A Further Definition of Voice in Writing
I wrote a piece on the meaning of voice well over a year ago that has been one of
the most widely accessed of my articles on the Internet. But I was never pleased with
the content, and I want to try to do a better job of explaining my position on the topic.
Everyone Seems to Have a Different Definition for Voice in Writing
Much of the confusion seems to come from the way critics often extol the virtues of a newly published author. We’ll read something like, “John Doe, a striking new voice on the scene,” or “Mary Jones, the richest and most vibrant voice to hit commercial fiction in a
long time.” Nice words indeed, but do they really say anything about what this voice is?
Voice Is Each Writer
I stated in my earlier article that voice is “you,” and I firmly believe this. If someone
is told he or she displays a striking voice, I’d like to think there is something genuinely scintillating about that writer’s particular style. Likewise, if someone is claimed to possess
a rich and vibrant voice, I’d expect to read a work with well-developed characters and expansive characterizations. But there is no way to be certain this will be the case, since
the term “voice” is anything but definitive.
A Voice Can Be Something Specific
My least favorite phrase is when someone says a writer has a strong voice. Why not
just state that the author’s prose is intelligently written? Or that the content will make the reader think? Or that the plot is complex with well-conceived threads that are explained in an exciting and realistic manner at the work’s conclusion?
Voice Is Genuinely Often Quite Distinctive
Perhaps one of the ways to illustrate voice is to look at four of the most famous American writers of all time: Faulkner, Steinbeck, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald.
Faulkner is known for intricate sentence structure that he utilized to present extraordinary characterizations; Steinbeck wrote in an easier-to-read style, but with
a comparable depth to his storylines; Hemingway on the other hand crafted brilliant characterizations via a terse, sharp style that required perfect word selection; while Fitzgerald infused his narratives with characterizations so rich with imagery that they created a mood for the entirety of his stories–which the reader could feel on each page. Each of these writers achieved a like result, but with unique, unmistakable voices
predicated on the mastery of a particular writing technique.
While It Can Indeed Be Difficult to Define, Voice Is Always Present
Voice is whatever any of us want to make it. It is a word that has few limits, since it
can describe quintessential material just as well as something quite pedestrian. Yet owning
a voice to be complimented is what all writers should strive for, regardless of how feeble
the attempt might be to explain exactly what was recognized for its excellence.
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I recently read the unpublished draft of a manuscript that reminded me of something which hadn’t come up in some time. And this was the problem with material written in a passive voice. It’s easy to assume this is simple to understand via the well-touted converse implications of “The piano was being played by Mary” and “Mary was playing the piano,” but it’s often difficult for some writers to fully comprehend the unintended baggage passive voice brings with it.
Past Tense Shouldn’t be Confused with Passive Voice
As everyone knows, “John walks in the park” is present tense in an obvious active voice. We all learned in grammar school that “John walked in the park” is past tense, and also in an active voice. And that “John was walking in the park” is past progressive tense, but again in an active voice. We were also taught that “John has walked in the park” is present perfect tense in an active voice, and “John had walked in the park” is past perfect active tense. For anyone who has an understanding of the rudiments of English, this is about as basic as it gets, so what’s the problem?
Passive Voice Creates a Different Meaning
The “be’s and the “been’s” seem to creep into some amateur writing with ever-increasing frequency. Phrases tend to crop up like, “John had been walking through the park, then he spied Ellen strolling down the sidewalk.” The sentence would be fine, except it indicates that John was doing his walking in the past, and this is likely not what the author wanted to convey. Meaning, was the intent to imply that John had taken his walk a few hours earlier, or a day earlier, or a week earlier, then at this very moment saw Ellen strolling? Or is the author’s contention that John was in the process of walking and observed Ellen? Of course it was the latter, yet expressed as the former.
An Effective Fix that is Not Always a Simple One
One way to avoid passive voice is to find substitutions for “had” and “have.” It’s not always easy, and all-action verb writing can become overwhelming and annoying to the reader, but judicious alternatives for “had” and “have” will provide a summary remedy. A mess like “Loud rain had been falling on the roof” could be converted to “Rain pummeled the roof.” In the second phrase, the decibel level is obvious by the word “pummeled,” and the single-word verb, while taking the place of the three-word “had been falling,” conveniently places this scene in an active voice.
What about Too Many “Was’s” in a Perfectly Good Sentence?
This sentence is a no-brainer: While John was walking through the park, he was thinking about what was bothering him of late. The last “was” of course could be changed to “had been.” But this next sentence poses a not so easy fix: John was walking through the park, worried about what was happening in his life, and he was particularly concerned about what was occurring with his marriage. Even though everything is active in John’s mind, would not a “had been” help the flow by placing this in front of “happening.”
Let Your Ear Guide You, but Stick to Active Voice as Much as Possible
So while there are times when it’s advisable to interject a passive element, let this be predicated in large measure by how the sentence sounds when it’s read out loud. Just keep in mind that it’s far and away best to write in an active voice whenever possible.
For many years I’ve facilitated creative writing workshops in either public or private settings. These programs attract participants from 10 to 90 years of age who are from
a wide variety of economic, educational, and cultural backgrounds. My workshops have always been structured, and by this I mean I follow a syllabus. And in all the years I’ve facilitated developmental, intermediate, and advanced creative writing workshops, I have never allowed the reading of individual work unless it was directly related to a group assignment. As this article moves along I’ll explain why. But first some more setup.
At the Early Stages, It’s Definitely Important to Create Confidence
I think it’s fair to state that the vast majority of unpublished writers at every level need reinforcement. For this reason, a group of friendly folks sitting around a table and providing encouraging words is a good if not noble idea. But once a writer’s confidence-quota is reached, this budding author in my opinion would be better off taking courses at a college, such as a refresher in English 101, or English Lit 201, or Composition 301. I suggest supplementing this course-work by reading books on writing by experts such as Jacques Barzun, William Zinsser, and Theodore Bernstein, along with material that pertains to the respective genre in which the person is writing–and leave the critique groups to other amateurs.
In My Opinion, Amateurs Critiquing Other Amateurs is a Waste of Time
And this isn’t just my opinion. Every A-grade agent, editor, submissions editor, and publisher I know says the same thing. And many don’t just say it, they yell it. I offer this: Would a person with chest pains sit around and discuss his or her condition with a group of friends who all have experienced a heart attack–rather than immediately rush to a doctor? The answer is so obvious it makes the question absurd, yet these heart-attack victims are more capable of diagnosing their friend’s illness than amateurs who give advice to other writers via critique groups. Please think carefully about what I just wrote before considering me a snit for offering this analogy.
Again, I Support Critique Groups, but at the Early Stages of Writing Only
A few years ago, at my request, one of my workshop participants who holds a Ph.D. in English took over an established critique-group at the library where I was conducting my programs, and reading and critiquing individual material was a component of this person’s format. I never would have asked this individual to mentor the sessions if I didn’t feel it would be of value to her CV and to aspiring writers with respect to the confidence they would gain. Still, I’ve found critique groups to be a springboard at best, and I feel it’s important to sever the cord as soon as possible.
There is an Exception
If a critique group is led by someone who is involved with the major royalty publishing industry as a published author, working editor, or established agent, this changes the playing field. Then the group will likely receive competent advice. Yet even in this sort of setting, individual critiquing by the members of the group, other than passing comments,
in my opinion is not advisable or desirable for the reasons I’ve already mentioned. Let professionals do what they’re trained to do and apply their advice–while respecting the opinions of amateurs but regarding it for what it is.
Something Else to be Aware of
Another issue to consider is that just because someone is published, this doesn’t automatically mean the person would be a good editor. On the opposite side of the coin,
a quality editor, while possessing developmental ability and/or line editing skills, might not be a particularly good creative writer. This representation applies to all fields. Some highly regarded law professors are not the most adept attorneys in the courtroom or for certain sorts of trials. Not in any way excusing Mike Tyson’s actions, but ask him if he’d hire Alan Dershowitz again. Here was an example of a great legal mind in my opinion not being the right fit for a specific type of case and jury, the same as an editor who might not match up well with a particular manuscript or writer.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
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Never is it truer that the human mind works in strange ways than when an author finds his or her draft littered with the same words or phrases. What makes this particularly galling is that proficient writers strive not to do this, yet quite often are unable to prevent syntax which is redundant–or reads as repetitive–from appearing on a page.
Words That Stand Out–Unfortunately
Oddly, it’s the words that are most ordinary which can often cause the most grief.
Words such as “because” or “become,” should they be placed in consecutive sentences or paragraphs (even lengthy ones), can stick in the reader’s mind as redundant. Along this line of commonality, too many “was’s” can gum up an otherwise good run of narrative. Word repetition can be as hard on the reader as the excessive use of specialty punctuation such as the semi-colon or the exclamation point.
Some More of The Usual Suspects
Another chronic problem is the word “would,” since the options for a suitable substitute generally are limited to “should” and “could,” at best. Perhaps the greatest difficulty of all is what to use after the first “but.” “However,” “yet,” and even “except,” can often serve in a pinch, but–well, you see the problem.
The Fix for Overuse of the Conjunction “But”
The best way to remedy repeating the conjunction “but” is to begin a new sentence as if it were an extended thought and not a contrary view. Example: John saw Mary in the park, but didn’t like the guy she was with, so he kept walking. Rewrite as: John saw Mary in the park. He didn’t like the guy she was with, so he kept walking.
Select Alternates for Prepositions
“Afterwards” can become “later,” just as “under” can often be modified to read “below” and not deprecate the writer’s intent. And while we are trained to use one word to take the place of many, it’s sometimes prudent to write “at this time” instead of a redundant “now.” Even a “presently” might need to be inserted instead of “now” to prevent duplication.
Homonyms are Just as Bad as Repeating Words
I recently read a draft with the following phrase: The weather was going to determine whether or not they would be going out. This is an easy sentence to repair by substituting “if” for “whether,” and dropping the “or not.” But it’s not always simple to spot a problem. In this following sentence, the syntax might be ignored: Every fall, John would haul wood in his wheelbarrow. And even something more blatant might be missed, such as: It was too much to bear, and I barely got the words out.
Both Complicated or Sophisticated Words Must be Watched
When a writer uses words such as “conflagration” or “beatification,” these can only be placed in a novel once. And I don’t even like to see them in multiple novels by the same author. The latter comment might seem a stretch, but when an author develops an unintended tic, this isn’t good, since it makes the writing stale in the eyes of the loyal reader.
Phrases, Especially Clever One’s, Cannot be Used Again
A slick phrase will stay with the reader, and the ability to craft this sort of rhetoric is often why people lean toward certain authors. But it’s important to keep in mind that the inherent nature of a unique rift of narrative is what will be remembered. A phrase like the following, including the adjective predicate by itself, can only be written one time: His face contorted, as if the result of an unpleasant musical note of his own making. One contorted face per book, please, regardless of how it got that way,
But What if there are Only so Many Ways Something can be Written?
When I’m writing a police thriller, I often run into a problem with the word “policeman.” After perhaps following it with “cop,” and later “officer,” then “patrolman” (if it fits), I’m forced to return to the first noun. There are indeed times when there are only so many options to identify a person by name or profession and still be accurate. In the “policeman” example, if the person’s last name is Jones, creating Patrolman Jones, Officer Jones, or offering just plain Jones to the mix in a long scene may still not be enough, and there will be no choice but to repeat a handle.
Yet when it’s deemed necessary to restate a name in the same sentence, this should be an extremely rare occurrence and every attempt should be made to write around this sort of thing. And it’s important to keep in mind that no matter how problematic the text might read when certain words continue to reappear, redundant phrases can leave a much more negative impression of the narrative.
Many Agents Do Not Accept Unsolicited Manuscripts
In the fiction area of the book-agenting arena, other than some agents/agencies now requesting or requiring submissions via E-mail, the rules for presenting preliminary material have not changed appreciably in the past 15 to 20 years. What has changed is the number of agents who no longer accept unsolicited material or work that has not been referred by someone with whom that agent has a business relationship, such as a respected colleague, writer, or editor.
To Succeed in Finding an Agent, Create and Follow a Plan
But while the submission guidelines are still relatively unchanged depending on
the agent: one-page query; query with five pages; query, synopsis, five pages; query, synopsis, first three chapters, etc., breaking through is more difficult than every. A writer can save a great deal of aggravation, time, and expense by creating and following a plan that enables the potential for agent review to be in the author’s favor from the outset.
Identify the Sub-Genre in which your Manuscript is Written
First, it is critical for a writer to recognize in which sub-genre his/her work fits. For example, depending on who you talk to, there are now more than two dozen subsets in
the Suspense category, alone. Source agents who have found publishers for works in sub-genres the same as that in which your manuscript is written. The AAR web site is a great place to start, and another excellent free site is agentquery.com.
Query the Agents who Represent Authors your Style Emulates
Another option, if your story is written in the style of a well-known author, is to check the Acknowledgments page of a book by that writer, for his or her agent. Query this agent–even if the person professes not to accept unsolicited material. The worst that can happen is a rejection. But you could receive a request to see a portion of your novel, and there is a solid reason why:
Agents work in Genres in which they are Successful
People are generally most comfortable with what they know. Agents are no different. Familiarity, in this instance, is most often an asset and not a liability. Agents want books they feel they can sell, and will gravitate toward genres in which they have positive history.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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I’m getting the question about too much description more and more of late. Writers become concerned about material that for them comes across as overwritten, and they want to know if there are guidelines which can be applied to determine a reader’s tolerance.
Why We Dislike a Book Isn’t Always Easy to Pinpoint
Whenever I think of material that is rich in detail, Jody Picoult and Tom Clancy come to mind. And those who have read my articles for any period to time are aware of how often
I cite both of these writers, since I consider each to be a true artisan at the craft of writing fluent prose.
Yet, I’ve read many rebukes of these authors from readers and critics who find their respective style of writing to be everything from laborious to just plain boring. When readers make these sorts of remarks, I always wonder how invested were they in the
work to begin with? I’m going to guess, not very.
I Believe It Comes Down to Timing as Much as Anything
It’s not unheard of to be pleased with a work later in life that wasn’t enjoyable the first time around. I remember hating HAMLET in high school but loving it in college. The same with THE SCARLET LETTER. I despised it in junior high but liked it immensely when I read it as an adult.
When we read a story can have as much bearing on our feelings for the material as any other factor. Some readers will have a much greater appreciation for a quite detailed story when they also have the time to take in the width and breadth of what was written. Perhaps this sounds absurd because it’s such a basic premise, but I think it has merit.
The Attention Span of the Reader Is Important to Match to the Narrative
I can’t imagine anyone in a hurry wanting to read a Tom Clancy novel, any more than the same individual would be interested in breezing through CRIME AND PUNISHMENT or WINDS OF WAR. Those books take time to get through, and a reader should know this going in. The same with works by Jody Picoult or Tom Clancy. If someone wants a quick read, in my opinion these aren’t the authors to select. And once into the opening chapter of a book, with rare exception, it doesn’t take a large amount of reading to know what to expect the rest of the way.
But What If There Is Just too Much of a Good Thing?
How far into the capillaries should Ms. Picoult or Mr. Clancy be allowed to take us? No doubt, there is a point when enough is enough. But when we’re sufficiently wrapped up in a storyline, do we really care? Or, better yet, do we even think about it? It again gets down to how engaging we’ve found the story to be. If we are enamored with the material, we can’t get enough of it; if not, anything beyond the basics is aggravating.
One Person’s Manna Could Be Another’s Poison
Many readers might live and breathe Jody Picoult’s depth, yet others might hate every line of it. I’ve been to book signings at which one person in the audience asks if the author would consider writing more fabric into his characters’ backgrounds. But a half-hour earlier, someone else had buttonholed me in the parking lot to lament how irritating she’d found the same author’s writing–because he provided way too much detail about his characters (yes,
I too wondered why she came to the signing).
What Does All of This Prove?
Probably not much. However, I’ve learned a quick way to fix the problem when a story becomes bogged down with minutia. By ignoring the exposition, including the interior monologue, and reading just the dialogue, I can sidestep the superfluous text while still keeping the plot in focus. In very few instances have I had to go back to the exposition to check for “missing” information. So when you’ve had enough of Brenda’s pining for Flynn or Agent W’s bomb-disabling technique approaching the one-hour mark, try moving on to just the dialogue. You might be surprised at how well this works.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
New Free Service for Serious Writers! The Perfect Write® is now providing a Free Manuscript Opening-Chapter Critique and Line Edit. Paste the first chapter of your manuscript (up to 5000 words) to theperfectwrite@aol.com (no attachments). In addition to the critique, The Perfect Write® will line edit, if applicable, up to the first three-pages of your double-spaced material also at no charge.
Also Free! Receive The Perfect Write® Newsletters that feature articles on writing at a publishable level. Click here http://www.theperfectwrite.com and scroll to the bottom of The Perfect Write® Home Page for the simple two-step sign-up box.
A great deal is written about the importance of a strong opening for a novel, and especially if a fantastic hook can be created in the first paragraph or two. And much effort
is devoted to the significance of a terrific title. But little time is spent discussing a brilliant ending. Yet doesn’t a powerful finish to a story deserve equal shrift with the aforementioned heavyweights? There are several options and techniques that respected writers have utilized to leave the reader with a lasting impression of a work.
The Poignant Ending is Example Number One
Some years ago I was discussing powerful endings for novels with a long-time mentor and friend of mine, Noel King, who I’m sad to note has recently passed away. My erudite friend mentioned that he’d never found anything more dramatic than the ending of A FAREWELL TO ARMS, in which the lieutenant must leave his wife’s body as it lay in a
hospital bed after she hemorrhaged to death, also losing their unborn child in the process. Hemingway wrote: It was like saying good-by to a statue. I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.
I might also offer the ending in THE FIXER as an example of an incredibly powerful finish: Some, as the carriage clattered by and they glimpsed the fixer, were openly weeping, wringing their hands. One thinly bearded man clawed his face. One or two waved at Yakov. Some shouted his name. In THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, I have never forgotten Hugo’s line describing Quasimodo’s remains when they were touched: When an attempt was made to loosen him from the skeleton which he clasped, he crumbled into dust. And I still recall my grief at the ending of Kipling’s THE LIGHT THAT FAILED: Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick’s body in his arms.
Love Conquering All Seems to be a Certain Path to Success
At the opposite extreme is the Shakespearean approach to his comedies, in which
love conquering all is the overriding theme. A Romance writer almost always provides a satisfying ending when the heroine gets her man. Or on occasion vice versa. Along these same lines, a writer of commercial fiction can be relatively comfortable if he or she can craft a story that fulfills the reader’s aspirations for the protagonist, regardless of the trials and tribulations along the way.
An Open Thread is Often a Great Mechanism to Close a Novel
If we think about some of our most widely read contemporary authors, the opportunity at the end of a story to provide the hint for a sequel is never overlooked. James Patterson does this as well as anyone, and a good reason why so many people come back for more of his material. (He has 31 #1 New York Times bestsellers as of this article, which is a record, and not bad for someone who many in the literati deem to be a poor writer.) Thomas Harris did a spectacular job with open threads in the Hannibal series, especially the ones that involved Lector always eluding the FBI at the end. Libraries are full of stories that begat stories, some of which were flagrantly presaged in the endings of their predecessors. Handled with care, this is a terrific way to close a novel, but it requires skill so the reader doesn’t feel shortchanged.
Which Brings us to the Denouement
Here is arguably the most common but quite often most difficult type of ending for a lot of writers to pull off well. I often judge the skill of the writer, and hence the quality of the story, by how much the author has to explain at the end for the reader. In some cases, a detailed denouement is indeed necessary to provide the reader with a fuller understanding of some of the less significant but nonetheless still important plot elements. But if handled poorly, a lengthy, multi-leveled denouement can be a sign of either lazy writing–or a self-exposition of the limitations of the author.
Select a Closing that Will Make the Reader Remember Your Story
The ability to create a memorable closing brings me to GONE WITH THE WIND, and Scarlett saying: “…after all, tomorrow is another day.” Here is a book of over 300,000
words that is filled with rich characters and grand characterizations, yet if I asked 100 people who read the book at any time in their respective lives to recite the last line, the majority would be able to do so, or at least come close.
Give the Same Effort to the Ending as to the Opening
The ability to hook the reader at the earliest possible stage of the narrative is an integral component of any novelist’s thought process. Experienced writers are always considering ways to motivate people to read their next book. There is no better method than by providing a satisfying ending to their current work, regardless of the technique that is used. And I’m convinced that notable writers spend as much time on their endings as they do on their openings. It only makes sense.
Nothing is more critical than the first few lines of a story, since this will often influence whether or not a reader will continue with a work. And a great opening is never more important than for both the budding author who is trying to acquire an agent or publisher and the non-established writer who is desiring to expand an audience.
Writer’s like Dickens and Woolf Provide a Lofty Pedestal
It would be wonderful if lines like “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” or “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself,” were on the forefront of our thinking when we first sat down at a keyboard. The reality, however, is that this is not how it plays out for most of us mere mortals. But there are ways to attract a reader without having to conjure up the catch phrase of the century.
