Congrats to our Query Letter raffle winner!

We had a blast this year at the annual Writers’ League of Texas Agents Conference, where the Yellow Bird table had a ton of traffic. It was incredibly inspiring to meet so many talented (and, more importantly, dedicated) writers who are committed to their craft and community. Thanks to all who dropped by the table to say hello!

And now, without further ado, we’ll announce the winner of the Yellow Bird Query Letter raffle. A hearty congratulations to Brenda Mann of Houston, TX! We’ll be reaching out to Brenda this week to write her a top-notch query letter to send off to the wonderful agents she met at the conference.

Happy writing, everyone!

The Outline is Your Novel’s Life Preserver

I wrote the ending of my WIP the other day. I finished the first draft of what will one day be a YA fantasy novel. It came in at about 57,000 words. After bragging on social media, I enjoyed the congratulatory comments and counted the ‘likes’ on Facebook while I finished the storm drain around the back of the house. It was a good day.

I met Joe O’Connell my first semester of grad school at St Ed’s. Joe teaches a great class with a modifiedNaNoWriMo format. It’s simple: if you do all the reading and exercises and take part in class, you get an ‘A.’ Oh, you also have to finish a 40,000 word novella rough draft. You know, while carrying the rest of that semester’s workload and, if you’re like me, holding down a job.

Early on, Joe insisted we make outlines. He didn’t insist we follow them, necessarily. He just wanted to make sure we had some kind of life preserver for when we found ourselves adrift in the middle of our stories.

Like many in the class, I scoffed. Obviously my teacher, despite having made his living as a writer for quite some time, was some sort of lesser being if he needed an outline. I bristled at the idea of hobbling my genius with anything as a base as forethought. But I also wanted an ‘A,’ so I half-assed something together.

Then I pretty much ignored that plan until the moment came, right smack-dab in the middle of my MS, when I found myself completely and utterly lost. Hmmm, I thought, maybe Joe was onto something with his zany theories. Desperate to get drafting again, I dug out my crappy outline. What I found there had little to do with what I had since written. But it did save me by reminding me of all my original, misplaced intentions.

I made it to the end and earned my ‘A.’ There was much rejoicing.

Then I read the thing.

Oh well.

At least I learned a lot about the process.

But that’s the past.

Last year I wrote a two part post on Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat. At that point, I was using Snyder’s three act structure manual as a map to create an outline for the draft I recently finished. (Snyder’s method can be applied to any writing genre, not just commercial films.)

Unlike during my grad school experience, I forced myself to make a strong outline that hit all the emotional beats my hero needed to hit. And I stuck to my plan. Don’t get me wrong, many of the specifics scenes I put into my outline didn’t make it to the page. But all the major points in my hero’s emotional arc landed where they needed to.

Pacing and plotting have always been my weaknesses. But keeping to my outline – and updating it as the storyline morphed – forced me to stay on emotional track even as the details of my story changed. It kept my plot rooted in my hero’s desires. And that translated into my most tightly paced and emotionally compelling work to date.

At least I hope it did. I’m forcing myself to wait as long as possible before reading it.

Then I’ll start making an outline for the second draft.

#FearOfTwitter

Twitter has made me into a cyber Jekyll and Hyde. And, like Stevenson‘s character(s), I really only have my own self to blame. On the one hand I love the idea of tweeting about the random occurrences and/or minor (hopefully one day major) accomplishments that make up my life. To paraphrase Tom Bodett, I am often my own favorite writing topic. But, on the other hand, I have this visceral aversion to what feels like airing my laundry in public. Even when it’s relatively clean. Like many writers I am both shy and desperate for attention. Like Jekyll and Hyde, I am a man divided by my own deepest yearnings.

As a writer and editor who would like to eventually stop being a stagehand, I know it helps my novel selling chances to at least have the foundations of an online platform already in place. I’ve even overcome my Luddite leanings enough to embrace Facebook, which I’ve come to enjoy.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same thing about Twitter, which I suck at. I opened a Twitter account (@bpwilsonlit) a while ago but haven’t really done much with it. It’s not that I actively avoid tweeting or reading my feed; it’s just that I tend to forget about its existence. So most of my days go by without a single tweet or retweet or favorite from me. Worse, when I do end up tweeting it’s only ever to promote a blog post or book review. In other words I break one of the fundamental rules of social media by only interacting with my Twitter followers when I want something from them.

Starting today I am resolved to change that. I am going to force myself to tweet at least once a day about something that has nothing to do with my writing/editing career. Right now that probably means I’ll be tweeting pictures of my ongoing front yard terraforming project (#CompletedStoneSteps). If you’re more internet savvy than me you’re probably thinking I might be better off with a Pinterest orInstagram account since I like to share pictures. And you’d be right, except I’m already on Twitter. So cleaning up the mess I’ve made there seems like a better use of my time. Besides, I feel that my demonstrated social media ineptitude dictates a slow online expansion. Let me get me my ‘Twitter legs’ first, then I’ll move on to whatever’s no longer the hot new social media trend.

How’s that for a sales pitch? Irresistibly pathetic? Then feel free to follow me @bpwilsonlit.

Curiosity as Networking Strategy

Networking. If you’re like me, you hate the word, possibly even fear it. If you’re like me, you can’t help but feel a little skeevy when you try to do it. If you’re like me, you’re looking at networking all wrong.

