A Turkey Day Miracle!

I just wanted to share a little Turkey Day miracle I experienced this year.

I recently took on a ghost writing project. Obviously, I’m not free to go into any detail about it, but I was basically hired to help on a manuscript that had stalled out during revisions.

The author and I had been batting big ideas back and forth for several weeks with the goal of generating an outline. It was slow going and frustrating for both of us as we brought our very different perspectives to the project. But the slog finally paid off. Only — as is often the case with revisions and miracles — this pay-off ended up looking nothing like I expected.

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I finally emailed an outline to the author. But that wasn’t the miracle. No. The miracle occurred on the other end of the exchange. It seems the author had, totally unbeknownst to me, been busy rewriting his entire manuscript while we were discussing and (as far as I could tell) butting heads over some pretty major elements of his story. Soon after I was hired, I had suggested an idea for a substantial change I felt would solidify the hero’s character arc and give the reader a better empathetic focal point. We had agreed to implement this change, but we couldn’t seem to come together on how. And, with the holiday season fast approaching, I was running out of time. In addition to all the normal Yule-time crap, I still work backstage on Ballet Austin’s Nutcracker. So I tend to get very busy with non-writer things in December.

But, like I said, the author I’m working for had been furiously revising in response to our discussions. And he had taken his story in a whole new direction that simplified and clarified and generally turned the whole thing around. I found the fruits of his labors waiting in my inbox on the morning after Thanksgiving.

Nitpicking can be a good thing

Here’s where we get into the miracle. Which is, simply put, that this writer had not only fixed a lot of the problems with his story, he also reminded me why I love to edit. And, more importantly, he showed me the incredible power an editor has. Even if an editor doesn’t “get you,” even if an editor seems to do nothing but nitpick and ask annoying questions, he or she can still help because all those questions and comments will force you to look at your work in a new way. And those questions and comments – no matter how far off base they may feel – should force you to think about why you’ve made those choices. Even better, your editor’s nagging will make you figure out ways to fight for what you decide is important. And they’ll make you clarify the $64,000 question of why you wrote the thing in the first place.

Which is exactly what happened during my Turkey Day Miracle. The moral? It’s simple: take the time and effort (and risk) to find qualified people to react to your work while you’re working on it. And listen to them, especially when you don’t agree with what they’re saying. You’ll almost always be glad you did.

Revising May Not Be As Much Fun…

I’ve started a closed Facebook group for a couple dozen folks. They have agreed to beta read the first half of my WIP, The Search for Stagehand Jesus. Here’s thelink. Some folks have started posting their feedback already, but most seem to be reading the whole chunk first. Or they’re like everyone else in the world and crazy-busy with their own lives. Otherwise I can’t understand why they haven’t dropped everything they care about to read part of my book. But seriously, I’m grateful for their support and optimistic about what could happen. Since I figure I can’t thank them enough, I’m doing it one more time here.

Also, anyone reading this post who’s curious about the group should feel free to observe from the outside. You can see the activity without joining. Or, if you’re interested in a more active role, ask me for an invite. I’ve got folks from all of my different worlds mixing together in there. If they really engage, it could be fun.

And knowing people want to read what I’m revising is a heck of a motivator. Unfortunately, it’s also a pretty effective paralyzer. Since I created the group, it feels like I stagger between these two states most of the time. But I’m making progress on my revisions. Slowly. As usual, I blame things like my having to write this blog when I don’t work on The Search for Stagehand Jesus, but I know better. It really just boils down to priorities.

When I prioritize my WIP, it gets my attention and effort. When I don’t, it doesn’t. It’s that simple (and frustrating, since this realization leaves only myself to blame when I let the work go undone).

My most recent distraction has been NaNoWriMo. I know lots of people who signed up to write the first draft of a novel this month, and I’m following their progress through Facebook posts. (When exactly did Zuckerberg take over the world?)

I was sorely tempted to sign up myself.

Because first drafts are such fun! Generative writing is magical: that feeling when the fingers fly over the keyboard (or the cramped hand scratches it out across an empty page) is what got me into writing as a kid. There are no mistakes or bad choices in first drafts: all the new ideas are exciting and the characters get to do what they want.