Think Along the Lines of Larry McMurtry
Larry McMurtry opened A DEAD MAN’S WALK by telling the reader about a naked 200 lb. prostitute, nicknamed The Great Western, walking down the street while carrying a snapping turtle. If into westerns, who wouldn’t want to find out why this woman was involved with this seemingly inane activity? The same as a feminist would be immediately taken by Clarissa Dalloway’s opening salvo.
But What if it Requires Time to Set up the Introduction to the Story?
This is when it gets sticky. Yet not impossible to remedy. A suggestion is to find the single most prominent element of the entirety of the opening and maneuver this to the top of the first page, and then write from that point forward. This might seem difficult, if not impossible, but with a little practice it can be done.
A good exercise is to write a page on a random topic–not considered previously–then locate the most significant facet of the text and place this as the lead sentence. Now rewrite the page with the narrative following this new opening. It might not be a bad idea to do this several times, each with a new topic, and then apply this technique to your novel’s opening.
The Opening Requires the Same Effort as the Book’s Title
It is prudent to apply the same effort for the opening as was expended to come up with the title for the work. Often, however, much more time is spent on determining the title. If this should happen to be the case (from the perspective of the amount of time spent on each), it could be suggested to reverse the process. A solid opening, whether it be a single paragraph or several, will eliminate the need to try to create one-line intro’s like “Who is John Galt?” or “They call me Ishmael,” which only happen on the rarest of occasions by even literature’s most esteemed writers.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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Everyone is exposed to the common bugbears in English in grammar school, then as
we become more educated we learn that the rules aren’t universal, nor are they applied uniformly. This article deals with some elements of our language that seem to have become more confused over time.
“Less” and “Fewer” Lead the Pack
Let’s start with “less” and “fewer.” We all know that lesser is used for things that can’t
be counted and fewer for things that can be quantified. And everyone has read the rebukes leveled at supermarkets when the sign for the express checkout line reads “ten items or less” but should read “ten items or fewer.” After all, counting ten items certainly means the number can be quantified. But what about writing a comment in 50 words or fewer? Has anyone ever seen that? Both 10 items or less and 50 words or less are idioms that are overlooked because they are used so often that even some experts accept them. Now it’s all clear, right? Maybe not. Use less with plural nouns that refer to time and money, but not people: Less than 100 years ago, less than one hundred dollars; but, fewer than 50 people. Now how easy are less and fewer?
“Among” and “Between”
These words seem quite simple to apply correctly. “Among” is used with three or more
of something, while “between” implies an occurrence that involves two. A snap, right? However, when something can be physically divided, this also requires “between.” Hence, the turkey was divided between our family, relatives, and neighbors. And “between” is also used when there is a commonality of entities, such as, “The negotiations took place between Russia, China, and Japan.” Yuck, this was supposed to be a breeze.
How About “If I Were” or “If I Was?”
During my youth, I remember thinking that when “if” introduced material, it always required “were.” (“Were” is referred to as the subjunctive mood of the verb by grammarians.) But then I learned, when “if” applies to something that’s not contrary to
fact or hypothetical, “was” is correct.. (“Was” is referred as the indicative mood.) Here are examples of each: 1) If I were a bird, I’d fly to Chicago. Subjunctive mood “were.” 2) If I was able to make that flight, I wouldn’t be talking to you on the phone right now. Indicative mood “was.”
I’ve noticed some well-regarded writers foul up the use of “if,” and many educators are lobbying to do away with the subjunctive mood altogether. But while it’s still with us, careful writers will have to address it accordingly and pay attention to its nuances.
“Series” Can be Singular, and “Blonde” Is Never an Adjective
The word “series” is singular when used as in these first two examples: “The hit series
is set to open in September.” “That series of events is bothering everyone I know. But, “several series of events are about to take place,” is correct because there is more than one series as determined by the adjective. “Blond” is used for all males and whenever it’s used as an adjective. Hence, when “blond” is used as an adjective it’s always without the “e,” even if a female subject is being modified. I believe a lot of people can win some money betting on who knows this rule.
My Favorites Are “Assure” and “Ensure”
When someone’s safety is guaranteed, “ensure” is routinely used. Yet this is often the third or fourth meaning in a dictionary, and some eschew this definition altogether. “Assure” is the better word in the vast majority of contexts in which it’s used. “Ensure” has become such a catch-all, McDonald’s now “ensures” my meals if I check my receipt. The firm is not going to guarantee I get the food I ordered, but the company is going to make certain the welfare of my burger and fries is protected.
English Is Tough Enough and Shouldn’t Be Made More Difficult
This article shows just how recondite some aspects of our language can be, even for those of us who work with it every day. And in defense of everyone who tries to write as well as possible but doesn’t always succeed, many physicians study for 15 or more years and then don’t always make correct diagnoses. Attorneys who teach in the best universities provide consultations that blow cases. And Wall Street economists disagree diametrically about topics each has spent a lifetime studying. So if someone’s nonagenarian great aunt should write something such as “Among you, me, and that there hound dog I own, if I was
a young girl I’d buy a blonde wig to be ensured to look just like Dolly Pardon,” don’t be too tough on her.
In addressing unrealistic characters who destroy the integrity of a plot, my first thoughts run to Lieutenant Henry in A FAREWELL TO ARMS, who must have been an Olympic-caliber rower who just happened to be an ambulance driver. Here’s a fellow who rowed a small boat 35 kilometers in a driving snow storm, and at night no less, with his very pregnant lover in the bow of the craft.
Sometimes a Character’s Actions are so Absurd they are Laughable.
I often think of television shows from years ago in which a retiree wearing an ill-fitting business suit and wingtips chases down some teenage track star decked out in a warm-up and primo sneakers. My favorite was an overweight guy named William Conrad, whose show was actually titled JAKE AND THE FATMAN. He’d get into fisticuffs with the people he was pursuing, yet all any bad guy had to do was walk backwards and he could’ve easily avoided Conrad’s advances and apparent lightning-like reflexes. But, no, at every opportunity we had big Bill flaying away and saving the heroine’s good name. Then there was Buddy Ebsen, literally running down criminals a third his age when he was in his 70’s. But the mega-stud of all was Raymond Burr, taking out San Francisco’s dregs with his cane while seated in his wheelchair.
With the Aforementioned as a Guide, Shouldn’t Writers be given the Same Leeway?
Television, movies, and plays all face time constraints. But a book doesn’t. And it isn’t necessary to protect a character for a readership when the person is well past his playing days. Yet some writers will go to all ends to maintain a character’s image, but is it realistic
to think that a 65 year-old man can really jump barbwire fences, run down athletes half his age, and make love a half-dozen times in an 4-hour period?
The Character’s Actions Go Beyond the Boundaries of Anything Rational
Perhaps that’s the most significant aspect of all these ridiculous characterizations, since
I don’t think it’s appropriate to classify them as characters. Is it practical to think that any healthy, sane 20-year-old hottie would have a legitimate physical interest in a 78-year-old man who in real life hasn’t had a natural erection in 15 years and whose sex act is usually measured in seconds and not minutes? On this same theme, do gorgeous young women–who aren’t hookers–really want to crawl in bed for recreational sex with men older than their grandparents?
Things have to Make some Sense
It doesn’t require a lot to make a reader happy. Today’s heroes and heroines don’t have to be molded like a Parson Weems’ character(ization), solve riddles like Holmes, make love like Robin Stone, row across a mammoth lake at night in a raging snowstorm like Lieutenant Henry, or remain in a serial murderer’s house when escape is readily available (I won’t name authors or books, but I bet each of you can pick many that fit this scenario). The latter is really what this article is about, since many notable authors have become lazy and let terribly weak plot elements stand on their own by way of characters who do incredibly stupid things that no one with half a brain would ever entertain. And all to protect the storyline.
Maybe Some Writers Feel They have an Excuse
Perhaps some writers think oversaturation by the media has dumbed-down the rest of us. Or that history with the Barnaby Joneses of the world has softened readers to the point of accepting anything. Frankly, I think just the opposite is going to occur. With E-Publishing on the rise, and the Web enabling immediate feedback, only the best material will gain a foothold and flourish. Exceptional writing will once more become the norm, and the character-driven novel will still lead the pack. And stale characters will be winnowed away and their authors along with them. Grand thoughts, indeed, and perhaps foolhardy as well, but one can have faith.
Special Note: I hope no one was offended by the examples I provided in this article. There was no intent to impugn any person because of age, infirmity, or any other limiting factor. The sole purpose of the examples was to identify physical constraints that even the most liberal readers would consider beyond the ambit of literary license.
During writing workshops I facilitate that are sponsored by The Palm Beach County Library System, I am often informed by the participants of the difficulties they are having with crafting a suitable ending for their respective novels. When this issue is raised, if the writer hasn’t already done so, I always suggest setting up a storyboard.
Just What is a Storyboard?
A storyboard is a diagram, either simple or complex, that if properly designed will contain a start, a middle, and an end. Consequently, in an of itself, it enables a writer
to concentrate on “filling in” each element. But it is also much more, since it provides a template from which to also create developmental arcs for both the characters as well as the scene depictions that are critical to the story line.
Some people say they can start a project and come up with an ending later. Others say this is bull, and in stronger terms. I don’t know what is the correct answer, but I do know many writers, and some quite good ones, who have discontinued a project because of frustration over not being able to “close the deal.”
If Not Already Determined, a Storyboard Forces a Writer to Consider a Conclusion
A writer can lay out the characters and the plot points via a simple macro format that establishes the major elements. Once the basic storyboard is accomplished, any degree of layering can be used, from the most basic to something that looks like it was generated by an astrophysicist at NASA. And by its very dynamic, a storyboard motivates the writer to come up with a conclusion.
A storyboard can be as simple as the example to follow and still be quite effective:
Joan meets John. Joan marries John. Joan is miserable. Joan shoots John. Joan escapes to Alaska. Joan changes name to Jenna and marries man who becomes governor. Joan/Jenna is blackmailed by ex-friend from back home who is aware of her past. If a storyboard is laid out to this point, most people can easily come up with a feasible scenario for an ending.
Setting up a storyboard can be a sound way of creating a working model with at least the guise of an achievable conclusion. Perhaps not what it will be in its final form, but an ending nonetheless, and a finale that the whole of the narrative can be written toward.
A Book on Screenplay Writing can be an Invaluable Aid for Understanding How to Design a Storyboard
Early in my Developmental Workshop Series I recommend a couple of books on screenwriting that I’ve found to help writers struggling with an ending for a story. SCREENPLAY, by Syd Field, is my favorite, followed closely by THE ELEMENTS OF SCREENWRITING, by Irwin R. Blacker. Both books have been around a long time and reprinted ad infinitum.
Field’s book includes a wide array of diagrams that I think can help many writers. And
if Blacker’s keen insights are applied, a writer can make great strides at learning ways to enable a story to reach a satisfying conclusion. Because, as Blacker says, “When the conflict is resolved, the story ends.” Perhaps not earth-shattering words, but within them is the key to the problem for many authors. Also, when a writer sees his or her plot via a storyboard, it’s not only a wonderful source of motivation, but it can provide a reliable means to help keep the narrative on course.
When a Semi-Colon Doesn’t Fit the Syntax
A writer friend of mine, who’d had four books published by major houses at the time
we were speaking, critiqued something I wrote in which I had used a semi-colon to set
off a series in a section of comedy relief that read something like this: John wanted to
own a farm, but without many common animals; namely, dogs, cats, cows, and horses.
He suggested a colon for this sort of series, so the phrase would read: John wanted to own a farm, but without many common animals: dogs, cats, cows, and horses. (We can argue the comma preceding the last item in both examples some other time). I wasn’t sold on
my friend’s recommendation until I sat alone with the phrase and read it aloud both ways. Once I did this, from the perspective of fluency, it was obvious the colon was the better punctuation choice.
Is a Semi-Colon a Good Fit in Exposition in most Fiction?
Many learned people say semi-colons don’t belong in fiction (especially commercial fiction). The contention is that a semi-colon tends to stop the reader. Yet I recently read,
in a book on contemporary fiction writing by a well-known author/agent, an eloquent if not passionate plea supporting the use of semi-colons. But, to the first point, some feel semi-colons inhibit fluent prose and might even push many writers toward Faulknerian length material; and, for this reason, semi-colons should be eschewed at all costs. Consider the sentence you just read. Does it read better if broken into two sentences? or would the sentence be improved if the semi-colon was converted to a comma and “for this reason” sans any punctuation? Could it be that the original construction is superior to either suggestion? You be the judge.
What About the Use of a Semi-Colon in Dialogue?
Even a short article such as this would be woefully incomplete if the semi-colon and its potential integration into dialogue was not broached. Some astute literary experts would never consider setting a semi-colon in a rift of dialogue. The suggestion would be to “write around” the speaker’s words so the reader shouldn’t be confronted with a semi-colon. However, while people are not parsing what they hear for punctuation, is the reader of printed dialogue so quick to dismiss punctuation necessary to portray properly spoken syntax?
A multitude of semi-colon naysayers would vilify a sentence written in which a character is saying to his friend as they are walking after someone in a crowd, “She looked back; no, I was wrong, she didn’t.” But is this spit of dialogue so horrible? If so, what is the more suitable element of punctuation to express the meter of the speaker’s tongue in his reaction to the moment? Does a period after “back,” and a new sentence beginning with “No,” convey the same degree of angst? And how would using all commas impact the flow? I think most might agree–not well.
What is the Answer?
What is correct–and what is not–in many instances is a matter of style and not grammar. Semi-colons are not evil. To the contrary, they often contribute great value. But, like any specialty punctuation, there can be a problem if overused. However, not utilizing semi-colons may be ignoring a marvelous tool for enabling a narrative to excel, and for providing a writer with a means to display greater proficiency in the art of crafting quality prose.
Robert L. Bacon
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Never Might be too Strong, but Seldom is Quite Correct
I’ve taken a little literary license with the title of this article, since to write that an exclamation point should never be used in a novel is preposterous. But to also state that this medium for emphasis should be used sparingly would not be out of line. Some experts feel that exclamation points are the sign of a lazy writer, or worse–an amateur. Whether
the rationale for either opinion is sound or not, there are well-grounded reasons for both.
An Exclamation Point can Support Lazy Telling and not Energetic Showing
To explore the first assumption, this forces the consideration of Showing versus Telling from yet another perspective. The line, John was shocked! eliminates what could amount
to many pages (or at least a couple lines) of exposition describing what had contributed to poor John’s frenetic condition. While lessening the rhetorical load, without adequate support for its selection, an exclamation point will often weaken–perhaps even exponentially–the very gravitas the writer is trying to impart. And what about when this sort of punctuation shortcut is taken with dialogue; such as, when John turns to Mary and says, “I am shocked!” True, a lot could’ve happened that the reader is aware of which brought John to this horrific revelation. But it’s when an exclamation point is not supported by antecedent material that serious writing deficiencies present themselves, and many experts agree that this applies equally to both exposition and dialogue.
Now for the Really Grisly Stuff
Nothing is more disappointing than reading otherwise good material when it’s besmirched with punctuation overuse. And seldom is anything more disconcerting than
when a writer feels he or she can make every page stand out by overwhelming the reader with exclamation points. If anyone should be writing like this, please ask yourself: If on the first page of my manuscript I have affixed 4 exclamation points and continued my narrative in this vein, and my work is 300 pages in length, is it conceivable that I’ve honestly created 1200 mind-rocking events? And of perhaps even greater significance, after the first 3 pages (and now 12 scintillating scenarios have occurred), can I expect the reader to withstand 1188 additional mind-blowing experiences before finishing my story? and how much impact can I expect exclamation point 1199 to have over what I wrote that elicited, say, exclamation point 662?
There is an Answer, and It’s a Simple One
The example in the last paragraph was extreme, but I recently thumbed through a
book that was very close to the exclamation point count I just described. And the author wondered why he’d never been published. There were other issues with this book, but it’s unlikely any reputable agent or bona fide royalty publisher would’ve finished the first page once this rampant misuse of punctuation glared at either of them.
Think One or Two Exclamation Points for an Entire Novel
A suggestion I’ve often heard, and agreed with, is to parse the completed draft of the novel and count the number of exclamation points that were used overall. If more than one exclamation point per 25,000 words, then it’s one too many. This previous sentence is so subjective that it was hard for me to write. But from personal experience, I’ve commonly gone back and analyzed fleshing out a scene rather than leaving an exclamation point to emphasize the story component. And I’ve found that adding to the narrative, and enabling this rhetoric to show the action–thus negating the exclamation point–to be the proper course of action in nine out of ten instances. If you should discover your material invested with abundant “exclaiming,” you might want to consider applying the same remedy.
Robert L. Bacon
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On Writing for Publication–Will Agents or Publishers Edit a Manuscript?
A short while ago a young scribe wrote over a post of mine that writers did not need to have their manuscripts edited prior to submitting them to an agent or publisher. His rationale was that agents and/or publishers would provide the service, and therefore the writer could and should avoid the independent editor’s fee. I tried to explain the fallacy of this person’s thinking, and later I decided to take a closer look at why this sort of misunderstanding might occur. My findings are the purpose behind this article.
Editors Do Still Edit
Although I lead the topic line of this article with agents, I want to discuss editors first, and state without qualification that editors at the publisher level do still edit. But this is
far from universal, and there is widespread disparity as to who does what for whom. A franchise writer with a major house will have all the stops pulled out to see that his or her material is polished in every way. The executive editor who works with the writer may even personally edit this author’s manuscript if there is some last minute tweaking to be done. But more often than not, if a draft requires attention after it’s submitted by an established writer, this manuscript will be sent outside to an independent editor for fine tuning. And, yes, the cost would be absorbed by the publisher.
What I just wrote applies to large publishing companies. I’ve also noticed a substantial number of boutique publishers who’ve sprung up in the past few years who legitimately provide developmental editing, as well as line editing, for material they accept. The downside is that the editor is usually the publisher, and often he or she is one of only a couple people involved in the entire operation. Hence, with the backlog any start-up royalty publisher will generally have shortly after announcing the acceptance of material, lead times can soon run amuck. And if a writer does some research into these sites, my comment will be borne out. The most common lament I’ve read is that the publisher could not meet the promised release date–or anything close to it.
What If a Writer Isn’t at the Franchise Level or Interested in a Start-up Indie?
In the middle is everyone else, meaning 99.999 percent of all writers. And this is where there’s a rub. On the very day I was defending independent editing as a discipline, I received an e-mail from someone who was working to get a editing prospect of mine represented by an agent. I didn’t feel this man’s work was ready, but this liaison presented the draft to a major publisher and a high-powered agent. Both summarily dismissed the manuscript, with the agent saying that, in today’s market, a manuscript had to be perfect in every way to stand a chance. For me, that’s the end of story. But there is confusion because of what some agents do offer, and the way manuscripts are treated in other countries.
Some Agents Also Edit
In the scenario I just alluded to, this agent was not in a position to edit this writer’s draft. I can assure anyone reading this article that most don’t have the time or the staff. But there are exceptions. A well-respected agency states on its Web site that it works with its authors from a developmental perspective and will also line edit their work. I’ve never submitted to this agency, nor do I know anyone personally who is signed by this firm, so I won’t provide the company’s name, but they are legitimate in every respect and certainly do not charge fees for reading or editing. But I think someone will have to search long and hard to find a second such firm. However, I do know of independent agents who work with their clients’ drafts, so others of a similar persuasion do exist. They just aren’t on every corner.
In Other Countries Agents Routinely Edit Material
I noticed on the Web site of a well-known London agency, Jane Gregory and Company, that the lead agent boasts she works with her clients’ manuscripts extensively. She recently stated on her site that an average draft takes two years in-house before it’s ready to be presented to the publishing community. Obviously, if someone in the States reads something such as this, and doesn’t realize the agency is in the U.K., it’s easy to see how the person could be confused into thinking this is what happens here. I don’t know of any U.S. literary agents who advertise they’ll massage a draft for two years before sending it out. Frankly, I’m aware only of the one domestic agency I mentioned earlier that as a company policy offers editing for its clients.
So Do Agents and Publishers Edit?
It’s pretty clear: For a writer’s material to receive in-house editing, it depends on who the author happens to be, as well as the agent or publisher. I think I’m being accurate in stating that the overwhelming number of agents do not edit material for their clients. If the manuscript doesn’t look relatively clean to them, it’s rejected. But if a spotty draft somehow passes muster with an agent, what are the odds a publisher will accept it? I can’t answer that. However, when a work reaches an exalted point in the evaluation process, especially at the publisher level, I think any writer would be prudent to make certain the manuscript is in as
good a shape as possible, and this means having it professionally edited beforehand.
As a writer advances through the process of crafting what he or she hopes will be a publishable novel, one of the most daunting challenges is to meet the requirements for effectively transitioning material. For many writers transitional elements can be difficult
to comprehend, let alone achieve.
Transitioning is Necessary from both a Micro and Macro Perspective
To understand transitioning, it is necessary to have a solid grasp of what this involves
at “the single word within the sentence level” first. One word, such a strategically placed “before” or “now,” can impact the meaning of a huge volume of text and provide the
perfect link to the next plot point.
