learning curve, too. I think three times is probably sufficient for me. But others, at the beginning of their career, might need a lot more trips through. So how do you know? I think the only real-world answer is to get enough informed fresh eyes to read it -- when they think it works, all the way through, then it's time to send it out.

Without that independent confirmation, I don't see how a "new" novelist can know. The key here is "informed fresh eyes," too. Friends and relatives, unless they are novelists or fiction editors, may be able to see gross problems, but are more likely than not to be unable to discern other serious shortcomings that can still trip you up. Find people who know the craft well enough to be analytical and make articulate, insightful comments. This is where critique partners or groups are so helpful.

Q: Lady M wrote, "Here's something I've been meaning to mention for a very long time. It is a trend I've noticed in writing that seems to be taking over.

"It's the faster, quicker write. It's narrowing the same novel or story down by hundreds of pages in return for a faster read.

"Me... I've always enjoyed the long reads - the build up. The explain it all - paint me a picture writing... But that all seems to be going the way of the dinosaurs.

"Has anyone else noticed this? Not saying that the quicker writing doesn't make a novel faster to read and keeps my interest... it is like... hmmmm.... uhm...

"Oh, I know... It's like a waitress in a restaurant hurrying service so she can get a quicker turnover on the table. Rushing the diners so that there can be more people - which, of course, = more tips.

"So perhaps with that analogy, books are being written so that the reader reads them faster and buys more?

"Either style of writing is fine with me - it's just a growing trend that I've noticed and I was wondering if this is the way of the future?"

A: Hmmm. I can't say that I've noticed this. But then I'm so busy writing and editing I don't read all that widely lately. I still see humongous fantasy novels, and 100,000-word thrillers that take the time. In those genres, I'm still finding good, fat books.

You could be right, though, particularly in "newer" genres. I think film and television drama has something to do with it. Generally, but not always, they achieve a quick, steady pace. That's what it takes to satisfy today's audiences -- and that includes me. It makes sense that that sensibility sloshes over into novels.

Anyone else care to chime in on this?

Other questions out there? Particularly on craft? Please send 'em in. I'll be getting back to doing some edits here, too -- several are waiting patiently (or not so patiently).

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

Article: fiction versus nonfiction

I receive articles from publicists now and then, and here's a new one I thought I'd share. I don't yet know the author or her book.

But first, a plug. For those who will be in the Pacific Northwest in June, there are spots open at the  Writer's Weekend in Bellvue, Washington. I'm doing my editing workshop, and the conference has excellent attendance by top editors and agents as well as helpful workshops.

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In Praise of Lying: Fiction vs. Nonfiction
by Amy Hassinger
Author of The Priest's Madonna: A Novel

Non-fiction is very much in the news these days. Capote, the James Frey debacle and the even creepier Nasdijj scam have raised the kinds of questions that plague many a memoir writer: how much can you really remember? How much can you ethically invent (creating dialogue, for example, from a forgotten conversation), and how much do you have to base on verifiable fact? What is the truth, anyway?

Here's where I turn tail and run. This is one of the reasons why I'm a fiction writer -- because I don't know the answers to these questions. They paralyze me. I much prefer the freedom of lying. There's no wracking your brain trying to remember what someone actually said, no sleepless nights imagining the faces of the jury in the courtroom on the day you're sued for libel. Give me the bliss of pure invention.

Now, I'm not throwing down the gauntlet here. I don't mean to claim that fiction is a superior form. Both fiction and memoir are after the same thing, ultimately, which is to make order and meaning out of the chaos of experience. But as a fiction writer, I can't help but wonder at our culture's current infatuation with the "real." Memoir and creative non-fiction have been fashionable for the past ten or fifteen years. Simultaneously, we've seen the rise of less literary counterparts: Reality television, the confessional talk show, round the clock news, and the blog.

We're a culture obsessed with literal truth, with the facts. (This new literalism of mind has also reared its head in the world of religion: both fundamentalist and secular thought require a literal approach to myth and metaphor.)

Why? Where does this obsession come from? I suspect it might have something to do with fear. There's so much to fear -- dirty bombs, Avian flu, global warming, sexual predators, identity theft -- yet very little to do. So we prepare by gathering information. Reading about Avian flu can make us feel proactive. It's as if finding out the precise scale of an oncoming tsunami will prevent it from laying waste, as if knowing the statistical chances of a nuclear dirty bomb attack in the Manhattan subway system will keep the terrorist from setting one off. Information is knowledge, after all, and as we all know, knowledge is power.

Power maybe, but wisdom? Do we really understand our lives better the
More we know? Do we have a better sense of how to behave in the world, of how to treat our fellow creatures? Do we know where to find peace? Do we have a fuller appreciation of beauty? We might find poetry in scientific discoveries -- in the fact that we can see into the past by looking through the Hubble Space Telescope, for example -- but as a rule, pure information does not supply the sublime experience that art offers. Facts may be useful when you want to graph the distribution of convicted sexual predators in your neighborhood, but they're not a terribly effective way to come to understand one of those predators, to begin to grasp not only the suffering he has caused but also the suffering he endures.

This is where literature comes in. Both memoir and fiction can offer wisdom, moments of beauty, and -- corny as it sounds -- teach us how to be better people. But the memoir writer limits herself to her own experience, to what she knows. Writing what you know -- advice every beginning writer receives -- can be a great way to get started, but ultimately, I find it too limiting. I agree with John Gardner, who said you should write the kind of story you know best, in other words, write what you like to read. If you like to read realistic fiction about small Midwestern towns, and you happen to have grown up in one, then you might be able to do both. But what makes literature so rewarding is that it can take us to places we'd never otherwise go. Writers inhabit the country of the imagination - the nation of image, as poet William Higginson likes to say -- and one of imagination's greatest virtues is its unfaithfulness. Imagination rambles and roams.
It delights in transforming a single daffodil into a rose garden, in making a slightly irritating teacher into a miserable, tortured tyrant.

Exaggeration, embellishment, invention -- these are the things I love about writing fiction. If I want, I can imagine the trials of a tribe of hunted elephants in the African savanna (Barbara Gowdy's The White Bone) or inhabit the body of a hermaphrodite (Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex). I can tell all sorts of lies, be as unfaithful as I like to factual truths, as long as I'm faithful to a different sort of truth: the perennial emotional truths that permeate human experience, truths that bring us closer not necessarily to power, but to wisdom. These are the reasons I write fiction.

These, and the fact that I have a crappy memory.

Amy Hassinger

Author Amy Hassinger is a graduate of Barnard College and the Iowa Writers' Workshop. She is the author of The Priest's Madonna and Nina: Adolescence. She teaches in The University of Nebraska's MFA Program in Creative Writing and lives in Illinois with her husband and daughter.

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Next week: answers to some submitted questions. Do you have one?

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