But I didn’t sign up for NaNoWriMo because I’m revising. I’m not generating a new story. And starting a new project would mean deprioritizing my current one. You know, like I always do. No. This time I’m pushing past the second draft and into the realm (hopefully) of a polished and marketable manuscript. I’m done adding to that file drawer of abandoned first drafts. My goal is to finish this round of revisions by the end of the year. That way I can be ready to feed it to my beta reader friends on Facebook. And maybe even start pitching it at the next Austin SCBWI Conference.

Happy Holidays indeed.

No Idea What to Write? Get Over It

It’s not new, but an idea repeatedly struck me at the recent Texas Book Festival while I manned the Yellow Bird booth with poet, novelist, and fellow avian editor, E. Kristin Anderson. This was my first time being the face of Yellow Bird to a general audience (i.e. not a bunch of writers at a conference). I talked to a lot of people who aren’t actually writers, at least not yet. Some had had some good experiences in a few creative writing classes somewhere along the way. Some had always kept journals that no one’s allowed to read. I easily recognized them from my own not too distant past when I, too, thought writing was all about having a good idea.

Well, I’m here to say you don’t need an idea to start writing. Take this post as an example. This morning I stood and stared at the coffee dripping into the pot, thinking about the book festival, and wondering if I could mine my experience for a blog post. I had nothing. It did eventually occurr to me I needed to clean my coffee pot in a pretty bad way. The coffee dripped until I took a cup. I went in and sat down in front of the screen repeating my mantra in my head:

You don’t need an idea to write. You don’t need an idea to write.

So I typed that. Over and over. It’s a technique I picked up from one of the impromptu writing exercises Kathi Appelt was generous enough to lead at the Writing Barn’s Full Novel Revision Week back in August. It’s based on the theory that your brain hates wasting time and energy and that it will come up with something for you to write about simply to stop you from typing all that nonsense.

Imagine my surprise when it dawned on me halfway down the page that I could write about not needing a good idea to get started writing and how that ties in with the people I talked to last weekend, not to mention some of the themes I’ve already been exploring in this blog, and my recent experience at the Writing Barn. Forgive the massive sentence, but I needed to convey the enormity of the connections my brain made in that flash.

All because I didn’t wait for some inspiration to descend from on high. I forced it.

Again, I know this isn’t a new idea. I certainly don’t mean to claim any ownership of it by writing about it here. I just hope maybe a couple of those people I spoke to at the book festival might read this. And maybe one of them will set their alarm a little early tomorrow, and get up and stare at the coffee pot until they can take a cup. Then they’ll go in and type nonsense until they start to write again.

College Football and Revising: Who Knew They Had So Much in Common

Before getting to the blogpost proper, I have an invitation: come visit me October 25th or 26th at the Texas Book Festival!

I’ll be hanging out with E. Kristin Anderson in the Yellow Bird booth. Okay, we’re only in half a booth because we’re sharing with The Writing Barn. But that’s even more reason to stop by. Between Yellow Bird’s editors and the always amazing programming at The Writing Barn, you can probably find a lot of the help you’re looking for to get your WIP whipped into shape. And, as always, we’ll have candy while supplies last, not to mention coupons good toward the cost of future editing.

And the Free Query Letter Raffle is back on!

But you have enter in person at the Texas Book Festival. So stop by Saturday or Sunday, the 25th or 26th(this month). Bring all your questions about freelance editing and get a little sugar fix while you explore the festival.

This concludes the announcement portion of the post.

(Please don’t stop reading.)

I am a fan of UT football. Especially this season. I can’t remember ever being more proud of my alma mater’s football team than I have been this fall.

No. Seriously.

But they suck this year, you may be saying. And with a 2-4 record, you’d arguably be right. Unless you look more closely.

When I watch the Longhorn football team I can’t help thinking of the ways talented but immature writers have to struggle with themselves. Watching Coach Strong doggedly implement his ‘don’t be a dick’ policy with his players, regardless of the short-term cost, reminds me of my own ongoing — sometimes rocky — development as a writer.