Other times, a short clause such as “over the next few months” or “never again” can provide the ideal bridge. The right clause lets the reader seamlessly take in one story element and comfortably move onto the next without a break in the action. Conversely, inadequate transitioning often prevents a manuscript from being read, let alone considered for publication.
An Entire Paragraph is Commonly Used to Transition Material
A paragraph is the most logical choice in many if not most instances, since this provides the easiest medium for enabling a large amount of text to achieve the desired result. Of course it often requires several paragraphs to achieve the proper effect.
A Complete Scene that is Dedicated to the Transition is the Next Choice
We are now to the macro level, although some might say that this was achieved when
the paragraph was broached as an option–and certainly when multiple paragraphs were suggested. Whatever one’s feelings, an entire scene dedicated to a transition point is
second only to an entire chapter being utilized as a transition element.
We Must Not Forget about Dialogue as a Transitioning Medium
When writing about the art of effective transitioning, it’s easy to think that it primarily involves exposition and not dialogue, and while non-dialogue narrative is certainly the lead component, the use of dialogue to transition material cannot be underestimated. This is why it’s so critical to read dialogue aloud to help determine how well it enabled transition, not only for the narrative that preceded it–but for what is to follow. (There is also the subtle transitioning between dialogue exchanges that requires equally meticulous scrutiny, but
this is a subject for another paper.)
As an editor, I find as many problems with dialogue transitioning as I do with straight exposition being used as the facilitator to move from one plot point to another.
Robert L. Bacon
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As I stated in the prelude to an EzineArticle I recently posted, “Four Authors of Classical Contemporary Literature Defined the Craft of Writing Perfect Prose,” it would be absurd to proffer that anyone’s suggested reading material is superior to anyone else’s. I certainly make no such claim, now, only that I’ve found the novels that follow to be attractive for the reasons stated.
From a chronological perspective, the last time I employed this list with a workshop group, it was spread over 15 months. With an eye toward balancing the word count in
a reasonable manner, I segregated the material into three sections (hence, five months
to complete each section). Obviously, the important issue is to read and learn from the material, not the time frame associated with doing so, but people seemed to appreciate
it being set up this way, so I am doing the same for this article also.
If a serious writer will read (or reread) these novels, I don’t think it would be immodest to state that this person’s writing can only become more proficient. So, to good reading and better writing, here is the list, along with a brief explanation of the Purpose and Rationale behind suggesting this material.
PURPOSE
Reading from these selected works will provide the background necessary for understanding the nuances of form and structure.
READING RATIONALE
One of the most daunting problems with any structured reading program is currency. For this reason, every selection in the following group will be contemporary, in that none of the material was published prior to the 20th century. Although not limited to these, selections will encompass treatments related to Style Nuance, Story Threads, Pacing Elements, Theme Development Techniques, Dialogue Cant, Paragraph Style, Chapter Patterning, and Punctuation Subtleties.
“First 5 Month Reading Program”
Group 1 – Read one from group
1) A CURTAIN OF GREEN, by Eudora Welty. Seventeen short stories, some of
which will stand your hair on edge. Not horror, but what I refer to as pure noir writing,
even though it’s doesn’t fall into the traditional bleak and present danger definition. Ms. Welty won a Pulitzer Prize and about every other award one can win for literary achievement.
2) A SHIP OF FOOLS, by Katherine Anne Porter. Another Pulitzer Prize Winner.
A deep story that exposes human frailty, amongst a host of other things.
3) AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY, by Theodore Dreiser. Since I am from Indiana, I had to select one Hoosier writer. Just kidding. Mr. Dreiser’s story is a treatment of what happens when there is a hole in the social fabric.
Group 2 – Read one from group
1) GOD’S LITTLE ACRE, Erskine Caldwell. The book was one of the all-time best-sellers. In his lifetime, Mr. Caldwell’s books exceeded 80 million sales. This story will illustrate cant and how dialogue develops depth of characterization.
2) THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING GOD, by Zora Hurston. Oprah made her famous, but a member of the literati rediscovered her much earlier, sadly, well after Ms. Hurston’s death. Many feel that the novel begins with one of the most brilliant opening paragraphs ever written. She also wrote a metaphor for the ages, which I won’t describe in the hope you will read the book. Again, this is a treatment of how cant in dialogue creates characters that we remember.
Group 3 – Read one from group
1) GLITZ, by Elmore Leonard. Known as much for his skill at pacing as for his dialogue, this is my favorite of his works from the perspective of the story line; liking it
so much that I’ve read it three times.
2) THE DA VINCI CODE, by Dan Brown. One of the best-selling stories of all time.
And for those who have enjoyed finding fault with it, I have not heard anyone disparage
its pacing. As you might have guessed, this group of stories is about pacing.
3) ANNE OF GREEN GABLES, by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Perhaps thought to be
a weird placement with the other works in this group, yet with a child’s short attention span, nothing exemplifies the need for great pacing than when writing in the Children’s genre.
Group 4 – Read one from group
LONESOME DOVE, by Larry McMurtry. He won a Pulitzer for this work and it is an example of fluent prose writing at its best. Also not a half-bad story.
THE POISONWOOD BIBLE, by Barbara Kingsolver. One of my all-time favorites.
A “layered” story with a fabulous history lesson as a byproduct.
THE THORN BIRDS, by Colleen McCullough. Another book that is an example of fluent prose writing at its very finest.
Each of these novels demonstrates what the phrase “writing redemptive characters” means.
End of Part 1
“Second 5 Month Reading Program”
Group 5 Read one from group
ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. A story that traces many generations of a family, from its beginning until its ultimate demise. Mr. Marquez won a Nobel Prize, in large measure for this work.
THE FORSYTHE SAGA, by John Galsworthy. Another Nobel Prize winner. A multi-layered treatment of a complex family tree, along with the perfect illustration of creating conflict between the lead characters.
Group 6 Read one from group
USA, by John Dos Passos. A novel in trilogy form that at first blush is a history
lesson which details the Socialist movement in America after WWI and beyond the Great Depression. But it is much more of a literary treatment than a historical novel. The format for inserting material so the reader can sense the cultural perspectives of the era is unique to anything I have read.
RAGTIME, by E. L. Doctorow. Multiple inserts on the order of USA, but the threads are carried throughout the book, making it impossible not to become invested with the various characters.
Group 7 Read one from group
THE CONFESSION OF NAT TURNER, by William Styron. Another Pulitzer Prize Winner. We have discussed this novel in our workshops because the entire work is written in back-story (or flashback, if you prefer), demonstrating that it can be done.
A COLOR PURPLE, by Alice Walker. Still another Pulitzer Prize recipient. This work is presented in its entirety in epistolary form, via a series of letters, and is another exceptional example of stylistic variation.
DOLORES CLAIBORNE, by Stephen King. In this instance viewed for his skill-sets
and not for the horror genre for which he is best known, he is a true genius who can write anything, as William Goldman expressed so well. This book is 90,000 words of pure monologue without one adverb attribute. This is a quintessential example of characterization developed via dialogue, and worth studying as to how this is achieved.
Group 8 Read one from group
TO THE LIGHTHOUSE, by Virginia Woolf. Once it is recognized that this is stream-
of-consciousness writing, it is not as difficult to understand or accept as a style. The importance is that a work such as this enables a writer to become more creative.
THE SOUND AND THE FURY, by William Faulkner. Should you choose to read the novel, read it from the beginning with a Norton’s Criticism so you can better understand
how Faulkner uses Benji to expand the stream-of-consciousness concept. Develop an understanding of this, and it will reward you greatly as a writer.
End of Part 2
“Third 5 Month Reading Program”
Group 9 Read one from group
HOT SPRINGS, by Stephen Hunter. Great tale, in my opinion, by a very skilled writer. Big change of pace from the recent material. Again, pay particular attention to the pacing.
ONE MORE SUNDAY, or CONDOMINIUM, by John D. MacDonald. Famous for Travis McGee stories. If you should choose to read him, either book will depict a topical story that is easy to read, again demonstrating the value of writing prose in a fluent manner.
Group 10 Read both
THE BLACKBOARD JUNGLE, by Evan Hunter. Hugely popular story that is important because of the visceral nature of the writing and the surprise ending.
KISS, by Ed McBain. Ed McBain is the pen name under which Evan Hunter writes his 87th Precinct novels. The purpose of each of these suggestions is to detect the subtleties in the style of both novels written for different genres by the same author.
Group 11 Read one from group
THE JOY LUCK CLUB, by Amy Tan. The story and the writing demonstrate ways
to incorporate a foreign culture into the fabric of a work through the eyes of several characters.
THE RIVER SUTRA, by Gita Mehta. Another instance of bringing the reader into another culture.
THE GOOD EARTH, By Pearl Buck. She did not win a Nobel Prize for nothing. If
you have never read this story, it is not the Pollyanna some people think by the title. An incredible work of art expressing some harsh aspects of the Chinese culture and that there can be children in any family who do not respect what their parent’s have had to endure to provide a better life.
Group 12 Read all three
THE STRANGER, by Albert Camus.
THE VICTIM, by Saul Bellow
STEPPENWOLF, by Hermann Hesse.
What I find so exceptional about these novels is that this is the same story line treated
in a different way by three people who have each won a Noble Prize for Literature. See how this triumvirate of brilliant writers handled the identical theme.
Group 13 Read one from group
A THOUSAND ACRES, by Ann Smiley. Another Pulitzer Prize Winner. Conflict that expresses writing for dramatic effect at its best. The easiest of the three books in this group to read. And I wish I had Ms. Smiley for a neighbor.
BEACH MUSIC, by Pat Conroy. If you can stomach a dysfunctional family at its worst, this story brings out some of the best writing anyone could ask for. Just don’t expect a warm fuzzy feeling when you finish it. But the characterizations are spectacular, and you’ll learn something from reading this book.
BREATHING LESSONS, by Anne Tyler. Again, a Pulitzer winner, but this time a story without a redemptive character, proving once more that someone can write against the grain and be successful. The importance of this book is its brutal honesty.
End of the Suggested Reading Program to Improve Writing
Robert L. Bacon
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Genres can be More than a Little Confusing
There is perhaps nothing more perplexing in all of writing than trying to understand genre. While preparing this paper, I ran across the following sub-genres for Romance: Suspense, Paranormal, Fantasy, Time-Travel, Futuristic, Licensed Theme, Medical,
Regency, Medieval, Highland, War, Gothic, Western, and Mail-Order Bride. And these
are by no means all that fall into the Romance bailiwick. There were a couple dozen more.
In the Mystery category we have the Cozy, Police Procedural, Forensic Hard-Boiled Crime, Serial Killer, Suspense, Thriller, Legal Thriller, Medical Thriller, Technical Thriller; and other further Mystery subdivisions that include Science Fiction, Gay, Military, Political, Paranormal, and so many more that the separation becomes quite blurred. To confuse anyone to the point of no return, read a Writer’s Digest list of genres. And it, too, is not
all-inclusive.
What makes Genre even More Complex is that it is often Not Specific to a Particular Publisher
The editor-in-chief with a major publisher indicated to me that one of my novels was rejected because it did not fit into a tight enough genre, since it had military, espionage,
and medical underpinnings. What was really meant was that the book did not follow the exact template for their Thriller program, as was also indicated by another work I recently presented to this publisher. This firm’s Thriller program (sic, imprint) does not model the Thriller definition, since books under that imprimatur follow the “gruesome murders by
a serial killer who is being tracked down by a cop” pattern. Traditional Thrillers involve international intrigue and a life-and-death struggle to save the planet (or close to it).
An Author must Determine the Genre and Relevant Sub-Genre in which the Novel is Written
The point is obvious. A writer must determine the sub-genre in which his or her work is written, and then tailor the presentation to the agent and/or publisher to whom the material is being presented–as this relates to books that particular agent has placed or the publisher has printed. This requires parsing books on the agent’s or publisher’s list to make certain the submitted novel is indeed complementary. An author who makes this effort can eliminate the major hurdle that a submission is not a solid match, since the writer will know this could not possibly be the case. (A side-note here is not to imply in your query letter that you write like a specific author, but that your work mirrors the genre’s characteristics. This will be covered in detail during an upcoming article on the nuances of effective query letter writing.)
Robert L. Bacon
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Query Letter Writing – a Daunting Dilemma
Some years ago, to add to a discussion I was encouraging related to the nuances of query letter writing, a woman who had just received a contract for her first novel–and
with Simon & Schuster no less–wrote me to lament how arduous she had found the task
of crafting her missive to appeal to agents. She admitted that she considered the query
more difficult than writing the actual work, and had spent over a year on her letter. For discretion’s sake, I won’t reveal the name of the author, but many people would recognize this now well-known Ph.D., and her breakthrough novel.
The Synopsis-Syndrome
I chuckled at her comment, not out of derision, but from empathy, since I have often
felt the same way about my own queries. While I haven’t spent a year on a letter to attract an agent, at times I wish I had. One of the problems is that I have often found my query turning into a synopsis. And in parsing the query letters of others, the synopsis syndrome, as I call it, seems to be the most chronic malady that inhibits the presentations (sic, queries).
For a Successful Fiction Query Letter, Size does not Matter
A writer desires to tell as much as possible about the story of which he or she is so passionate, and is often influenced by an industry success story in which someone has crammed as much as possible onto one page, even to the point of reducing font size to make the text fit. Unfortunately, in trying to mirror this, the end result for most is invariably a synopsis and not a presentation of the subtle plot and character elements that reflect the writer’s skill and which sets the work apart–and what will influence an agent to request the manuscript.
Think of a Query Letter as an Advertisement, and Sell the Sizzle and Not the Steak
An agent of mine once railed at me about a poor query I had sent him for a later novel because it told too much of the individual aspects of the story and not about the work as a whole. He said to write the query as if I was designing the liner notes for the novel. I found this to be some of the best advice I have ever received. As a comparison, if one wants to be successful in sales, one of the time-worn truisms is to “sell the sizzle and not the steak.” It might be suggested to apply the same axiom to writing a query letter. This can be like grasping Showing versus Telling the first time around (or the tenth), but it has to be understood if a query is going to work.
Write a Query from the Gut, not the Heart
It might help to think of your work in visceral terms; meaning, what are the hard-hitting aspects of your story from an overall perspective. This will take your thinking beyond the brick and mortar. And remember, most of all, you are wanting to provide the agent with just enough knowledge of your work (and ability) to create interest. If you can do this succinctly and with skill, would it not be logical that the agent might assume that your novel is written at the same level? Should you review queries that have garnered agent representation, please notice how little is told about the actual stories, but how much the successful letters reflect the authors’ competence for writing quality prose.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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One of the first remarks many writers hear from an agent, editor, or publisher is
the need to flesh out certain characters. Most of the time the request is easy enough to understand, but there is often a great deal of confusion about the best way to accomplish this.
A Textbook Definition of Characterization
Characterization is the process of conveying information about characters. Characters are usually presented through their actions, dialect, and thoughts, as well as by description. Characterization can regard a variety of aspects of a character, such as appearance, age, gender, educational level, vocation or occupation, financial status, marital status, social status, cultural background, hobbies, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, ambitions, motivations, personality, etc.
Yes, Characterization Covers a Lot of Ground
As everyone recognizes from the scope of the list, characterization is a broad platform. And this in itself is why fleshing out a character can be viewed as a daunting process. But the task should be considered part and parcel to the integrity of any character written into
a storyline. So what is the best way to accomplish this?
Two Choices are Available–the Burst or the Subtle Implementation of Information
There is no way to reasonably imply that a sudden burst of information is not a good idea, since this is one of the few methods by which a peripheral character can be presented to a reader. Consequently, upon a secondary character’s introduction, a few sentences that provide detail are often all that’s necessary. Here is an example:
Akeem Walker had attended college on a basketball scholarship, but was cut from the team. The coach cited his lack of height, since he was 5-feet-11-inches tall, yet with his exceptional athletic skills, and bulldog-like build and demeanor to match, his family wasn’t buying it. They thought drugs were involved, since Akeem exhibited wide mood swings whenever he came home. Three divorces in ten years hadn’t assuaged their opinions, which were supported by his frequent run-ins with the law, most stemming from his narcotic’s use. But now the game had changed, since he was charged with possession with intent to distribute and jailed five blocks from where he grew up in the Bronx.
The reader now knows quite a bit about Akeem, and anything else can be expressed by his actions if he should resurface in the story.
Fleshing Out a Major Character is often an Ongoing Process
It seldom seems to work when an author tells the reader everything about a major character at one time, since the character’s actions then have to constantly exceed what was depicted if the reader is going to maintain interest. Here are examples of material that could be provided along the way which would help flesh out a significant character:
1) Not even panting hard, John placed the 350-pound barbell back in the support. 2) He carried his young baby as if she were a carton of eggs, and smiled at his wife and kissed her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. 3) John once again looked at his watch and swore. He was never late. 4) John glanced in disgust at his dress-shirt’s frayed cuff. 5) John kicked the side of his stalled car, which he’d wanted to replace, but with the new baby his money was…. 6) John adjusted the sight on the rifle and pressed the trigger with the same control he maintained when handling his young daughter. 7) Now John could have the things he wanted, his wife and child no longer holding him back.
Each step of the way, the reader learns something new about John. He is strong, loves his wife and daughter, is fastidious, is financially strapped, has a temper, and his family is keeping him from meeting his perceived needs. Developmental arcing that builds as the story unfolds is the key to creating strong characterizations which satisfy the reader.
The Boundaries are Limitless
Some people contend that readers can indeed learn too much about a character, but for those of us who like in-depth writing on the order of Jody Picoult’s, we don’t find this to be the case. The more we learn, the better. But, then again, we’re seeking detail in a writer of this style of work. The same is true if we read a Pat Conroy novel. And while Mr. Conroy enables the reader to learn his characters more often through actions and dialogue rather than interior monologue, both of these remarkable writers provide an exceptional experience, albeit with different techniques.
Use What Works Best
Most writers know their strong suits (as well their limitations, whether they choose
to admit them or not), and it’s important to craft stories by utilizing what works to the plot’s–and therefore the author’s–greatest advantage. And for most everyone’s work, this involves analyzing the depth to which the characters have been presented to the reader.
At different points in a narrative, it never hurts to ask, “How much does the reader
really know about John or Mary or Frank and Jean?” Then, should it be thought that more information would be beneficial, it’s simply a matter of going back, or moving forward,
and fleshing out the character(s) via the technique the author is most adept at utilizing.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
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This a companion piece to the material I’d recently written on techniques for fleshing out a character. And while certain components are the same, many techniques for crafting fuller scenes are quite different.
Consider Fitzgerald’s Technique of Loading up the Start of the Narrative
In creating a lasting scene for the reader, it can and often requires a substantial set up. Literature’s greatest writers have earned their reputations by possessing this ability. In my opinion no one was better at crafting an opening scene that was strong enough to carry an entire story than Fitzgerald. For me, the start of TENDER IS THE NIGHT is as good as it gets. I have never forgotten Fitzgerald’s description of the cupolas atop the old villas along the beach, which he likened to rotting water lilies.
Then he spends a couple hundred words on the physical scenery and people who inhabited this area on the French Riviera, before settling on a mother and daughter–the point when the real magic begins. Readers already feel they know Rosemary Hoyt, even though she’s just been introduced. This is what fleshing out a scene is all about, because soon afterward the reader has no problem accepting everything about Dick and Nicole Diver, since they enter the story as homogeneous plot elements.
Hemingway Used a Paucity of Words to Say a Great Deal
Hemingway used what some describe as terse writing, yet he was able to craft such skillful exposition that his narrative style won him both a Pulitzer and Nobel Prize for Literature. His short stories are wonderfully emblematic of his skill. THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO is a perfect tale to study, since the physical scenery is the story, which starts with a page of dialogue broken only by a brief description of some birds that are referred to as filthy. The single word “filthy,” which the reader learns is a metaphor having nothing to do with unsanitary conditions, sets the scene and ultimately the mood for the entire piece.
Scene Development and the Physical Setting
Everyone has a favorite writer for one reason or another. If a person likes tremendous depth in both characters and the scenes that surround them, Jody Picoult, Pat Conroy, and Barbara Kingsolver come to mind for many of us. But for pure scene creation, I’m going
to suggest someone who is not often considered these days, and this is Emile Zola. Read NANA, for example, but forget about the protagonist and just focus on how Zola sets up his story from the perspective of the physical environment. The streets, the shops, the weather, the attitudes of the people; each element creates a powerful image as the story moves along.
It’s Solely a Matter of Imagination, Since Fleshing Out a Scene Can Take any Direction
Fleshing out a scene might require the description of a village, the interior of a building, the heavy perfume people are wearing at a Broadway opening, a little boy’s tattered clothing, the street argot a gang of ruffians is using, an old man’s gait, the sounds of the night, the heat of the day, the cars on the street, the commotion in a mall during a holiday, a quiet wind, the bitter cold, a baby crying incessantly, a roar from inside a stadium, a cacophony of explosions from afar, the musings of a philosopher sitting on a park bench, the attitudes of the townspeople after an election, the poor design of an intersection, a pastor’s avuncular disposition, the lawlessness of the inhabitants in a border town, the joyous atmosphere at a wedding reception, and on ad infinitum.