I can say this with the utmost confidence because I am an expert. I have spent the last several years sucking at the art of working a room. You may have seen me at a recent Austin SCBWI or Writers’ League event, not that you’d recall. You were probably paying attention to one of the many Central Texas writers and illustrators who don’t suck at networking.

Believe me, I was too. Which is why you’d think I’d have realized something sooner: I underwhelm because I have been going into potential networking situations only thinking about what I want. Of course I feel manipulative when I try to connect with a new person on those terms.

Unfortunately (for me, anyway), I’ve started to withdraw from networking situations. Instead of enjoying getting to know all of the interesting people I see at writer conclaves, I hang back. Worse, I’ve started to sneak out early or find a reason not to attend at all.

But I’ve got a feeling that’s about to change.

A recent confluence of events has convinced me to try and alter my wildly unsuccessful networking model. First, I read a great article on networking in the Poets & Writers March/April issue. P&W contributor Brian Gresko not only did a nice job of delving into why so many writers consider networking “icky,” he helped me start to reframe my entire view of it. Read the article, aptly titled “The Art of Networking: How to Get What You Need Without Selling Your Soul,” for yourself. You’ll see how he likens networking to the regular day-to-day interactions of coworkers. His basic point is that writers rely upon the good will and support of their fellow lit professionals just like any other group of colleagues. Just because we don’t share a physical work space, doesn’t mean we don’t need each other to succeed.

The second serendipitous event grew out of Gresko’s article when I mentioned it to my partner.

She’s not a writer, but she makes her living freelancing in several fields. And she’s great at networking. We talked about why.

Basically it’s because she goes into those hotel meeting rooms (or restaurants, or bars, or wherever) with curiosity as her agenda. Instead of entering the conversation with her needs hanging like a conference badge around her neck, she asks questions to get people talking about the things that interest them. She doesn’t worry if they go ‘off topic.’ At the very least, she and her new acquaintance part with pleasant impressions of one another. No pressure, just a friendly conversation.

Often though, my partner’s curiosity will highlight an opportunity to help that person in some small way. Maybe she knows someone her new acquaintance wants to meet. Or maybe it’s as simple as recommending a good off-the-beaten-path barbecue joint. Whatever. If she can find a way to do some little, unsolicited favor for her new connection then she’s started a relationship with them. And that’s the whole point of networking, right?

Speaking from my own awkward experiences, I see now that my few good networking interactions have occurred when I accidentally followed my partner’s example.

Which is why I am resolved to do it on purpose next time.

So look out if you’re going to the upcoming Writers’ League of Texas conference, I just might ask you what you’re working on.

Avoiding Tension Drains

Graph from www.yahighway.com

Why is raising the stakes of my WIP so hard to do? I have no problem recognizing low stakes choices when other writer’s make them. Ask anybody I edit for; I bet they’ll all say they’re sick of hearing me nag about getting to the conflict as quickly as possible.

So why do I have such trouble applying this to my writing? It finally dawned on me after more years than I care to admit that I’ve been going to ridiculous lengths to avoid even the lightest whiff of peril for my beloved heroes. Sometimes I’d pen entire chapters without ever endangering, much less challenging the protagonist. Even when I made outlines, mapping out each crisis in advance, I still filled my stories with easy (a.k.a. boring) solutions.

I fooled myself into thinking that if the writing was coming easily it must be good. I thought experiencing that autopilot feeling was desirable. I was so very wrong. All I was doing when I found myself in the ‘zone’ was letting my hero relax his way back onto the path of least resistance. Which is why my stories always ended up in the land that tension forgot.

But no more!

Now I stop anytime I find myself cruising along, fingers flying, and easily following my characters across the page. I force myself to take the time, right then, to honestly assess my work. And almost without fail, I find that new scene that just flowed so easily lacks conflict.

A corollary lesson I continue to teach myself is how to recognize what I call tension drains. These are those conflict-lacking scenes that act as holes for all the tension to drain out of my story. For example, one of my favorite tension drains is the mealtime scene. This one’s been tough for me to give up. I can really sink my teeth into writing a dinner conversation (stupid pun intended). Unfortunately, that usually means I go for pages without anything actually happening. It really is amazing all the tables in my stories haven’t collapsed under the weight of all the exposition I’ve laden them with.

But I’m getting better at catching myself before I waste all that time and effort writing all those boring scenes. Instead of sitting my hero down at a table to talk, I try to get him to make a poor choice, the stupider the better.

Grounding the conflict in the hero’s decisions, making stuff his or her fault, raises the stakes in a satisfying and organic way that keeps the plot believable and inevitable. A lot of times it also has the benefit of taking the story in a completely unexpected, moreinteresting direction. That’s why it’s the best way to raise a story’s stakes.

But sometimes it just doesn’t work out where I can make the hero his own worst enemy. Last time I ran into such a situation (My characters were in a car for a protracted road trip.) I had the cops shoot out my hero’s back tire. That jammed him up good and it also helped me establish my world a little better. Since the cops were already on his tail the bullet out of the blue didn’t come off as contrived. Most importantly, it added tension; it upped the stakes. And that’s really the bottom line in a rough draft.

I have one final point about tension drains: not only is reading a high stakes story more entertaining, it’s a lot more fun to write, as well.