I couldn’t help empathizing with UT last Saturday when they beat OU in almost every way except the final score. Their opening drive was a perfect example of what I mean. They ended up moving the ball down the field despite repeated self-sabotage (in this case, multiple stupid penalties) and somehow still managed to put points on the board. They kept showing flashes of brilliance, only to undercut themselves each time. Then they gave up a touchdown on the ensuing kickoff. And that’s pretty much how it went the rest of the day: 1. Sprint Ahead, 2. Shoot Own Foot, 3. Repeat ad nauseum.

Like a writer clinging to a scene or image that’s brilliant but just doesn’t fit his story, this Longhorn team clings to its former — let’s just call it traditional — superstar athlete mindset. But like a good editor – come on, you knew I was headed there, it’s an editors’ blog – Coach Strong keeps pointing them in what he sees as the right direction, insisting on a level of self-discipline and commitment a lot of his players obviously struggle with.

UT’s new coach has fired a lot of talented young stars. But like an editor confronted with that brilliant but not quite right scene, he knows that sometimes you just have to make the ruthless cut. Push delete and keep focused on the big picture. Get through that first season as best you can and build your program from there. I just hope he gets a chance to finish his revisions.

Because, unlike an editor working with a writer, the whole world’s watching Charlie Strong and the Longhorns go through their rewrite process. That’s got to be rough.

Oh, and Hook ‘Em!

The Background Threat as Tension Builder

My last personal blog post played around with the idea of how I’ve grown to fear rain. This is becausewater has come into my house a couple of times in the past year during particularly heavy downpours. I only mention it because my recent drainage catastrophes have got me thinking about ways to establish and sustain tension in my WIP.

There are lots of tried and true ways of doing this. Most of which seem to be variations on the idea of putting some kind of countdown or deadline into the story: if the hero doesn’t complete his or her task within a certain window of opportunity, all is lost. The countdown is a great device, which is no doubt why it’s used so frequently across all genres. But I want to talk about another, perhaps more difficult tension building strategy, namely The Constant Low-Level, or Background, Threat.

I just finished Shana Burg’s A Thousand Never Evers which employs this latter type of tension building method. In it, the hero, a southern black pre-teen living in rural Mississippi in 1963, is forced to adapt to the growing racist reaction against the Civil Rights Movement. This threat sometimes seems to lessen, but it never goes away. And, most importantly, the white violence against her and her family escalates throughout the story, usually in a direct reaction to the choices the hero makes. Burg’s setting turns out to be her story’s greatest source of tension. It’s both elegant and compelling.

Which brings me back to my recent experiences with the flash flooding Central Texas is so famous for. If my household travails were a story, the opening scene (aka inciting event) would be me and my shovel last October ignorantly piling some dirt around the foundation at the back of my house where erosion has taken its toll. I’d probably have my “me” character look up at the threatening sky a couple of times as I unwittingly clogged the drain that allowed the rainwater to run off my patio.

From there I could go on to show that first night the water came in. Our frantic but futile reactions both inside and out. Our tearing out of the floor and the baseboards the next day. Me reinstalling them. Only to do it all over again nine months later.

After that I’d show my partner sewing the long thin sandbags we now deploy around the back of our house. And me digging and piling dirt in various configurations, mixed in with the increasingly brittle conversations we continue to have about the efficacy of my experiments in hydrodynamics. The mid-point of my tale would be a scene of the two of us watching the rain through our sliding glass door. Then, because I write fiction, I’d have the couple’s relationship begin to crumble under the stress of it all.

And that’s my point. Good low level, ever present threats in stories usually start off as just a vaguely menacing part of the setting. Like the sleeping dragon in The Hobbit, or the white racists in A Thousand Never Evers, it’s just a fact of the hero’s life. And it will probably remain a distant, passive threat so long as the hero doesn’t pick up her metaphorical stick and poke it in its eye. Of course, then it wouldn’t be much of a story.