Fleshing Out a Scene is As Much about Tempo As Anything
The most important thing to take away from this article is that the opening scene will most often set the mood for an entire story. And if a writer will take the time to read some of the works I suggested in this article, this will enable a solid understanding of the different options that are available to maintain or advance the desired characterizations along the way.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
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From academicians to book critics to lay readers, each is often eager to recommend a list of authors who will provide aspiring writers with a sound foundation from which to build. Any suggestions should be revered, and it would be ridiculous for one person to state that her/his idea of quality prose is better than another’s.
However, there are four aspects of the craft of writing that many who understand literature would argue have never been better addressed: Steinbeck’s perfection with dialogue, Faulkner’s depth of characterization, Hemingway’s precise narrative, and Fitzgerald’s palpable creation of mood.
One of the quickest ways to appreciate John Steinbeck’s brilliance in the realm of dialogue is to read TORTILLA FLAT, THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT, and OF MICE AND MEN. Accents are often hard to maintain in a novel without eventually grating on the reader, yet Steinbeck’s last line of dialogue in TORTILLA FLAT is as fresh as his first. THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT provides a perfect medium for demonstrating his range. And it is then a simple step to OF MICE AND MEN to gain an understanding of Steinbeck’s genius in the art of writing divergent dialogue at an extraordinary level.
The mere mention of William Faulkner can cause many to quail. But a lot of Faulkner aficionados, of which I am included in this group, feel he is unchallenged in the realm of characterization. As an aside, if his work is broken down to the length of his clauses, it
is often much easier to appreciate his talent. Many erudite souls recommend ABSALOM, ABSALOM as an ideal example of why Faulkner rules the world of characterization, and
one needs to read only the first paragraph in the initial chapter to realize the reason for
this praise. Another suggestion is that serious writers read THE SOUND AND THE FURY.
The characterization of Dilsey the maid is, in itself, a masterpiece.
Hemingway’s art is an example of elevating a single element of writing to such a
high level that the weaker aspects of (his) prose can be ignored. With simple words his narratives were so powerful and his depictions so poignant that he is credited with creating a unique style. An efficient way to experience his skill is to read THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA. What is often overlooked about Hemingway’s crisp, concise style is the quality of pitch his technique enables. His passages of perfect pitch, in themselves, can be important to analyze by anyone desiring to become a better writer.
Mood like voice is one of those magical areas that is easy to recognize but impossible
for a great many people to define. But whatever mood happens to be, it can be experienced in the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald. In THE GREAT GATSBY, THIS SIDE OF PARADISE, and TENDER IS THE NIGHT, there is an unmistakable mood that is so sentient the reader can easily (and pleasantly) become enveloped by it. A leading example is the opening paragraph in TENDER IS THE NIGHT, which sets the mood for the entirety of a story as well as any novel that comes to mind for many learned readers. Whatever Fitzgerald’s voice was, he found it. And whatever mood is, he created it with exceptional flair.
There are numerous other writing elements, and subcategories of each, that anyone serious about becoming a novelist must consider. But for those who desire an understanding of what many regard as the four pillars necessary for developing a proficiency in writing quality prose, especially if the interest is to be published by a major royalty publisher, it is difficult to argue against venturing into the oeuvres of Steinbeck, Faulkner, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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At first pass, asking how bad a villain can be seems like a fun topic to write about. The most horrible characters in literary history have commonly revealed themselves via their thoughts or actions in ways that readers found appealing. Evil doers such as Hannibal Lector and Annie Wilkes and certainly Dracula have elicited some sort of positive reaction from much of the public at one time or another.
For Many Villains, It’s the Bright Side and Not the Dark Side that Makes them Appealing
Thomas Harris enabled Lector fans to learn about the doctor’s youth in plausible terms that explained why he became a monster. Annie Wilkes was simply deranged, but she displayed eerie justification for her actions that made her creepiness, while certainly not acceptable, occasionally understandable. And Drac had all these years of never enjoying peace. If that seems far-fetched as a redemptive feature, why do vampires in literature always seem to use this argument to attract an audience?
Here’s Where the Fun Part Ends
The difficulty with writing villains becomes problematic when it relates to whom and how they choose to do-in they prey. An antagonist who kills children or the mentally challenged can present a huge issue for a writer. Mainstream publishers also shy away from stories about pedophilia, incestuous relationships (unless subtly referenced, such as in A THOUSAND ACRES), and criminals who attack the defenseless.
Here are Some Antagonists to Avoid
I receive many novels each year that I refuse to edit because I know in their present character-configuration the story would have no chance with a major royalty publisher.
One recent plot involved a returning-GI who began a sordid relationship with his 10-year-old daughter. Another story started with the dismemberment of a young boy and the central character’s lust for murdering children seeking a father-figure (I see a lot of this sort of material of late for some reason). A recent story depicted a grotesquely unattractive man who bought retarded children and raised them as sex slaves. As sickening as what I just related happens to be, there is some stuff I’ve been sent that’s even worse, but I hope what I presented clearly expresses where I draw the line.
It’s Not Censoring, It’s What a Publisher Thinks the Public Will Read
In the thriller and mystery genres, major royalty publishers aren’t going to present a book solely for its shock value. However, there might very well be a market for each of
the storylines I just mentioned if placed in the hands of a Gore Vidal or a Normal Mailer or James Dickey-type. At their respective skill-level, even the most disgusting topic could be made palatable in a novel (or if someone wanted to write a nonfiction book that deals with any of the subjects). But in the realm of pure commercial fiction, I give this no chance.
Writers Must Consider their Audiences
According to many polls (another one I just studied was taken by Harris), woman
again buy more books than men, and people over 65 buy three/fifth’s of all mysteries and thrillers. Is it reasonable to think that these demographics want to read about pedophilia, incest, and dismemberment? The avid older readers I know won’t touch books that contain any of these plotlines. The purpose of this article is not to tell anyone what to write, but to explain markets. If there is no interest in becoming signed by a major royalty publisher, then there is no reason to pay attention to anything I offered by way of explanation. However, if becoming signed by a respected imprint is of interest, one of the first things the editor will consider is the platform for the story, and it would behoove authors to be aware of what would be deemed unacceptable.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
New Free Service for Serious Writers! The Perfect Write® is now providing
a Free Manuscript Opening-Chapter Critique and Line Edit. Paste the first chapter of your manuscript (up to 5000 words) to theperfectwrite@aol.com (no attachments). In addition
to the critique, The Perfect Write® will line edit, if applicable, up to the first three-pages
of your double-spaced material also at no charge.
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I’m often asked by both clients and those who attend my creative-writing workshops about using material from other work, whether it be citing a title or reprinting an entire passage. Citing a title of a work is not a problem, unless it could be construed in a negative way as it relates to the text in which it shows up, but I always give the same advice, and this is to be certain to gain permission if material in a passage is going to be used, no matter how limited.
All Mainstream Publishers Have a Permissions Desk
The desk or department grants rights for quotations, excerpts, photos, illustrations, charts, etc. Each publisher has essentially the same requirements. But there can be variations, so it’s important to understand that no one size fits all. For reasonable guidelines to follow, here are the requirements from the Penguin Group:
- The title and author of the Penguin Group (USA) book from which you wish to use material.
- The description of the exact material you wish to use.
- The title of the story or poem.
- The page number(s) on which the illustration(s), chart(s), graph(s), etc., appear.
- The name of the publisher who will be publishing your material.
- The title and author of the book (or other publication) in which you wish to use the Penguin Group (USA) material.
You will need to provide your publishing details:
- The publication date.
- The size of the first printing or circulation.
- The format (hardcover, paperback, CD, e-book, etc.)
- The list price.
- The total number of pages for each edition of the book (or other publication).
If a magazine, the circulation and frequency of the publication in which you wish to use the Penguin Group (USA) material.
Photocopying material has another set of guidelines.
Permission Is Not Necessary Until the Material Is Published
Many times a writer will ask when permission should be sought, and the answer is not what most people think. The Permissions Desk is a very busy place, and the personnel do not want to be involved with being required to perform their due diligence until it’s determined that a manuscript is definitely going to be published. Yes, this means an author should have a “backup” in case the request is refused (or be prepared to delete the reference), but it also behooves a writer not to get hung up on receiving a release until the correct time in the process.
The Chronology Must Also Be Understood
Permissions departments commonly work with a six to eight-week window related to lead time. But, again, this can vary by house. Also, permission requests are generally placed in a queue in the order in which they are received, so unless a writer is a big-time author or a staffer owing a colleague a favor, most people can plan on a couple of months before getting a response.
A Final Thought
Writers get excited about wanting to cite known material, feeling this will enhance their credibility. No doubt, in some instances this is correct. But, overwhelmingly, the reference to another work, song lyric, etc., has nothing to do with the quality of the narrative. Also, if work is in the public domain, no release is necessary, regardless of who is publishing the material.
Some time ago I was asked to write a piece on techniques for displaying backstory
(or flashback, if this is preferred) in a novel. That article focused on formats such as italics, parentheses, or a simple writer’s aside. Later, it was suggested I address how to specifically use backstory in a novel, and this is what this article piece is about.
A Prologue Is the Most Obvious Medium, but Also the Most Dangerous
The simplest location for backstory is in a prologue, as this inherently deals with what has occurred in the past. The problem is that prologues are often frowned upon by agents and publishers because they feel this “explanation” gives away too much of what is going
to happen in the story, hence lessening the intensity of the plotline.
The Next Most Obvious Option Is Via Dialogue
In the earlier article I hadn’t initially mentioned dialogue, and careful readers pointed this out. I purposely didn’t include dialogue because that article dealt with format techniques to display backstory. But I felt the criticism was justified, so I revised the material to include a reference. Indeed, what one character says to another is the most convenient way to depict the past without being accused of telling rather than showing the action. And telling rather than showing is one of the primary reasons some of the movers and shakers who determine what gets published don’t like backstory.
Stream of Consciousness Writing Also Works
Most people would agree that it’s really hard to write like Virginia Wolf or William Faulkner, which might be the understatement of the century. But some people try. And
if a writer is brave enough to give it a go, stream of consciousness writing will enable
a character to express the past.
Interior Monologue Is Easy–Sort of
Short bursts of interior monologue deftly inserted between spits of dialogue can work quite well. However, this too requires a good ear and being especially alert to unintended POV shifts. POV problems seem to crop up most often when interior monologue becomes lengthy, so it’s generally best to keep these runs brief. But, again, this is a great place to offer information to the reader that is significant to the fabric of the narrative.
Entire Chapters Can Be Devoted to Backstory
I’ve seen instances when writers have used an entire chapter of backstory to lend clarity to what is now going on in their story. But in the overwhelming number of instances, in my opinion, it would’ve been much better to show the event in real time, early-on in the narrative, and then build from it.
Then There Is the Denouement
The denouement doesn’t always have to occur at the very end of the story, and a prime example is in A THOUSAND ACRES, a book I cite often because I feel it’s brilliant in a great many respects. One of these is the subtle style Jane Smiley uses to let the reader in on why her protagonist, Ginny, has had severe emotional struggles throughout her life. The way this is interjected–and where in the story–is a testament to Ms. Smiley’s immense talent. Without critical backstory handled in this manner, in my opinion the book wouldn’t have been what it is.
A writer can start with THE CHICAGO MANUAL OF STYLE and move from it to any number of academic works on what a manuscript layout should look like. But adhering to the following eight suggestions will assure an acceptable format for almost all commercial fiction.
Hint Number One – Your Name, Page Number and Book Title in the Top Left Corner of Each Page
In the top, left corner of the page, many editors prefer your last name followed by a hyphen and the page number, and one single space below this, the title of your book. Then three single spaces below this (if you’re not beginning a new chapter, which I’ll cover later) begin your narrative.
Hint Number Two – Double-Line Space the Narrative
No one I know will accept a single-line spaced manuscript, and there is good reason. In the days of the covered wagon, when everything was edited with a pencil, the suggested corrections were made between the lines. Many of us still prefer to work this way, and the format is paramount when line-editing material. Plus, most people find double-line spaced copy on an 8 1/2″ x 11″ sheet of paper much easier to read and therefore more comfortable to work with.
Hint Number Three – Double Space After a Period
Double spacing after a period enables room to annotate punctuation changes and draw lines to move sentences around. I am aware that some people are saying this is “old school,” and therefore the double space after the period is no longer necessary, but every editor I know prefers or demands it, as do I.
Hint Number Four – Indent Paragraphs 1/2″
Most word processing programs seem to use a 1/2″ indention as standard, but I often receive manuscripts with erratic or inconsistent paragraph indentions. If you always indent 1/2″, then your text’s appearance will be consistent and this will also enable you to “fudge” when you want your text to look its best from an aesthetic standpoint.
Hint Number Five – Never Justify Text (Except for Chapter Delineations)
Under no circumstances should a manuscript be submitted with justified text. This makes line editing a nightmare (sic, impossible), since extra spaces between words are something a line-editor flags.
Hint Number Six – Locate the Chapter and its Number in the Center of the Page
As with unusual or inconsistent indentation, I receive a wide variety of chapter set ups. My suggestion is to type out the word Chapter with a capital C and follow this with the number 1, 2, 3, etc., one space after the word; i.e., Chapter 1. This isn’t as Mickey Mouse as it seems, because this differentiates a Chapter 1 from Part 1, for example. The Chapter designation is a location in which centered text is not only acceptable but desirable.
Space the chapter identification down however far you desire with an equal number of lines below it before your begin the narrative. Five single spaces from the book title in the top, left corner to the centered chapter identification, then five single spaces to the beginning of the narrative, is a good template.
Plus, this again provides room to “fudge,” if need be, during later revisions and not require a writer to have to repaginate an entire chapter–or even the entire book.
Hint Number Seven – Use 12 Point Times New Roman or Courier Font
Many in the publishing industry seem to recommend these fonts. Also, if a writer sticks with either Times New Roman or Courier, this could save having to manually go through an entire manuscript to clean it up should it have to be changed to either of these font styles. Because, even today, with all of the word processing genius that’s out there, different fonts don’t often wrap properly when the entire text is converted from one font style to another.
Hint Number Eight – Leave an Extra Double-Spaced Line at the End of Each Page
If you choose to ignore everything I’ve written, please don’t disregard this idea: Leave an extra line or even two at the end of each page, especially during the early drafts of your work. Meaning, instead of typing to the last line, which will generally be line 24 of double-spaced copy, type only to line 23. This has nothing to do with editing, but will enable you to revise and often not have to repaginate work, thus saving a huge amount of labor.
If you follow the suggestions outlined in this article, you will have a very happy agent, editor or publisher–and I hope all three.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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There are abundant bear traps along the way that even writers who are old hands at accepting the vagaries of the publishing industry are having difficulty navigating in the current literary marketplace. Here are several issues–some old, some new–to consider.
Pitching a Book to the Wrong Agent or Publisher is Problem #1
Genre specificity plagues a lot of authors. It’s important to recognize that a hard-boiled detective mystery with a lot of torrid love scenes is not classified as Romance. If a writer is having difficulty pinning down the genre for a specific work, a friendly library staff member might be a wonderful resource (please don’t expect this person to read the entire draft). Only after the genre is identified can a writer adequately source the industry for suitable agents or publishers.
Agent or Publisher Bias can Knock a Work out of the Saddle
I recently presented material to a well-known independent publisher, only to be told that their firm did not handle anything dealing with Russians or the Mafia, something that was not mentioned in their already abundant submission guidelines. As luck would have it, a significant character in my narrative was a member of the Russian Mafia.
Of course this could be modified, but the point is that any writer can be blindsided by a bias against anything from Lithuanian folk dancers to fly fishermen from Montana. Keep in mind this is a quirky business, and it’s not always the writer. And it seems that once something is found to be deficient, the agent or publisher tends to turn up the power of the already very intense microscope.
A Manuscript can Suffer from the New Rock Band Syndrome
A manuscript can be deemed to be too close to other material. Or too far removed so that it doesn’t fit with anything else. Related to the way bands sound, I’m told these are standard rebukes in the recording industry. In the publishing business, either comment also follows with a rejection. My personal experience is that it would be easier to climb Mt. Everest than to persuade an agent or publisher to accept material for which they have a predisposition toward one or the other reasons for rejection that I just stated.
What if you Write the Perfect Manuscript, but It’s Really Not so Perfect After All?
This is the bitterest pill to swallow. If a partial or full manuscript is rejected numerous times, it is obviously necessary to take stock of the situation. Many writers contact a professional for assistance well after sourcing scores of agents and numerous publishers. There are only so many agents and publishers for any genre. And, unfortunately, agents and publishers inherently do not want to see work after they have previously rejected the material.
It is critical to have a manuscript polished to its highest sheen possible before submitting it. Quite often there are issues that are not apparent to the early-stage author which can be easily remedied, but when unchecked can send an otherwise solid body of work to the slush pile.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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I’m often told by participants in my creative writing workshops that the material they’ve crafted is fiction but contains some nonfiction elements, and I’m asked in which category their work should fall. I remember what I read that another editor said in response to this question: Even the wildest science fiction tale has to have some elements grounded in reality as people know it or no one would accept the work’s premise.
A Novel Is Always Based on Various Degrees of Plausibility
As the other editor related, the creatures from the planet Bublitzko had to have certain plausible characteristics or readers would put down the book. If, for example, they were bigger in size than the universe, readers would back away, since nothing as we know it could be larger. And humans certainly couldn’t see them, as each Bublitzkoain would
be impossible to distinguish. But if the Bublitzkoians were our size but never required nourishment in a traditional manner because their systems were sustained by light from their sun–which is fading and the reason they’ve chosen to colonize Earth–readers might well approve of this.
It’s Fiction Even if the Work Has Some True Elements
Once it’s accepted that a scenario could occur, it doesn’t really matter that Aunt
Eloise threw a plate of food at her husband at the dinner table when everything else in the chapter was the product of the writer’s imagination. If a story is written as part truth and part fiction, then it’s classified as fiction, although some books are written as if they were documentaries. In my opinion, one of the most skilled writers of this sort of material is Gore Vidal, with BURR as a glowing testament to his ability to bring a tale to life as if it happened exactly as he had written the narrative.
Don’t Agonize Over an Insignificant Issue
Writers have called editors to task when they correct something in a novel that “didn’t happen the revised way when it really happened the other way.” Editors then have to remind authors that the editing suggestion was due to a problem caused by the scene as it’s written–and that theirs is a work of fiction. At times I’m afraid it’s either accept an editor’s advice or face revising a large segment of the draft. And whether or not Eloise tossed the chop suey at Charlie underhand or rifled the plate past his head is not going to make or break the story, hard as this might seem to believe.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
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The most obvious idea that works for the majority of people is to read material aloud. Unfortunately, many writers get so close to their work that it’s often difficult if not impossible to get a fair “hearing.” Everything sounds good because of familiarity. And this is the real problem, not the purported inability to distinguish word tempo. If a writer–who claims imperceptibility to the nuances of his or her own work–reads somebody else’s material,
will the same issues persist? It’s probably worth finding out.
A Second Step is to Listen as Someone Else Reads Your Material Out Loud
A lot of people can’t sing a note, but can readily distinguish the slightest miscue from a vocalist on stage. I’ve found that most writers can pick up flaws in their work when it’s read to them. Personally, I pay attention to the slightest hesitation on the part of the speaker, because when this occurs, in almost every instance this can be attributed to an inadequate word choice or syntax issue on my part.
One Warning: Find Someone to Read the Work Who is Not a Professional Speaker
A short while ago I conducted a workshop series in which a woman who attended possessed a fabulous voice and was a public speaker by vocation. I think she could read
the names and addresses from a telephone directory and spellbind an audience. Needless to say, when she read her own writing, it sounded solid if not quite good at times. But without the benefit of her audio assist, when I parsed her material later, the writing was mediocre, at best. So, even if you know a Katie Couric or Sam Donaldson type, you’re better off with Irene the Secretary or Joe the Salesman for this exercise, just as long as they’re decent readers to begin with.
One Rule, and What a Writer Should Listen For
Once someone is willing to read material aloud for the writer who created it, I strongly suggest asking the reader not to preview any of the text, but to start right in with the narrative. Then pay attention to any breaks that indicate obvious needs for a touch up,
but also listen to the ease or difficulty the reader is having pronouncing the words. Listen
for repeating words or phrases that might have been ignored. Pay particular attention to repeating sounds made by the letters “p” and “c,” along with runs of sibilant sounds that make passages seem to be hissed rather than enunciated.
Make an Honest Evaluation
Did some of the sentences sound clipped? Were connectives utilized that enabled clauses to blend fluently with one another? Did the reader ever seem to be running out of breath? How well did the material transition from sentence to sentence, character to character,
and scene to scene? As for the dialogue, did the words sound natural? And with respect to dialogue, was there adequate interior monologue to enable the reader to catch his or her breath now and then? Was there variety in the construction of the overall narrative? And perhaps most important of all, did the reader seem to enjoy the material?
A Writer Will Have Answers
If a writer pays attention to the points I made in the previous paragraph, picking up
the rhythm of the overall narrative will not be that difficult. And once the gremlins are eradicated, a revision will often produce a draft so superior to its predecessor that even
the most challenged ear will appreciate the improved pitch.
One of the more difficult tasks facing any fiction writer is the proper application of contractions in the narrative. A set of standards applying to exposition that is often different from those which pertain to dialogue makes this particularly perplexing.
Start by Reading the Material Aloud
Anyone who routinely reads my articles is aware that this is what I always suggest as the first requirement for determining good writing, regardless of whether it’s exposition or dialogue. Unquestionably, authors listening to their own prose is the best way I know for them to assess the fluency of their material. If not combining two words that form a common contraction causes an undesired pause in the delivery of the material, this is the best indicator I know that a revision is in order.
Emphasize a Sentence Element by Not Using a Contraction
It’s especially good not to use a contraction if it is deemed important to add emphasis to something, the same as I did in this sentence. I wanted the second “it is” to draw attention to my belief that it is indeed beneficial to use a contraction to add emphasis. Conversely, I didn’t feel “It is” held any significance as a lead-in, Keep in mind, it’s not the “it is” that’s important, but the degree of influence the writer wants to place on a sentence element.
Noncontracted Words Influence Dialogue As Well
Some fine editors, especially those who work mostly with nonfiction, have issues with dialogue because they expect to see it written in a “perfect” way. Ignoring that an author can’t effectively write dialogue the exact way people speak any more than folks can talk comfortably the same way dialogue is written, contraction use and nonuse is critical to the way a run of dialogue is perceived.
Contracted and noncontracted words can provide a wealth of information. Here are two of the simplest but purest examples: “That isn’t what I meant,” and “That is not what I meant.” In the second short sentence, is there any doubt that the speaker is more intent? Does it require an underline or italics with “it is,” or an exclamation point at the end of the sentence, to identify that the speaker is vexed?
Contractions Can Indicate a Casual Atmosphere
I publish a Newsletter that many subscribers have told me is like receiving a letter from a friend. In large measure, I believe this feeling is because I use a great many contractions in the narrative. My thought is that contractions make the material more pleasant to read, and at times will lend a lighter air to some serious topics. I’ve found this to be my approach to many facets of prose writing, and the placement of contractions is a critical component for shaping tone as well as pitch.
An Issue to Be Aware Of
A problem arises when certain common contractions don’t travel well when used in runs of dialogue. “That will” and “It will” are at the top of this list. I don’t know of many people who haven’t written “that’ll” or “it’ll” at one time or another. Please don’t. There seems to be a penchant to tag “ll” to the back of an inordinate number of words. I recently read, “somebody’ll” and in another draft that “my brother’ll be here in a while.” It’s one thing if a writer is trying to illustrate a speech pattern or dialect, but quite another when creating an altogether new amalgamation of words.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
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I recently read something that leads to me to feel that the field of professional developmental book editing needs to be covered in detail.
Editors in the U.S. have a Poor Reputation Abroad. Really?
I happened upon an Internet message board for writers on which someone was asking
if hiring an editor to critique a novel was a good idea. When I read a little further, I noticed the person was specifically asking about me and my company. This was certainly okay, as
I always strongly recommend scrutinizing any potential editor, agent or publisher. But what really piqued my interest was a reply from a person from Great Britain who said that editors were respected in his country but that their contemporaries in the U.S. did not enjoy the same standing. This was certainly news to me–and I imagine a few other editors in America if they’d read the same remark.
Rationale that Defies Logic
There were no comments one way or the other in response to the man’s query regarding me or my services, but it was mentioned that book editors had been the source
of a number of recent threads, so I decided to venture further into the site. Two hours later I pushed back from the computer, aghast at what I’d read. With few exceptions (very few), there were dozens upon dozens of posts vociferously denouncing editors. One of the site’s apparent gurus firmly stated that it would be of no value to hire an editor, because if a publisher sent a manuscript back to an author for correction, if an editor had been used, what would the writer do, since the person (sic, independently) would be incapable of properly making the requested modifications.
If Professional Editors are Such a Bad Idea, Why do so Many Best-Selling Authors Praise their Work?
Logic like what I’d just reported doesn’t deserve the compliment of rationale opposition, to quote Jane Austen, but let me at least provide a little help for those who universally defamed professional editing. As one lone brave contrarian who responded to the thread stated, if editors are such a horrible idea, why do so many best-selling authors, in their respective Acknowledgments, extol the value of those who edit for them? To step farther onto this cold deck, I’d like to see a list of best-selling authors who say they don’t use an editor. I even noticed a piece the other day from a man who has edited for both Stephen King and John Grisham. Both those authors surely must need to have their respective heads examined for employing this fellow at some point in their futile careers.
There is a Time when Amateurs Critiquing other Amateurs Doesn’t Work
I facilitate writing workshops sponsored by the local library system, and at times I encourage workshop participants to critique each other’s work. But I also make it crystal clear, if a writer is serious about having material considered by a major royalty publisher,
at some point the material will require a professional review.
Here is What Editors Do
Professional editing is not about correcting grammatical errors, punctuation, and syntax issues, even though certainly anything a writer might have missed will be identified. Editing at a professional level entails considering a work related to its publishability in the current literary market; and specifically what it will require to polish a draft so it will be accepted for review by a respected royalty publisher. Depth of characterization, quality of the characters, character arcing, transitioning of the exposition and dialogue, dialogue quality, dialogue rhythm, story pacing, the pitch of the scenes, lack of contrivance, point-of-view consistency, redundant words and phrases (this is a bigger deal than most amateurs think), the strength of the story, and the overall readability of the narrative, are just some of the issues an editor must address.
An Amateur Can’t Know What the Industry is Looking for
For many experienced writers, this is the number-one reason to employ a professional editor, since he or she will know what is working in the business at a given point in time–
and what isn’t. The professional editor will also know where and with whom agents are placing work. This is particularly important because there are often esoteric happenings in the publishing industry that only an editor and other insiders will be aware of.
A Professional Editor can Save a Writer a lot of Money, Time, and Aggravation
It doesn’t cost a lot of money to have a professional editor read a manuscript and provide a critique. For even some of the most competent editors, it’s usually around a buck per double-spaced page. Isn’t it a lot better to find out from a professional if a work has a chance, rather than to send out queries and submission packages with no idea of the true caliber of the material? Over the years I’ve read an inordinate number of drafts from writers who have spent years promoting work that has no chance of being published in the condition in which I received it. And what unfortunately happens to an often-rejected writer who doesn’t understand a work’s deficiencies is that he or she becomes disillusioned and at times even bitter.
Having a Work Professionally Edited is a Means to an End
For the overwhelming number of writers who are with major royalty publishers, professional editing is not only a means to reach a satisfactory result, but the only way.
For anyone who wishes to question this remark, I only ask this person to seek out any wildly successful author and ask if a professional editor has helped that writer become published–and stay that way.
Some people have said that the best way to display backstory, or flashback as it is commonly called, is not to write it at all. Instead, maneuver this sort of set-up material into the beginning of the story as a natural chronology of the narrative. But for the purpose of this article we are assuming that backstory is critical to a particular text, so here are several methods for presenting it from a visual perspective. Among the options are: within parentheses, via italics, or as an aside by way of a “remembrance.”
Parentheses Never Seem to Make the Right Impact
I have long espoused that the parentheses should never be used in fiction, and I still believe this. First and foremost, a parentheses, by its very nature, is an aside to indicate something of lesser significance, and therefore would seem to contraindicate the need for backstory. Simply, if this aspect of the narrative is so important, as stated earlier, write it into the normal sequence of events. Now this last remark is a stretch, but if backstory is deemed necessary, why relegate it to second-class status as a parenthetical expression? Plus, from a purely pedestrian view, when a long run of backstory ends with a parenthesis, isn’t it irritating to be “told” via the closed parenthetical mark that what was just read had not happened in real time?
Long Italics can be Annoying
I once wrote an entire story in italics, as have other novelists. A couple of other authors’ works have been successful, but they are few and far between. Most people find that more than a few pages of italics will grate on the brain. And I’ve even found that italics beyond a couple of paragraphs can be too much. I look at this like reading stream-of-consciousness writing. Unless parked under Faulkner, Joyce, or Woolfe, a little bit goes a long way.
Offering a “Remembrance” for the Reader seems to Work Best
Backstory for me seems to work best when the character begins with a short muse and then a full scene follows. This can be anything from a couple of sentences to a long chapter. Either way, something with this sort of set up: John looked across the barren field at the rusted chassis of the old Chevy truck, now seeming like it had died while planted up to its rims in the hard ground, and remembered the first time Mary came into his life on a comparable cold Kansas afternoon in late November, ten years earlier. “Hey,” a voice called from over his shoulder. He turned and saw a woman….
No One Size Fits All, but a Particular Style seems to Work Best
I’d create something such as what is in the preceding paragraph–in the three ways I’ve described–and see how each of these set up with what is written before and after it. Maybe the dreaded parentheses is the answer, or a half page of italics will do the trick. But if more than a few paragraphs of text is required, I’d seriously consider a “musing” and closing this with the end of the chapter, or at least an extra space to begin a new scene within the chapter.
Please note before reading this piece that it is lengthy, almost 1500 words. But since the agents, publishers, and the other professional editors I know feel that Point of View is not a subject to be taken lightly, I decided it should not receive short shrift.
Some Writers Fight to the Death of their Material Defending their POV Shifts
What prompted me to address POV at this time is that I recently read a scene that contained four POV shifts, and when I brought this to the author’s attention, I was told this was the intent. And it was explained to me in no uncertain terms that the writer did not see the problem–because in this person’s mind there wasn’t one.
The Significance of Understanding POV Cannot be Overstated
Let me state flat out that the importance of understanding and writing consistent
POV cannot being overstated, since this is one of the first elements agents, publishers,
and professional editors notice, since shifting POV is considered not only a deficiency but
a sign of amateur writing. I can’t always tell writers how to get published by a major royalty publisher, but I am certain of ways not to. And the unskilled shifting of POV is one of the fastest ways I know for material to end up in the slush pile.
Some Highly Skilled Writers Can Indeed Shift POV Effortlessly
There are of course exceptions. Some highly skilled writers can shift POV seamlessly. But their POV shifts are done sparingly and generally at high tension plot points in which the writer is not concerned with the movement because the scene is so powerful that the other character’s view is necessary. And not expressing that POV would hinder the scene.
I wrote an article last year on POV in which I illustrated an instance in which I felt the shift was not only acceptable but desirable. So the issue is not confused, I’m not going to include the article at this time, but will mention that E. M. Forster said that POV shifts are fine–as long as nobody notices them (his remark made me laugh too). The difficulty for most writers is that POV shifts are most often not only noticeable, but overwhelmingly detrimental to the narrative.
Even Some of Literature’s Most Famous Writers Have Made POV Mistakes
It does not require close reading to find problematic POV shifts, and even some of literature’s most famous writers err. For a developmental writing workshop series I facilitate, which is sponsored by the local library system where I reside, I reread Saul Bellow’s THE VICTIM, since I use it in one of my syllabuses and I wanted to refresh my memory on one aspect of the plot line. I noticed two instances in the story in which Mr. Bellow shifted the POV, and to the extent that I required me to reread both passages,
one several times.
A callow youth might read something by a famous author that contains jarring POV shifts and assume this sort of writing is acceptable. I’m sorry, it is not! Especially if a writer has hopes of being paid for being published in today’s highly selective literary marketplace.
A Clear Explanation of POV
If POV is foggy, perhaps this will make it clear: A character whose POV the scene is written around (maybe it would work best to consider this the “lead character” for this illustration) can demonstrate actions and express thoughts. Every other character in the scene can demonstrate actions but never thoughts, since the thoughts of another character in the same scene automatically reflect that person’s POV–and what is referred to as shifting POV once the scenes initial POV is established by a character. How POV is maintained for the reader–related to which character’s thoughts are driving the scene–is the key to POV consistency.
Along this line, it is important to keep another point in mind. Even though this lead character can show actions and thoughts for the reader, he or she must couch the viewing of others. This means that the lead character can state what he or she desires, whether this be personal information or material about other characters or situations, but he or she can only suppose what is going on in the mind of others. Hence, we read phrases in which the lead character says that it seemed, or it appeared, or it looked like something was occurring related to another character or circumstance. Again, for POV consistency, once this lead character is established, no other character can express an opinion via interior monologue.
Examples of POV – The Right and Wrong Way
Here, now, are examples of the same scene with John and Mary written three ways. The first in John’s point of view.
“Hi,” John said to Mary. He gazed into her eyes, more nervous than he had ever been in his life.
“I’m happy that you came by,” Mary said, her voice sounding positive to him.
John, uplifted by her tone, experienced a sudden burst of confidence that he hadn’t thought possible. But as he continued to stare at Mary, she blinked several times before turning away. He could only guess at what had caused her sudden change in comportment.
He took a deep breath and his voice was shaky. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Mary kept her head down. He heard what he thought was a muted sob, then she looked up at him and seemed to force a smile. “No. I thought I could but I can’t.”
Note that John can state his positions because he knows for certain what he is feeling, since this scene is written in his POV. His thoughts are “leading” the scene. But he cannot know for certain what Mary is feeling. He cannot know for example that she forced a smile, only that she seemed to have forced one. It is only after she says “no” that the reader can infer that John might have made a correct assumption. If the last spit of dialogue read, “Yes, I thought I couldn’t, but I can,” this could mean that her smile wasn’t forced, but was one of subtle satisfaction with her decision. What follows is the same scene in Mary’s POV:
“Hi,” John said to Mary, as he gazed into her eyes.
John’s anxiety was obvious to Mary, even by his one-word greeting, since his voice had cracked.
“I’m happy that you came by,” she said in a soft tone, hoping this would provide him with some degree of self-assurance.
John seemed uplifted, and appeared to experience a sudden burst of confidence that pleased Mary. But as he continued to stare at her, she blinked several times before turning away. She hoped that he wouldn’t misinterpret her actions, because it was she who now needed to gain composure.
He took a deep breath, but his voice was still shaky. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Mary kept her head down, hoping he wouldn’t know she was crying inside, but then she looked up and forced a smile. “No, I thought I could but I can’t.”
Here, now, is the same scene with the POV’s shifting back and forth–and the consequences:
“Hi,” John said to Mary, as he gazed into her eyes, wondering if she really wanted to see him.
“I’m happy that you came by,” Mary said, her voice soft, and thinking she should’ve been more aggressive, since he’d made everything so awkward.
John, however, was uplifted by her tone, and experienced a burst of confidence that she hadn’t thought possible. Then he thought he’d noticed a change in her comportment as she looked away. He needed time to think and she wished he were someplace else.
Mary kept her head down and made what sounded to John like a muted sob. Then she looked up and forced a smile. As they stared at one another, he dreaded the words: “I thought I could but I can’t.”
This example is overkill, but I’ve read material just as bad, and it demonstrates just how devastating inept POV shifts can be. Lack of speaker designation is the most common issue with POV shifts, as depicted in the last paragraph, since the reader is unable to determine who was speaking.
A Final Bit of Advice
As I mentioned earlier, there are exceptions to strictly maintaining POV via one character. But if a writer is trying to find a quality agent to become published for the first time by a bona fide royalty publisher, I strongly suggest avoiding POV shifts altogether.
What Does it Mean When Told to Start the Story Sooner?
Last fall I attended a writer’s symposium with a dais that included several well-known mystery writers who fielded questions prepared by a skilled moderator. Each writer was asked what he or she felt was the single most significant issue for which anyone seeking publication should be concerned.
One of the program’s participants, Jim Born, a successful local author I’ve gotten to know and whose writing I enjoy, said that beginning the story sooner was his best advice. It’s mine, too, and I decided to devote this article to explain why.
It Pertains to Writing Without the Proper Regard for Movement
When I analyze a client’s manuscript after reading it for the first time, I often have to make a determination as to when I think the story truly “begins.” And when I submit my critique on the work to its author, at times this is confusing, since my notes, which I always include, might indicate the opening chapters were quite good or that the characters had been well developed–but later reference an annotation I’d made that the story should’ve begun on page 31, or page 55, or page 100.
It’s not that the Early Narrative Isn’t Good; It’s that it Doesn’t “Set Off” the Story
My all-time favorite example of this is THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE, a book which
I rescued from the trash can three times before finally slogging through the opening to discover a very good story for the most part. The first 50 pages, or so it seemed, were devoted to the description of Egdon Heath and its physical and social nuances. And while unquestionably of monumental importance to Thomas Hardy, I found this abundant early-stage minutia to have nothing whatsoever to do with advancing the plot in what could remotely be considered a timely fashion.
Unfortunately, Some Writers Still Work as if in Hardy’s Era
We have to grant Hardy obvious leeway related to the time when his book was published, since this was in 1878. However, today’s writer has to be aware of the competition for the attention span of the contemporary reader. For this reason, as
much as any, it is imperative to make an honest evaluation as to when the first
compelling action in a story takes place. And it’s critical to keep in mind that this is
often not solely predicated by determining the first incidence of conflict.
But What About Writers like Jody Picoult or Tom Clancy who Write Intensively Descriptive Narratives?
It would be easy to look at either Ms. Picoult or Mr. Clancy and refer to genre to justify their writing styles, but this would be a gross miscarriage. Both employ their opening elements to set up their stories–and then they move on. And herein lies the major difference between their skill sets in this aspect of crafting exceptional prose and that of the average amateur writer trying to create quality material. Ms. Picoult and Mr. Clancy set up their work with introductory material to propel their plot lines forward–and never the other way around.
The Conflict has to be Advanced by the Ensuring Narrative, Not Supported
by It
It is imperative to look at work and ask these sort of questions: Was it essential to
write an entire chapter about walking through the graveyard? What about the laborious description of the house and the grounds before the fire? Was Jesse’s attitude on the way to the funeral with Jim significant enough to write four pages about it? Any of these seemingly stupendous story elements might not be that valuable it they are not a driving force behind the narrative that follows.
Sometimes it’s nothing more than moving scenes from one location to another. But in other instances it’s unfortunately necessary to hit the delete key–no matter how painful this may be–and begin the novel with material that enables the ensuing narrative to advance and not retard the plot.
A short time ago I received a request to review an author’s query letter. It was awful. The letter was written in a structure that would make a seventh-grade English teacher cringe. And as is commonly the case with writers who are unfamiliar with the nuances of
the publishing industry, the genre definition for the novel was incorrect.
A Monumental Mistake Compounded
While discussing how to improve the letter, one question led to another, when the
author informed me that over time he had used SIX editors on his novel (he was dead serious). This floored me. How does a writer find a half-dozen editors on this planet who don’t understand the genre of the work they are editing? This ineptness by both parties
(I’m lumping the editors together as one entity) brings up several issues that I feel a responsibility to address.
Anyone can Claim to be an Editor
First, sadly, anybody can claim to be an editor. There is no formal credentialing. I know of people who cannot write but claim in their advertising to have helped dozens of writers get their novels into print, only to learn that every one of these works was self-published.
I have had people attend my creative writing workshops who do not understand writing at anywhere near a professional level, but have “Editor” printed after their name on a business card. History is littered with editors making all sorts of outlandish assertions, such as guaranteeing a writer a contract with a major royalty publisher (which landed the principle of one editorial outfit in jail a few years ago).
The Problem with a Manuscript can Generally be Attributed to One of Two Factors
I’ve found that working with clients is about honest relationships as much as writing. Which brings me to the next point, and this is the time when hiring an editor should not be part of the equation. If a writer has found a competent editor, and nothing has happened in a positive way with respect to the manuscript after exhausting all of the available avenues, there is likely something wrong with the concept for the market in which the work is intended–or the writing is not up to the demands of the industry. This last statement does not imply that the editor was less than scrupulous in supporting the manuscript, only that there is only so much anyone can do with a project. And my experience is that hiring another editor will not help.
Respected Editors will not Compromise their Relationships with Top Agents
Another thought to bear in mind is that most industry-respected editors have long-standing relationships with A-grade agents. One reason for writers to employ highly regarded editors is the desire to have their manuscripts presented to those agents with whom these editors have a fellowship. This is particularly important today, because more and more of the top agents are not accepting unsolicited material, and the bulk of their referrals come from editors. But, emphatically, no editor I know of wants to deprecate his or her reputation by suggesting material that is not thought to be publishable.
The Best Advice Anyone can Receive
Now back to the fellow whose experience with six editors fostered this article. I have to assume he was either quite naive or very unlucky, as somewhere along the way one of the editors had to have told him the truth about his writing. Or he didn’t want to listen and kept burning through editors in hope of finding someone who would like his work. There is no value in dragging along a corpse. Related to his fiasco, from my personal experience as a writer and not as an editor, the advice someone gave me decades ago is in my opinion still the best suggestion anyone can receive about a manuscript that is not going anywhere–and this recommendation was to write something else.
Two Critical Issues to Understand and Accept
I want to offer a final remark on query letters and another on editors editing manuscripts: For an unpublished writer, the greatest query letter ever written is not going to enable a deficient manuscript to become accepted by a major royalty publisher. And neither can a host of the best editors in the industry, short of one of them ghosting the entire piece, save writing that is flawed.
I recently critiqued a spate of unpublished manuscripts that were well written for the most part except for what I refer to as “literary retro,” and I thought it might be a good
idea to address what my phrase encompasses.
It’s a Lot More than the Overuse of Commas
For many readers and writers, the most obvious instance of “dated” writing is material with excess comma usage that mirrors the respective styles of Henry James, Jane Austin, and other Victorian-era authors of classical literature. But the problematic issues with antiquated writing are much more extensive than abundant commas, and include placing
a character’s thoughts in quotations, combining different tenses, and awkward POV shifts. And many of the worst offenders are recipients of literature’s most prestigious awards.
A Prime Violator at Placing Thoughts in Quotations
Kafka wrote THE METAMORPHOSIS approximately 100 years ago. The work’s value as
a dream-narrative is indisputable, but the author’s quoting of thoughts can be misconstrued as an acceptable technique–when it is not. Bob thought, “What can I do now?” is going to rapidly send a manuscript to the slush pile; whereas, Bob wondered what he was going to do next, while not scintillating writing (and flagrant Telling and not Showing), would not in itself most likely discourage an agent or publisher from continuing to read the draft.
Even Recipients of Literature’s Most Prestigious Awards are Guilty of Verb Tense Errors
In Bernard Malamud’s THE FIXER, for which he received a Pulitzer Prize, in a couple of instances the author shifts from past to present tense in such an uneven way that it stops the reader. Knut Hamsun, a Norwegian writer–who won a Nobel Prize for Literature in 1920–wrote HUNGER, and any who read it can readily experience the problems with shifting tense. I can only assume that the Nobel committee thought this was stylish at the time, but anyone parsing the work today would not be advised to consider writing this way and expect any chance of being considered by a major royalty publisher.
Saul Bellow and POV
In two instances I am aware of in THE VICTIM, Saul Bellow inexplicably shifts POV so abruptly that I had to read both scenes several times to try to figure out who was speaking. Anyone familiar with Mr. Bellow knows he won a Pulitzer Prize for HUMBOLDT’S GIFT and was also the recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature. But while he got away with these POV indiscretions, none of us would likely be as fortunate with our own efforts, so it would be prudent not to be influenced by THE VICTIM, lest we become one.
Good Writers Don’t Copy Bad Examples
It is traumatic when someone who has studied classical literature begins serious writing, only to learn that much of what was thought to be acceptable is not. This is why many mentors will recommend to their students that, once they read the past masters, it is a good idea to spend a comparable amount of time with the current ones. Regardless of a person’s taste (or distaste for my selections), reading successful contemporary authors such as Joyce Carol Oates, Stephen King, John Grissom, Barbara Kingsolver, James Patterson, Colleen McCullough, Dan Browne, Sue Grafton, Nelson DeMille, and Pat Conroy, for example, will demonstrate the value of correctly placed quotation marks, maintaining tense, and paying strict attention to writing in a consistent POV.
A Thought on Structure as Well as Stricture
It behooves a writer to study what successful contemporary material looks like, not
just stylistically–but from the perspective of conventional formatting–however, there are
of course exceptions in this latter environment too. In Charles Frazier’s wildly successful COLD MOUNTAIN, he employed em dashes, a technique I hadn’t seen in so long (sic,
James Joyce) that I’d forgotten what they were called. I don’t suggest trying this or other non-traditional ways to set up text, any more than it’s beneficial to violate current strictures in an attempt to draw attention to one’s writing.
Transitioning Narrative and Developmental Arcing are Not Synonymous
Effective transitioning is the utilization of various techniques that enable a reader to move comfortably from one plot point to another. A developmental arc is generally much more detailed, and involves a character or plot element that needs to evolve for the story to maintain or gain strength. Developmental arcs often require extensive narrative, sometimes over many chapters, and at times can span the width and breadth of an entire work.
Using Arcs to Develop a Character for the Reader
If a writer is ever told that a character needs a developmental arc, this can be as simple as adding family history to the narrative, showing how the character lives in his or her physical environment, or providing the character’s thoughts on social issues that have relevance to the novel. Of course this can and often does require in-depth writing, but a lot of times strategically integrating snippets of these elements within the fabric of the story is all that is necessary to make a character engaging for the reader.
Using Arcs to Develop Characterization for the Reader
As with the requirements for a character to achieve “redemptive” status, characterizations can be treated in a like manner, although purists will argue that developmental arcs only apply to people. Historical references, physical descriptions of any pertinent aspect of the story line, opinions of a plot element via interior monologue, any or all of these techniques can be utilized to create solid development arcs. Simply, any link that can build the story for the reader is a candidate for use in this capacity.
What is Not Enough and What is too Much
If people are reading your early drafts and tell you they would like to know more about a character or story element, this is the best way of knowing that more work is necessary
to “flesh out” certain aspects of your material. Unfortunately, lay readers don’t often look
at these areas the way a professional does, or these people can often be too close to the writer and therefore not comfortable expressing their candid opinions.
Overzealous attention to detail can be just as much of an issue. But it seems it’s generally not as hard for a friend to tell a writer to back off rhetoric than it is to intimate that the author needs to add to it. However, this applies solely to potential arcing material, and is not meant to imply that a sheer volume words can provide a developmental arc for anything.
It’s All About Balance
Finding the equilibrium point for a story is an art form, and as much as anything why certain writers are better for certain readers. Which means that developmental arcing is
a matter of degree, and like most everything in fiction writing, highly subjective. But if a writer is receiving lay reviews on his or her own work that indicate the characters aren’t adequately developed or the characterizations aren’t portrayed with enough depth, it would probably be a good idea to get a professional critique from a reputable editor who has experience with the genre in which your novel is written.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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I don’t know when, on the writing curve, Stephen King or Nelson DeMille might seek editorial advice, only that it is documented that they do. So it begs the question, for the writer trying to break into the business with a major royalty publisher–and who accepts
that a professional editor looking at the manuscript might not be a bad idea–when is the right time to hire a book editor.
Generally there are Two Issues
For most people it’s a matter of time and money. Let’s look at the time element first.
A common practice is for a writer to send a manuscript to an editor for a critique after it
is felt that the material is in A-grade condition and ready for market–except for perhaps
the slightest touch up. But if it is determined that there are problems with plot or character elements which cannot be remedied by modifying, deleting, or inserting a few sentences here or there, then the entire piece will often require a wholesale revision.
How Much Time Does a Writer Have?
If an author should seek an editor to review a story concept and its set up from an early point in the creative process, steps can be taken to keep the plot elements in focus. And
the time saved can be substantial, since a rewrite can often require months. From a time standpoint, isn’t it better to catch any problems early–and rectify them–rather than spend considerable time on a draft that will have no prospects in its current condition? If a writer has the discipline to work with an editor during a manuscript’s developmental stage, this initiative can be a valuable time saving practice.
How Much Money Does a Writer Want to Spend?
No one likes to pay a second time for a process that failed initially. This is the most salient reason I can think of to justify bringing an editor into the fold at the start. The early-stage placement of a manuscript with a professional editor is almost always the
most economical way for a writer to work, and usually substantially so.
Does Anybody Really Work This Way?
Unfortunately, many unpublished writers will consider an editor only after a series of rejections from agents, or publishers who accept unagented submissions. This article is not going to change the modus operandi of a lot of writers who are already ensconced within the publishing labyrinth. But I hope these contentions might motivate some others who read this piece to consider contacting a professional editor toward the beginning stages of the first draft and not when it is completed.
Editors are Becoming More Flexible
As with most everything facing a writer who is hoping to become published for the first time, there is no one size that fits all. And while I hate to close an article with a disclaimer,
it is important to report that many well-respected editors only want to see completed manuscripts. Yet it seems like more and more highly regarded professionals in the literary industry are acceding to this article’s primary premise, which is to encourage authors to present early-stage material for review.
I was called to task recently by a submissions editor when I described certain characters in a novel of mine by country of origin and then provided their physical attributes. It never occurred to me that defining someone as a wiry Latino or fat Sicilian would be considered offensive. When Shaffer’s THE CASE OF THE OILY LEVANTINE became a hit, I assumed this set a reasonable standard for enabling a succinct reference to describe a character.
Must an Attribute be Assumed to be Negative?
Should my Latino have been described as agile instead of wiry? And would it have been more appropriate if he were South American; hence, an agile South American? Would my Sicilian better serve readers if he were a well-fed Mediterranean? It does become ludicrous, to the extremes, when we are driven to write in bland or imprecise rhetoric in an attempt to create description that would not offend anyone, anywhere, for any reason.
Even Writing Inflections of One’s Native Language Can be Considered Offensive
I was even told to drop the accents I used for my characters, as they could be deemed in to be condescending. My agile South American saying “Si,” for example, was considered pejorative. And my well-fed Italian couldn’t say, “Imma gonna tella you.” I have heard many agile South Americans use the word “Si” as a medium for agreement, and I have a well-fed Italian barber who routinely says, “Imma gonna tell you.” I wonder if he received the memo from his country of origin that his dialect shouldn’t be replicated in print, lest he be offended?
There is a Silver Lining
The one positive aspect of political correctness at all costs is that it requires a writer
to show the individual traits that a character possesses rather than tell them. And this
will almost always lead to better writing. For example, instead of a wiry Latino, Eduardo Ramirez–by his name–lets the reader know something about his native origin. Then if I write he is from Belize, we know for certain. Finally, if somewhere in the context of my characterization of him I reference how limber he happens to be, I’ve covered him in a
way that satisfied even the most sensitive reader. Perhaps like this:
Eduardo Ramirez was about to drop the letter that he’d addressed to his mother in Belize in the mailbox. But just as he opened the lid, he had to high jump several feet to avoid a young boy who had lost control of his bicycle and was heading right toward him. When the child finally maneuvered his bike to a stop and stepped off it, he ran to Ramirez and asked in a terrified voice if he was okay. Ramirez responded with a smile and an unruffled yes, not wanting to make a big deal out of what had happened. Later, as he thought about his close call, he was happy he’d been paying attention, since he likely would’ve suffered a broken foot, ankle or leg otherwise. And that afternoon he would not have been able to audition and win the role in the Broadway musical for which he was now famous.
What is Right and What is Wrong?
In the scene, we learn a lot more about Mr. Ramirez than he was a wiry Latino, so there is a great deal to be said for my being dressed down. I do, however, hope that society never gets to the point that plays like Shaffer’s will require re-titling. Every person from Latin America is certainly not wiry or a Columbian drug dealer, any more than everyone from Sicily is fat or a mobster. Connotations that promote judgmental attitudes are bad, but simple adumbration, in my opinion, should not be frowned upon. If the character is not of major significance or reoccurring in the narrative, my contention is that describing someone via a couple of words, such as “wiry Latino,” is often advantageous to 150 words that are not essential to the plot.
Can an Unknown Writer Compete at a Higher Price Point Than a Franchise Author?
The question posed by the subtitle is too absurd to even consider, yet it happens all the time. My favorite story involves a fellow who thought so much of his skill that he priced his e-book at $16. After a year of vigorous promotion he complained he’d sold only four copies, and one his wife bought for a relative. If e-books by major authors are priced in the $10 range, shouldn’t this have told the writer something about pricing his work?
Success Stories Abound for the $.99 E-Book
All anyone has to do is look at Amanda Hocking’s success and the way she priced her material. If I remember correctly, she even gave away some of her work to “grease the wheel.” Many authors, who often possess more marketing savvy than writing skill, have given away three-fourths of their books and offered their respective endings for a buck
or so. And some of these books have sold in the tens of thousands of copies–and in a few instances even more.
It Seems Like $2.99 Is the Far Outside
I attended a seminar not long ago at which a successful e-book pioneer discussed pricing. This person had experimented with all sorts of price points and determined that $2.99 was the absolute outer limit for an e-book that was not previously released by a mainstream print publisher. His position was that $2.99 is the stretching point an e-book
can withstand that’s not of the Stieg Larsson ilk, and anyone even remotely attune to the the publishing industry knows how seldom a phenomenon like that occurs. It might be worth noting that the first e-book concerning Bin Laden’s death was released at the same time as the print version, and the e-book price tag was $1.99!
So It Appears That $.99 to $2.99 Is the Comfort Zone
At the recent BEA conference, the CEO of one of the major publishing firms explained what everyone already knows, and this is that no one in the print business has yet learned how to market e-books. He went on to say that all of the distributing mediums which currently exist are quite good for hunters (of material) but not very good for what he called gatherers. With this in mind, it’s paramount for e-book writers to understand that unless a marketing plan is in place to drive a reader to a particular work, even a free book won’t be read–because no one will know it exists.
The first obvious issue for any reader of this article is the title, since it strays dramatically from the norm of using “versus” to separate the two mediums. The reason
for my word choice is because technology now enables anyone to self-publish for very little out-of-pocket expense.
This still doesn’t imply that self-publishing is not loathed by the major print publishers and upscale indies, along with the agents who support them with submissions, but the rising presence of this electronic medium seems to have created a degree of acquiescence for the digital aspect of self-publishing. I want to reiterate that this newfound tolerance should not be considered akin to support, since the stigma assigned to self-publishing by the mainstream industry remains as strong as ever, and the purpose of this article is solely to try to provide a degree of clarity.
POD is Not Self-Publishing
Print On Demand is confusing to some people, who assume this to connote self-publishing. POD has nothing to do with self-publishing, except that it enables a self-published book to be converted into a hard copy–and at a heretofore unavailable low cost. A single copy in a paperback book, including cover artwork from a template, can be printed for as little as $35, with the entire process taking less than an hour. And an even much shorter time frame is available if the latest technology is used (the “technology” is essentially a sophisticated printer, which I seem to remember has a price tag of around $100,000).
A run of a few hundred copies or less of a book, depending on the purveyor, can reduce the cost to under $10 per unit. According to industry figures, the average self-published book (average in this instance refers to the mode or most common number), sells 41 copies. For someone bent on seeing his or her name in print, I think most folks would agree a single shopping bag full of books is indeed preferential to a garage loaded to the ceiling with them.
Major Royalty Publishers are Utilizing POD
Because of the high cost of distribution and warehousing of non-bestsellers, especially since gross retail sales for a particular title are usually far from a sure thing, it only makes sense that major royalty publishers have embraced the POD model. Publishers can produce an exact replica of a soft-back book on demand–and at a profit–and not have to keep the book in inventory awaiting a consumer buying decision that might never come.
From a business standpoint, the POD model for a soft cover (and probably hard cover
in the not too distant future) makes all the sense in the world. This might mean that the few major book retailers still out there will be reduced to kiosks in the mall, and considering the high cost of maintaining large retail space, this dramatic change could occur quite soon.
So What about Self-Publishing?
Self-publishing is changing too. Authors are now being solicited (okay, badgered), via a constant barrage of POD options presented by the self-publishing houses, to buy the books the writers themselves wrote. Rather than once again creating a new business model, it’s much easier for a self-publishing company to access the convenience of POD and not view
it as a competitive medium. Unfortunately, self-published writers unwittingly fall for their respective publisher’s constant solicitations and still end up with a trunk full of unsold books (which once again I guess is advantageous to a garage full).
Self-Publishing is Still Self-Publishing
Like leopards not changing their spots, self-publishing is what it is. And my advice is still the same for any writer who has run out of patience and tossed in the towel: self-publish as inexpensively as possible. With E-publishing, a book can be made available with an ISBN number or its counterpart for less than $100 (and closer to $50 in many cases, I’m told). If a hard copy is necessary, the POD element enables this starting at $35 for a single copy. But once an author, and particularly a novelist, elects the self-publishing option, the writer needs to be aware, if it should be desirable at a later date to ply the major royalty publishers, it could be like springing Bernie Madoof and introducing him as the guest of honor at your fundraiser.
Before Self-Publishing, Consider the Regional Independent Publishers
The advance from a major royalty publisher (the big six plus Kensington) for a heretofore unpublished author for a work of fiction is generally in the neighborhood of $20,000. There are, however, some very well-respected independent presses (this “indies” name you’ve been seeing) that are worth looking into after the big guys have sent out their rejection slips. The advances will be smaller, but still in the $1000’s in almost all cases, and a writer might have to do more grassroots marketing (although the majors are requiring this, too, and more so than ever).
Publishers Marketplace is the “Old Reliable”
Publishers Marketplace, via its newsletter Publishers Lunch, shows which agents are placing what with whom, and a writer can learn which indies to ply for a specific genre by checking the respective links. A writer can also Google the words “Independent Publishers” and create a list. The problem with this, however, is sifting through the vanity presses that disguise themselves as legitimate royalty houses. This is why I always suggest Publishers Marketplace as the first, and in my opinion, best resource for accurate, concurrent information. But before jumping on the indie express, and to take one more precaution against ending up with that garage full of books I always warn against, I also recommend that authors make a visit to the Predators and Editors Web site. This will be time well spent and enable one more snapshot of what can be lurking in the bushes, which can be something with the body of a lamb but with a head that immediately morphs into a hydra the moment the contract is signed.
A Final Word
In fairness to self-publishing history, there are indeed accurate tales about people who have self-published and been wildly successful. But to my knowledge, all had one of two things in common: phenomenal marketing created via a gargantuan Internet presence or a highly successful commercial advertising career. In the nonfiction market, those who made it were also the undisputed experts in their respective niches. Most of us mere mortals aren’t fortunate enough to fit any of these categories, and this is why I keep stressing to self-publish the absolute cheapest way possible, should this be perceived as the only option still available.
Fact: Query Letter Writing is an Art Form.
Make no mistake about it, writing queries that produce results is a craft.
Fact: A query should not be written like a synopsis.
I devoted an entire article to this, yet writers who have read the piece continue to
send me sample queries that ignore this premise. Yes, there are exceptions. There are exceptions to everything in publishing. But if an author wants to entice an agent to stand
up and take notice, as I said in the prior article, sell the sizzle and not the steak. Pure and simple, for fiction a query is best written if it mirrors liner notes.
Fact: A writer has to know the genre in which the work is written.
If the author doesn’t know the genre in which his or her work is written, any bona fide editor can explain it. A writer who doesn’t take the time to figure this out has virtually no chance. Genre identification is paramount. And while critique groups, etc., are a wonderful sounding board, they are historically populated by amateurs, and as such not the place to learn about genre specificity in today’s complicated and ever-changing
market.
Fact: Structurally, a query can be designed like a short theme.
Yes, a simple but effective way to structure a query is like a theme. Begin with a core thought that highlights two or three critical plot elements. Justify these issues in the next paragraph, then close the letter with the thrust of the thesis: Why Readers Will Gravitate
to the Story. Personal credentials if they pertain directly to the work can be added in a final brief sentence or two, along with a statement of appreciation for the agent’s or publisher’s time.
Fiction: Copying the words or phrases from a successful query will assure another query’s success.
Nothing could be further from the truth. A query should define the voice and strength of the writer and the project. An experienced agent or publisher can pick up the nuances of a writer’s style. Counterfeiting doesn’t work.
Fiction: Query letters should never contain questions.
This farce has been bandied about for some time and is ridiculous. No one likes a query that reads like a movie opening: In a world…followed by a “what if” scenario. But there is nothing at all problematic about asking an agent or publisher to consider a novel’s most poignant issue or issues. And if some agent has written to the contrary, so be it. Hundreds of other agents, and all of those I know and work with, think differently.
Fiction: A query should fill as much of the page as possible.
It’s quality not quantity that matters. A query with 500 words jammed on a page is not going to be perceived to be any better than 300 words that clearly and concisely reflect the writer’s skill and the “hot points” about the story he or she has written. An overwritten query can plant the thought that the novel is also structured in the same manner.
What can distort this last remark are the bloated query examples posted by some writers whose work has been accepted for publication. But when a query turns into a synopsis, which is almost always the tendency in longer efforts, it’s generally a quick
reach by the agent or publisher for the SASE or the rejection template on the computer
file.
Fiction: If my query doesn’t work the first time, I can write another one later to the same agent for the same book.
Agents keep records. At least many of the good ones I know do. And, universally, as I’ve experienced it, agents never want to see a query about the same material a second time any more than they will consider a manuscript they previously rejected. So it is imperative to get it right the first time.
A final thought: A poor query will never get a book in front of an agent; however,
a great query can influence an agent to look at a novel that might just require a touch
up. And critical feedback can often be gleaned from an agent. For anyone not using a professional editor (curses), I cannot think of a better way to receive professional advice without having to pay for it. However, most authors would be way ahead of the game if they sought professional direction to assure a quality query before bombarding a highly selective marketplace with less than sterling requests to review material.
It’s All about Sound
Alliteration is often considered clever when used as hype by a newscaster such as Geraldo Rivera, but horribly annoying to a lot of people when the novelty wears off or the technique is overused. Sibilant sounds are funny when spoken via a cartoon character such as Donald Duck, while not so humorous when part of someone’s long-winded pontification
at a school board meeting. And while writing numerous consecutive words beginning with or containing letters such as a “c” or a “p” can be catchy in a commercial jingle, they might not be as well received when abundantly decorating a run of narrative.
Sound Means Everything to Text, as it Facilitates Both Rhythm and Pitch
Strong words, but true, since we hear what we read. Reason number 10,000 why it’s critical to read out loud whatever we write before we consider posting it, mailing it, offering it, or publishing it. But reading out loud also means a lot of sometimes painstakingly slow work for the writer, and why this cardinal rule is often so easy to side-step. Yet listening for certain untoward sounds, and modifying the rhetoric that enables them, has as much to do with readability as any other factor.
Start with the Obvious and Work toward Ferreting out the Subtler Grating Performers
“S’s” are the easiest culprits to recognize, since the hissing sound they engender is what sibilance refers to. And alliteration and sibilance combined are impossible for most readers to deal with. Phrases like, “She shifted seductively as she swayed towards his seat” are enough to turn off any reader. But what about subtle inflections such as “prepossessing smile,” “successful city servant” (soft “c’s” count too, ha ha), and “seven consecutive series.” There are indeed times when “smile” has to be modified to “allure,” “servant” to “employee,” and “consecutive” dropped and the phrase changed to “seven times in a row.”
Too Many “C’s and “P’s can Spoil the Soup
Soft “c’s” were mentioned in the earlier paragraph, but a preponderance of hard
“c’s” can be annoying in their own right. “Accommodating change encourages actionable outcomes,” is beyond a mouthful. And so is, “They appealed to the people in the principal opposition party.” Consider how both phrases are sitting on your mind right now, and then read either phrase out loud and see if you don’t come away with a sore jaw.
The Key is Balance
No writer sets out to aggravate the reader when the intent is to craft fluent prose. But the tendency for many writers is to be complacent and not look for the little tics that can sometimes evolve into major trouble spots. Reading material out loud, and listening closely to how it sounds, is the best advice anyone can give or receive. If it sounds bad, it reads bad. It’s that simple. Again, it’s all about sound.
The comma is one of the most highly debated forms of punctuation, simply because its use is often a function of inflection, and for this reason can be viewed the same as opinion. Simply, one person likes where a comma is placed; another person doesn’t. But there are clear-cut issues for which many writers take a lot of leeway, and this article will address some of the more obvious miscues involving comma usage.
A Comma Precedes a Conjunction, It Doesn’t Follow It
Here’s a typical example of sentence construction I’ve seen recently: John went to the bistro and had several drinks but, since Mary didn’t show up, he left. Now here’s essentially the same sentence, except with “and” instead of “but.” John went to the bistro and had several drinks while waiting for Mary and, since she never showed up, he left. Clearly in both instances the comma should precede the conjunctions.
There really isn’t wiggle room in these illustrations, but for whatever reason I find
some writers trying to set off “since Mary never showed up” as a separate clause when
it isn’t. Perhaps a way to look at this clearly is if the word “however” is substituted for the conjunctions in both sentences. If the word was now “however,” would anyone not place
a comma (or some would suggest a semi-colon) in front of it?
To Comma or Not to Comma Is Often the Question
A comma has to come before “too” or “also” if either of these words is placed at the
end of a sentence. Ms. Milsey in fourth grade told me this, so did my high-school English teacher, and every English course I took in college reinforced these earlier positions. Some people can become downright nasty in their justification. The fact is, however, that current grammar experts tend to eschew the comma in this syntax.
Commas to Set Off Proper Names
Commas are necessary to set off proper names, but it’s important to understand the context in which a proper name is placed. “Go see Mark,” is not the same as “Go see, Mark.” And, while this illustration is a no-brainer, here’s one that’s not: “I want to talk to you, Mark.” Even though proper grammar requires it, for the sake of fluency in many instances the comma is eliminated. Just as “Oh well” might be author’s preference instead
of “Oh, well.”
No and Yes Require a Comma
“Yes, I want to go,” and “I’m certain that, no, it is not a good idea,” are examples of “yes” and “no” in sentences in which a comma is necessary to set off each word. Yet I commonly read these words without a comma (or commas as the case may be). However, a sentence such as “I won’t take no for an answer,” doesn’t require commas around “no.”
A Short Compound Sentence Doesn’t Need a Comma
“I have to go and I need to go now,” is fine, even though it’s also correct to write “I have to go, and I need to go now.” The second example is especially prevalent if the writer wants to emphasize the phrase “I need to go now.”
Commas in a Series Are Always Up for Debate
One of the ongoing contentions is the use or non-use of running commas. Here are two examples, and you can judge which you prefer. “The old man left the boy, the dog and the cat.” or: “The old man left the boy, the dog, and the cat.” Tomato/Tamato, but in my earlier sentence does it now read as comfortably without the comma? “Ms. Milsey in fourth grade told me this, so did my high-school English teacher and every English course I took in college reinforced these earlier positions.”
Only the reader can decide which sentence is easier to read. I suggest always setting
off the last element with a comma when there are a series of long clauses. Then to assure consistency throughout the narrative I advise setting off the short clauses too. So this states my position. For me, running commas solve a lot of issues; however, this topic is hotly contested and has been forever.
The Best Way I Know to Determine if a Comma Is Necessary
The old standby: Read the sentence out loud. Note where you have to pause. If a comma is not already placed at the point of the break, see if inserting one makes the sentence read more fluently. Likewise, if a sentence’s flow is broken up unnaturally by a comma, it might be beneficial to eliminate the punctuation.
And while there can be serious conjecture about many aspects of comma usage, as several subsections of this article pointed out, there are a number of instances in which a comma cannot be eliminated or placed and enable the syntax to maintain its integrity. It’s important not to lose sight of the grammatical scenarios that for all practical purposes are inviolable.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
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I’m often asked about the most common errors an unpublished writer makes. While it might seem hard to answer, I’ve looked at so much material over the years, regardless of how disparate the narratives might be, there are certain issues that always come to the forefront.
What aren’t the Big Five?
And I want to provide an answer that will be honest and make sense, because I’m confident no one is interested in reading about issues related to punctuation, POV shifts, tense, voice, and misplaced modifiers. So here’s my perspective of what would prevent a manuscript from being considered prose that only a friend or family member would pay to read.
Here are the Bugbears
If I parsed 100 drafts and totaled what I deemed to be the five most common major flaws that writers must avoid, the list would likely be topped by inadequate conflict, followed by poor pacing, unengaging characters, elliptical transitioning, and weak developmental arcing.
Now Work to Eliminate them
If a writer can design conflict and present it quickly, this will motivate the reader to
keep going. But if the story flags or the characters are uninteresting, no amount of conflict is going to maintain a reader’s attention. And if the writing from scene to scene is choppy,
or the entrance and exit of characters should be too abrupt, this spells doom for a story. Additionally, if the characters and/or characterizations aren’t adequately fleshed out, this will foul a narrative.
Short and to the Point
This article may be short and to the point, but the five issues are anything but quick fixes. A writer needs to parse his or her draft and pay close attention to each aspect of the five areas I’ve referenced. If one or more or more of them are suspect, a revision will be necessary for the material to be accepted by a quality agent or the publisher of a major royalty imprint.
_______________________________________________________________________
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
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I recently wrote an article on plot believability and was asked if this was the same as story authenticity, since both seem to imply the same thing. In some respects they are alike, but in other ways they are dissimilar. Believability relates to the feasibility of situations occurring in the manner in which they are depicted; authenticity involves the specific characteristics of a scene as the reader believes the events would take place.
The Authenticity of a Happening
In a scene in an operating room, would a surgeon be allowed to continue to botch
one operation after another when everyone on the medical staff knew the doctor was incompetent? Would a cop be allowed to shoot an unarmed person and go back on the street the next day? Could a lawyer–solely by the threat an injunction provides–prevent
a spouse from going after an ex who was having an affair? Now take this to the next level.
Could the same doctor remove the wrong limb, for example, and simply cover it up while being under intense scrutiny because of prior bad history? Would a police officer make the mistake of shooting an innocent bystander for a second time in his career and be left to remain on the job in the same capacity? Would an attorney be foolish enough to think that a court order is going to keep a crazed spouse away from a cheating counterpart when a prior client was murdered under similar “paper” restrictions?
Competent Characters Displaying Incompetent Actions Won’t Work
Assuming it’s a human, once a character’s profile is crafted for the reader, it’s critical to understand the way this person’s actions are going to be perceived by the reader. Among other elements, perceptions can be determined by the person’s appearance, personality, and employment. For the purpose of this paper, let’s take these three traits as a starting point. If we’re wanting our character to be suave and debonair, this person can’t be 50 pounds overweight and a slob at the dinner table. Should our character possess a legitimate gentle disposition, this person wouldn’t do well as a sadistic murderer with no conscience. An FBI agent who is a long-time Agent-In-Charge wouldn’t be indecisive, forgetful, and prone to making the same mistakes over and over. Yet I’ve read drafts with these sorts of misrepresentations.
Consider the Global Nature of the Narrative
If the lead character is a crown prince and the son of the richest man in the world, and this person is kidnapped, how extensive would the search likely be? And if this child were thought to be on foreign soil, how many people in that country’s police–and military–would be searching for the lad? I’m suggesting it would be no less than the quest to find Bin Laden right after 9/11. So it’s important to sometimes “size” a character(s) so the plot doesn’t appear too large for any storyline to handle.
Authenticity Is More Than Perception
Authenticity also means how scenes play out in the timeline in which the story was written. To this point, if an author is writing about the FBI or CIA or the NYPD, it’s important to understand the way these outfits operated in the “date” of the narrative. If writing a period piece, the technology must also fit. Cell phones can’t show up in 1975 any more than a commercial jet can be flying tourists from New York to Paris in 1955.
Check the “Facts”
And this means looking further than Wikipedia or the first link to the subject that’s provided by an Internet search engine. I’m not criticizing any particular sourcing medium, but anyone can post on Wikipedia, as it’s really nothing more than a sophisticated blog. Wikipedia can be a fine starting point, but I strongly suggest checking with reputable encyclopedias and other sources that pertain directly to the subject. When I do research for my own material, I commonly make phone calls. For example, about 20 years ago I called Sikorsky Aircraft in Connecticut to make certain a helicopter I cited in a story was in fact deployed at that time in my narrative, which was 1960. I learned it wasn’t until the following year!
For that same story, I called the State Department in D.C. to find out what the lobby in the building looked like in 1960. It required a few phone transfers, but I was put in touch with a woman who was a receptionist in 1960 (I also learned the building was under major renovation). In the overall scheme of things, the barren walls and bank of elevators on the left meant nothing to my story, but I felt good about describing the scene as it would’ve appeared to someone entering the dual set of doors to the building on C Street at that time in our history.
Authenticity adds to the richness of a tale, and while it might never sell a story to a publisher on its own, a lack of accuracy can certainly keep a book from being accepted by knowledgeable readers. And that does matter.
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
________________________________
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As an editor who specializes in fiction, I quite often have clients lament about my criticism of a plot element that I find implausible. The general response is, “It’s fiction,
so why should it matter?” First, just because a narrative is fictional, this doesn’t mean
the story elements should not be factual. Second, all fiction is grounded on fact to some degree, and even the wildest fantasy has to contain characterizations the reader can
relate to with respect to their legitimacy.
Once Again, to the Planet Zegrebnon
I wrote an article not long ago in which I stated that even the most outlandish science fiction requires accurate physics to make scenes work for readers, since the scientific community understands the various disciplines. For example, a space alien couldn’t be
in multiple places at the same instant. Even traveling many times the speed of light, if
that were possible, would entail nanoseconds (or whatever) to differentiate location. An extraterrestrial entity might appear to be in several places at one time, but the author couldn’t tell the reader that the being was indeed in more than one spot at an identical moment.
Let’s Get Back to Earth
If a person is tossed into the Bering Strait, I know from “Deadliest Catch,” and a tour guide of mine while on a fishing trip in Alaska, that a person has about 4 1/2 minutes before some serious problems can occur, although the consensus is that a human might make it for a half-hour, but would likely have substantial health issues if still alive after being in the water for that period of time.
However, there is a documented case of a man who survived for longer than 6 hours
in 45-degree-or-colder water after his ship wrecked in 1984. Studied by scientists from all over the world, he was overweight and his body fat was two to three times thicker than
the norm and solid like that of a seal. I think it’s fair to imply that this fellow was unique. And that’s the point. Can a writer expect readers to accept that a character could negate insurmountable odds when only one person in recorded history is purported to have done so?
This has nothing to do with hypothermia. It could mean rowing a heavy boat on a lake against a gale wind and in two hours making it ten miles. Or incapacitating a burglar in the dark (I know the movie, too, but you get my point). Or never having shot a gun and hitting multiple people with single shots in a speeding boat on rolling seas. Then there’s tossing a bullet in a fire so it will go off at just the right angle and hit the bad guy. While this list is of course endless, readers’ attention spans aren’t.
All Writers Must Understand Their Audiences
If it’s a police procedural, the person buying a book in this genre will likely be hip to the way law enforcement operates. When the bust takes place, the writer had better understand what cops say and do. And what they can’t say and don’t do! Also, a reader’s acceptance factor is not like what occurs when watching “Nikita” on TV, a show that has all sorts of female assassins with martial arts skills enabling them to take down men three times their size. Only one woman in the entirety of our Armed Forces is rated at the highest level for hand-to-hand combat. This means she also possess jujitsu skills that allow her to effectively fight a man on the ground. Again, only one female in the whole of our military.
Fully Grasp the Limitations of Every Character
Even Superman and Wonder Woman have limitations. Since we create our characters from our imaginations, it’s important not to get carried away and want to live vicariously through their actions. Make chase scenes realistic, love scenes acceptable, physical characteristics identifiable for the average person, etc. The more accurately fiction is written, the better it is.
The Feasibility/Plausibility Test
Even though the words “feasible” and “plausible” are often considered interchangeable, someone whose name I’ve sadly forgotten wrote something along these lines: “If it’s feasible, this means it can be done under normal circumstances; if it’s plausible, this
means it could be done, but only under the most unlikely of situations.” To keep the reader engaged, I suggest staying with feasible scenarios and avoiding scenes that are unlikely
to occur except by sheer luck. Think of the man from Iceland who swam for six hours in 45-degree-or-below water and survived. Would you believe it?
The craft of creating professional correspondence has as much to do with understanding the tone in which the letter is to be presented as in any other factor. A letter’s purpose can be diminished, misconstrued, or lost in total if the correspondence is not written with the desired inflection. If you are writing or editing for someone, to avoid these pitfalls, it is imperative to communicate with your employer or client so that the letter’s premise can be converted to the perfect write for that person’s needs.
In conversation, a tone of voice may indicate one thing when the intention is quite different. Should the speaker recognize the error, this misspeak can be remedied by an apology, by glossing over the infraction, or simply by an abundance of rhetoric intended to cause the listener to forget what had been said, earlier. But when the words are committed to paper, the luxury of remedy is not always possible.
We were trained via our business communications textbooks (a hundred years ago in my case) to practice certain techniques related to tone that unfortunately were seldom applied in the real world of professional correspondence, then or now. The correct tone from the outset makes the task of the letter that much easier, unfortunately, this vital precept is often violated.
Someone might still ask if consistency of tone is really that important. Here is my response: After writing a complicated personal or business letter, how often does one ask
if what was written really conveyed what the person wanted to say? And after several rewrites, it is still not uncommon to pose the same question? In an overwhelming number
of instances, the problem is not the content, but an issue–somewhere–with the tone of the narrative. Check it out and see how often this is true.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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One of the most confusing issues in all of publishing involves ISBN codes. How does a writer get an ISBN for a book? How much does one cost? What does the number mean? Does a book require a new ISBN if it’s reprinted? Are the numbers different in countries outside the States? The list goes on, but unfortunately seldom if ever are the most important questions asked. The purpose of this article is to explain how the ISBN works.
I’ll also be providing several links along the way for verification and clarification purposes, but I think it’s important to explain the basics of the ISBN first.
The ISBN is One of Many Codes
ISBN stands for International Standard Book Number. The definition of the ISBN is provided by isbn.org, but a simple explanation is: The ISBN code is a unique identifier
for books that are intended to be sold commercially. The system was created in the U.K.
in 1966 by W. H. Smith and called SBN or Standard Book Numbering. It was adopted in 1970 as the international standard ISO 2108. Another number, the ISSN, or International Standard Serial Number, is used for periodicals such as magazines.
Be Aware that Different Codes are in Use in Countries Outside the U.S.
The first issue to keep in mind is that many countries use their own ISBN system. For example, Canada uses the CISN format, which means Canadian ISBN Service System. Also, Amazon uses its own identifier, which the firm calls ASIN (however, the number follows the ISBN code). The second issue to be aware of is that the ISBN has no relationship whatsoever to the Library of Congress Control Number (which is free, by the way). I think anyone serious about becoming published in any medium would be prudent to click the Library of Congress link and spend the 15 or so minutes it will take to read through the FAQ’s.
Instances in Which a Writer Doesn’t Need an ISBN
It’s important to understand that if a writer has no intention of selling his or her book via a commercial setting, handing it off to a wholesaler, or is not planning on placing the book
in a public library, there is no need to apply for an ISBN. But, if the author plans to sell the book through an outlet(s) of some sort, to answer the first question I posed, the ISBN may be purchased from only one official source provided by the U.S. government, and this is publisher R. R. Bowker, 630 Central Ave., New Providence, NJ 07974-1154. The company’s toll free phone number is 877-310-7333.
Yes, R. R. Bowker is the Only Official Government Purveyor for ISBNs in the States
Now that I’ve clearly established Bowker as the originator of ISBNs, what about the inordinate number of firms and individuals who resell the numbers? Here is where it really gets sticky, but let me begin with cost first. The cost of a single ISBN from Bowker is currently $125, while ten ISBNs are sold to the public for $250 or $25 each. The first question is, why would anyone need more than one number? And the answer is, the
person wouldn’t–unless the writer plans on having a book published in multiple mediums.
If the latter is the case, each format, such as an e-book, hardback, softcover, trade paperback (which is smaller than softcover), etc., requires a different ISBN to identify the particular medium for the book. Simply, one number applies to the hardback and another
to the softcover, etc. But as long as nothing changes in a book in the original medium in which it is published, it can be reprinted ad infinitum under the same ISBN. But change any wording in the narrative, or the medium in which the book was originally published, and a new ISBN is required. Not rocket science, but we’re not even close to through with this.
A Barcode is Necessary for All Books Sold Commercially or Placed in a Library
The next issue is the need for a unique barcode number, and this must also be purchased from Bowker (I know, how convenient). A unique barcode number is necessary so the bookseller can identify the price point at which you want to sell your book. So the first rule is not to purchase a barcode until you determine what price you want your book
to sell for. And since you might have an e-book priced at one price point and a softcover release at another, you would need a separate barcode for each; hence, again, the need
for more than one identifier.
Barcodes don’t have the dramatic price drops that are commensurate with ISBN codes (more on this to come). A barcode is $25 each from 1 to 5, $23 if purchased in lots of 6 to 10, and $21 in any spread from 11 to 100. Again, since they involve price points, you will have to tell Bowker your retail pricing for each style book so everything can be keyed-in accordingly. While we’re still a long way from quantum physics, what comes next is a black hole that can reshape a writer’s universe–all the wrong way.
The Following Section May Be the Most Important Information a Writer Seeking Publication Will Ever Read
A great many publishers and individuals resell the ISBNs, and it certainly appears advantageous for a writer to buy a single number for say $40 in lieu of $125. The problem is, who owns the legal right to the title the ISBN identifies if the author has not received
a release from the company or person who sold the number? According to the staff at Bowker, and I pressed them on this issue several times to make certain of the consistency of what they were telling me, each year they are contacted by a multitude of writers who are justifiably distraught after they learn the rights to their book are really owned by the person or company that resold the ISBN to them!
I would think this is also a double-edged sword for the individual of company that is retaining the rights, especially if either is the publisher, since if the work is plagiarized, the publisher is always sued right along with the writer. So, unless the staff at Bowker is lying to me to protect their interests, I think it would behoove any writer to make certain a release is signed before getting an ISBN from anyone outside of Bowker. By the way, 100 ISBN’s are only $575 (according to what Mrs. Milsey taught me in the 4th grade, that’s $5.75 each), and 1000 are just $1000! It’s easy to see why buying in bulk and reselling the numbers at a 20 to 40 times markup has substantial street appeal.
The ISBN and Barcode Can Be Combined on One Format
If you should be interested in how the barcode is determined, since it also has a book’s category and other information embedded, Barcode Graphics Web site explains the process in detail and this is why I chose to highlight the firm in this section. Included in their definitions is the tidbit that the Bookland EAN symbol is the barcode of choice in the book industry throughout the world because it allows for the encodation of an ISBN with the barcode on a single label.
This company’s price for 1000 of a single label with a both codes in a standard configuration is $27.75. So once a writer has the ISBN, and a price point, a single label can be ordered. Just be aware that there are a gargantuan number of graphics outfits that can print labels, so it would behoove a writer to shop around, but I imagine $27.75 for 1000 labels is a pretty strong baseline.
To recap, if you’re going to sell your book outside your individual efforts, you will have
to acquire an ISBN and a barcode number that can be affixed to each book (unless of course the publisher prints the Bookland EAN combined-label somewhere on the book). And, again, as with changes or different formats that will require a separate ISBN, you will need a unique barcode for any price points that aren’t the same.
The Release Should Be Issue Number-One
Regardless of from whom anyone acquires an ISBN outside of Bowker, the single most important issue is that the writer have a release signed by someone who has the authority to do so (which is another subject, and a monster in its own right). My opinion, if anyone wants it, is that it’s probably better to go ahead with Bowker, buy ten ISBNs, get the exact number of barcodes that are needed initially, and be done with it (other than getting the labels printed in some manner if your work is not exclusively an e-book). And if someone accepts my quantity suggestions for each component, the total for everything for one e-book and one printed book that can be sold by a wholesaler, retailer, or placed in a library, looks like a price tag of around $325, give or take $10.
By the way, it would be easy to load up on Bowker because of the company’s obvious monopoly status, but in fairness, would it be conceivable to have a hundred different authorized outlets dispensing numbers? This seems like perhaps the only instance I can think of in which our government could’ve handled something internally–such as via a Library of Congress affiliate agency of some sort, especially since this is already being
done with periodicals–and made money rather than turning it over to a private concern.
But, as many have said before me and many more will say after, who knows?
The first time I read the word “tautology,” I thought because of the “logy” suffix it referred to the study of something. However, in the realm of language, tautology isn’t considered the study of anything but the analysis of an element of writing. Specifically,
the needless repetition of a word. Not that I can improve on the definition of the three dictionaries I use for reference, yet I believe tautology is easier to understand if it’s referred to as modifying a word with a word that implies the same thing.
The All-Time Classic Is One Phrase We Hear Every Day
“It’s the same exact thing,” is the most obvious case of tautology we are exposed to
on a routine basis. Can there be the slightest difference between “same” and “exact”
in any context? Is there anything wrong with saying “It’s the same thing” when discussing something that is identical. Yet those who write copy, for newscasters in particular, seem to relish telling us that something is the same exact thing at every opportunity. Or it’s the exact opposite, as if “exact” makes something more opposite.
Tautology Comes in Many Forms
Many people have written in the drafts of theirs I’m sent to edit that a character has looked up at the sky or down at the floor. Unless someone is an astronaut, is it possible
to look down at the sky? How about up at the floor? Just like looking down at the sky, it’s possible to create a scenario in which a person would look up at a floor, but it takes some work.
Tautology Creeps Into Our Rhetoric in Subtle Forms Too
An example I noticed in a dictionary was “widow woman.” But what about the following examples: hurtful injury, unhappy frown, mean sneer, happy smile, joyous glee, and black darkness?
However, if a connotation is desired that goes outside the accepted obvious implication for injury, frown, sneer, smile, glee and darkness, it’s of course acceptable if not desirable
to modify each noun. Slight injury, deep frown, loud sneer, brief smile, tempered glee, and eerie darkness are each couplets with greater meaning because of the modifier.
Tautology Isn’t Limited to Nouns
I read recently a line in which a photograph was blown up larger. Could it be enlarged any other way? The same as reduced smaller or fell down. Yes, someone can theoretically fall up the stairs, but this is certainly not common enough to be accepted as idiom.And it’s what’s acceptable to a language that in large measure determines tautology.
Ask Yourself, Am I Saying the Same Thing?
Variety keeps a narrative fresh, and it starts by making certain we’re adding to the meaning of the nouns and verbs we modify. When a writer pays attention to tautology, I’ve generally found this author just as introspective when analyzing core thoughts and making certain these themes aren’t over-justified by the text that follows.
And if I’m Not Saying the Same Thing?
One final remark, and it involves making certain something is indeed tautological. I was taken to task a while ago for using the couplet “much more.” An erudite chap mentioned
that an instructor of his in grammar school, no less, said this phrase was redundant and therefore superfluous. I respected his comment and complimented him for his good fortune at having a teacher who was so precise and willing to share such good advice with children that young. But I ask anyone reading this article, would you rather have more on your next week’s paycheck–or would you rather to have much more?
Robert L. Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
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There is an obvious question one might ask: Is there a problem with prologues to begin with? And while I personally don’t think there should be, there apparently is, especially for the writer who is trying to find an agent or publisher for the first time.
Prologues Conjure Up All Sorts of Imaginary Demons
The unpublished writer has a lot of hoops to jump through that an author with a readership doesn’t have to be concerned with, and this is why we see prologues preceding the work of some of our best known scribes, and proudly so. Then what’s the big deal about a manuscript from a new writer in which a prologue is part of the narrative?
As best I can figure out the thinking of certain agents, submission editors, and publishers, it’s that the prologue may give away too much of the story. It is therefore deemed better to place the information within the narrative as backstory, rather than
to present it as stand-alone material that adumbrates in any way what is to come.
But there may be a Real Demon to Contend with
Whatever anyone might feel about prologues, a legitimate argument can be made that they generally support Showing rather than Telling the action. And that it would be better
to place the thrust behind the prologue material at a later point in the narrative, since in its new location it could very well beget a Showing sequence.
I only offer this last sentence because as an editor I do see more Telling instead of Showing within prologues. But this isn’t always true, and certainly not an issue if an event–long past–needs to be provided so a reader can retain something in the back of
his or her mind to help solidify or flesh out a plot line.
However, it Seems as though there is Little Choice but to Eschew Prologues – for Now at Least
If many of the people who determine if manuscripts become placed have developed
a negative attitude toward prologues, budding novelists perhaps should decide if this bias
is worth fighting. I can’t tell anyone what to do, but I am looking doubly hard at anything
I receive from a client in which a prologue is included, while gritting my teeth because of this seemingly burgeoning industry intolerance for this long-established set-up medium.
I never realized the problem with writing a novel that fit in with many genres until I received a rejection many years ago from a publisher who had at one time been my editor. She told my agent that my thriller fit medical, military, and political genres and her imprint’s guidelines were too restrictive to support a book such as mine. Of course I was crushed and couldn’t understand such lunacy.
Readers of Certain Imprints have Specific Expectations
It required many years before I finally accepted what I’d been told, and I feel what I eventually understood is worth passing on. First and foremost, it might be obvious that a person reading an Avon book expects a Romance, and a particular sort of story with a specific set of characters. And it’s just as obvious that readers of Pinnacle thrillers anticipate a mass murderer, killing victims in a gruesome manner “on stage,” while pursued by a cop who will have the tables turned on him or her, and this person’s lover will also be brought into the fray.
Platforms have Little or No Wiggle Room
As the latter example indicates, a single murder wouldn’t work, nor would a potential catastrophe of cataclysmic proportions. For a book to be accepted by Pinnacle, there must be a heinous mass-murderer on the loose, and the story needs to contain a traditional law enforcement element pursuing the evil-doer. So, no virus can be about to be unleashed or there can’t be an imminent nuclear threat, along with some prefabricated agency’s personnel trying to save the day such as with 24.
If a Genre is Not Specific to the Story, a Myriad of Problems Can Develop
I’m often faced with having to explain to my clients that their respective books not only fit into multiple sub-genres, but cross the lines of major genres too. I find this particularly common when someone is writing YA material that begins as a Mystery and then turns into pure Fantasy. Or YA material that suddenly depicts a murder or a sex scene in somewhat graphic terms, making the work unsuitable for young adults yet overall too soft for the adult market. Another problem area is Adventure that becomes Sci Fi. If you bought what you thought was a James Bond type of story that suddenly became Dr. Who, how would you feel about your purchase?
Distinct Boundaries Exist
I hope this is now starting to make sense for readers of this article much quicker than it did for me many years ago. There are specific guidelines that publishers expect their stories and therefore their authors to follow. And now with all the sub-genres, these parameters are more restrictive than ever. So when I suggest that writers approach only those agents or publishers who have placed or published material in the genre or sub-genre in which their story is written, there is a definite method to my madness.
I’ve written many articles during the past few years on the art of composing query letters, and these have consistently ranked among the most popular of anything I’ve published. But even after explaining what an agent is looking for, and that a query must read like liner notes and not a synopsis, I continue to receive questions from writers.
So I thought it might be a good idea to dissect a query down to what I call its capillaries.
Successful Queries Consist of Four Distinct Parts
The four parts of a query letter are: the hook, the layout, the reason the book will appeal to a wide market, and the writer’s credentials.
The Opening Paragraph
The opening paragraph must contain a hook that differentiates the story from all others. It also must encapsulate the primary focus of the novel. Then it has to tell the agent that what follows is genuinely scintillating material which will be indicative of a story that is going to be a blockbuster, since all agents and publishers want only the next big book. This is not a joke or hype, even though some agents or publishers might intimate otherwise, especially when they are in a professorial mood.
Here’s What Not to Write for an Opening to a Query
My 85,000-word historical novel opens with Ma and Pa leaving Virginia in 1872 with plans for settling in Missouri. Uncle Dirk goes with the family and is arrested for killing a man in a bar fight. Pa tries to spring him from jail, but shoots the sheriff and gets himself arrested too. Ma goes on by herself with the family and meets a man in Missouri who she decides is more to her liking than Pa. Especially since Pa probably won’t get out of jail for several years, if ever. Ma has a baby by this man, a boy who grows up and runs for public office, but Pa comes back and tells Ma she done him wrong and is going to tell everyone what kind of woman she really is, and that her son is illegitimate. She decides to shoot herself rather than face her shame.
Here’s the Same Opening for a Query That’s Not in Synopsis Form
A VOW NOT TAKEN, my 85,000-word work of Commercial Fiction, is the story of a young woman whose husband is sent to prison in 1872 for trying to spring his brother from jail and shooting the sheriff during the botched escape. Emily Davis must brave the frontier to find a new life for herself and her family, and she discovers love and happiness with a man after she settles in Missouri. Her life is everything she could hope for, until her husband shows up 20 years later and threatens to expose her as a bigamist; and her son, who is now running for public office, as a bastard.
Now that the agent is excited, what more can the author offer? The woman has decided to shoot herself rather than face her shame. Is this by itself enough to build on? Let’s see.
The Second Paragraph Has to Elevate the Query to the “I Need to Read This Book,” Level
Emily contemplates taking the easy way out. One shot from the pistol and she is free. But as she places the gun to her temple, her life flashes in front of her and she uncocks the hammer. If only her husband had listened to her and left his brother in jail. She never told him what Dirk had done to her. Getting free of him was going to be a blessing. Why would her husband not leave with her and the children when she had asked him? Why wasn’t he stronger–and why wasn’t she?
The Third Paragraph Cinches the Deal
A VOW NOT TAKEN is a story of a woman in conflict, yet Emily’s methods for defeating adversity will give readers a window into their own hearts and a different perspective on
the difficult decisions that form people’s lives. Decisions, like Emily’s, which are not made because of necessity or convenience, but for love. Emily shows that clarity is a matter
of conviction solidified by time, and readers will be gratified when she is rewarded for maintaining her dignity while in the throes of intense peer pressure and public scorn.
A Little About Yourself and a Request
A VOW NOT TAKEN is my first novel. I have an English degree from CCNY, and I finished first-runner-up in statewide creative-writing contest sponsored by the local library system where I live. I maintain an active blog on which I offer chapters of my novel for review,
and I am encouraged by what has become a substantial following. I am writing to ask if
you would be interested in considering A VOW NOT TAKEN for representation. I am most appreciative of your time, and a SASE is enclosed for your reply.
Write a Comprehensive Opening Paragraph and Break It Down
Everything in this query for this pretend story, other than what I wrote at the end, came from the opening paragraph. Look for the parts in your story that set it apart. Is there love, hate, joy, fear, anxiety, jealousy? What is the story’s strongest element? That should be the lead.
In the make-believe novel I invented for this exercise, a woman is left to carry on by herself because of a husband who did not exercise good judgment. But can he be faulted
for his brotherly love? Yet was he completely ignorant of his brother’s violation of Emily? I chose not to focus on the latter issue in this storyline, but in your treatment it might be the compelling plot element. Then why would he try to rescue his brother? Didn’t he care about what was going on with his wife? Or was he scared of something else?
Once it’s established what makes the story tick, the entire query can be designed around this. It’s solely a matter of filling in the blanks. Just be certain not to “tell” the story in the query. Instead, “show” what makes the narrative work.
I normally don’t get too concerned when people discuss the vagaries of what it requires to write well, regardless of how off-base I think some of the comments might be as they pertain to a particular subject. But I’m motivated to get involved when an element of writing is discussed with fervor and a decided bias, yet with a blatant lack of understanding for the topic. A recent harsh treatment of Point-of-View is what motivated me to write this article.
Why Can’t POV Be Written in Any Way One Sees Fit to Write It?
Last year I was taken to task by a writer who’d written a piece he’d submitted for “approval” via a writer’s blog. I don’t generally respond to this sort of thing, but as I read his material, I noticed distinct POV shifts via four characters in what was a short opening chapter of 500 or so words. I wrote this fellow that his writing was fine, except for the POV issues. I was sent a brisk note that since “he” was the creator of the material, he could write the Point-of-View any way he wanted. After all, he told me, “he” wrote it, and in who else’s Point-of-View could it be written?
It Would Be Funny if It Wasn’t So Serious
I laughed off his callow remark, tried to explain what Point-of-View entailed, even providing some resource material to support its importance, then quickly moved on after
I found I was stoking rather than extinguishing a fire. I thought little more about POV’s misconception until I noticed one of my articles on the subject posted on a Web site for writers. Several people were kind enough to state that my explanation of POV was indeed better than the original one that fostered the blog’s thread, but then each contributor tried
to diminish the validity of POV.
This rankled me, especially when the moderator of the blog went on to support my contentions, yet was just as quick to offer that POV shifts really don’t matter much one
way or the other. She admitted, however, that she also had difficulty at times with POV. This should’ve told readers the value of her opinions on this subject, but the coup de grace was when she closed her post by stating that POV was important only to agents, editors, and publishers–but not to readers.
It Isn’t True That POV Matters Only to Agents, Editors, and Publishers
If I’d ever read a position that justifies why amateur writers accepting advice from other amateur writers is a road map to disaster, that was it. Agents, editors, and publishers are not an exclusive club infatuated with POV shifts and the issues they create. If POV shifts are done incorrectly, they will stop the reader! This is what matters, not the contention of any professional who works in the industry.
If the reader doesn’t know who is speaking, often the scene will need to be read again. If this occurs repeatedly in a story, it can cause a book to be set down for good. Even an occasional POV shift can destroy the flow of a narrative. I’ve cited this before, but Saul Bellow let a couple of unnerving POV slips occur in THE VICTIM. And while this proves that even the best writers can err in applying this element uniformly, a mistake by an iconic writer hardly justifies POV-shift acceptance.
Anything That Jars the Reader Is Not Good
Not a brilliant statement by any means, but this is what the POV issue is all about. Some writers can shift POV effortlessly, and to paraphrase what the famous writer E. M. Forster said, if it’s effected seamlessly it doesn’t matter at all. But when the reader notices the shift, then there is a problem.
When Is It Easiest to Shift POV?
Complete scene breaks and of course new chapters will lend themselves to POV shifts. I’ve also found that high-tension scenes are at times forgiving if handled deftly (this might seem an odd example to cite, but for whatever reason I’ve found it valid). Some people write in an omniscient voice via third person and assume this always works. Unfortunately,
it doesn’t if the speaker is not clearly identified. So while omniscient third person enables wide latitude, it doesn’t mean there aren’t requirements.
No Final Word on POV Exists
Debate will always rage over POV. The best response I can provide follows closely with what I stated earlier, and this is to write whatever the reader finds acceptable. If a POV shift doesn’t stop the flow of the narrative for the reader, it can be assumed the task was handled in a masterful fashion. The time to find out if a POV shift was successful, however, is not after the reader has put down the book because of becoming frustrated with it. This is the crux of the entire subject.
In writing, the reveal is the key element that explains what has enabled a story to
hold the reader’s interest, and a component that is generally retained until the last possible moment. Many a book is judged by how well this is handled. If the work is strong, commonly this is because the finale contains a riveting reveal, yet it doesn’t always mean this occurs at the very end of the story. More on this later.
Certain Genres Lend themselves to Great Reveals
By their very nature, mysteries and thrillers are the most obvious genres for which scintillating reveals would seem best suited. But romances, fantasy, YA, and every other genre demand a reveal. If not, a story’s premise would never be accepted by the reader. Material falls short when the narrative doesn’t finish with a powerful enough reveal. Simply, the ending doesn’t live up to the plot elements. And nothing is more frustrating for a reader than to be left unfulfilled because a plausible “answer” didn’t materialize.
At Times it Works Best to Write the Ending First
I often suggest to authors who habitually have struggled with endings to write them first. In this way, they can craft material to meet the standards their respective reveals require, and not the other way around. It’s sort of like writing a joke, since commonly the punchline is created initially and the material leading up to it is figured out later.
The Reveal and the Denouement Can Be the Same, but Not Always
It’s easy to slip into the mold of thinking that a reveal and a denouement are always interchangeable, but they aren’t, and this is the point I was making at the end of the first paragraph of this article. For a literary example, in THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME,
while Quasimodo’s bones turning to dust at the very end is indeed startling, the booties earlier being assigned to Esmeralda is the reveal the reader has been “waiting for.”
Examples of Books with Great Reveals
Stories don’t require the planet to be saved via a 24-style, heart-stopping set of reveals. What makes a work memorable–and as a byproduct, often remarkable–is a reveal that enables the reconciliation of an “open” plot element, or which adds and answers an unexpected twist set up by an earlier plot point.
Some of my favorite examples of reveals are provided via the classics, with THE AGE
OF INNOCENCE perhaps illustrating the quintessential example of a reveal, since the “entire story” happens 100,000 words into a 101,500-word work. In the more contemporary market, I liked the way Amy Tan finished THE JOY LUCK CLUB, E. L. Doctorow’s treatment of BILLY BATHGATE, and Ken Follett’s heart-warming conclusion to THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE.
I wrote an article some time ago about the significance of concentrating on writing narrative that advances the plot. A number of people E-mailed me to ask if I could provide examples of specific situations that stall the action.
Avoid these Amateur Writing Mistakes
One classic faux pas is the unnecessary set up to a phone call. If Tom wants to talk to Bill, begin the call with Tom or Bill talking on the phone, not the picking up of the phone, the waiting for the ring, or anything else that has nothing to do with the content of the call, such as this: Tom walked to the phone. He picked it up in his left hand and punched in the numbers with his right index finger. On the second ring Bill answered. “Bill here.” “Hi Bill, this is Tom.” “Well, hello, Tom. How are you?” “I’m fine, I hope you are too.” “Yes, I’m pretty good.”
Another scene never to write is the greeting with a receptionist: Tom walked into the waiting area to Bill’s office and approached a woman sitting behind a desk in the middle of the room. “Miss, my name is Tom Miller, and I’m here to see Bill Jones. He’s expecting me.” “One moment, I’ll see if he’s in.” “Mr. Jones, Tom Miller is here to see you.” “I’m expecting him. Please send him in.” “Mr. Miller, Mr. Jones can see you now.”
Nothing can Shut Down a Novel Quicker than Describing Mundane Activity
Each of the prior examples illustrate serious writing deficiencies, and unless there is high anxiety attached to either scenario, such as Bill coming back from the dead or being overly cautious in an attempt to conceal his affair with the receptionist, neither incident should
be played out for the reader. To state that Bill called Tom is all that is necessary before proceeding to the dialogue. Likewise, the phrase Bill met with Tom is all that is required to move the story to the start of a run of dialogue.
Search for Writing that Retards Pacing and Eliminate It
When reviewing a manuscript, it is always helpful to approach each scene with the attitude of deleting anything that is not absolutely critical to the story. And while this might seem harsh, since there is always material that is supportive of the whole, there is generally a great deal that can be cut. Especially if a passage should mirror either example in this article. The ability to recognize and delete superfluous rhetoric is essential for anyone wishing to be considered by a major royalty publisher.
Robert L. Bacon
robertlbacon@aol.com
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Story Threads can be a Huge Problem if Not Resolved, and even Some of the Best Writers are Not Sacrosanct
A thread is a plot element, nothing more, nothing less, but a problem for authors if they
do not reconcile their threads for the reader. The obvious rationale for an exception is to purposely leave the plot point unresolved to engender interest in reading a sequel to the story. But when the aforementioned is not relevant, the problem can be excruciating for
the reader. And some of the most respected writers in literary history have been derelict
by not tying up their threads acceptably.
One of the Most Flagrant Examples of Not Tying up a Thread is in INDEPENDENCE DAY
In Richard Ford’s INDEPENDENCE DAY, for which he won a Pulitzer Prize in 1996, he provides great detail in describing the circumstances surrounding the brutal murder of a
real estate agent. Then, later in the novel, he brings up her death once more, heightening the reader’s enthusiasm for an answer to who did it. But the thread is never developed and the culprit not identified. The murder therefore has no relevance to the story line, and by not providing a “reveal,” an awkward hole is left, although apparently not egregious enough for the Pulitzer committee to find fault.
WAR AND PEACE and THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE were also Not Immune to Dangling Threads
I call this lack of resolution a dangling thread, and a wonderful bad example (ugh, I know) can be read in the two novels cited in this subtitle.
Anatol is a profound early character in WAR AND PEACE (he’s the guy who ties Pierre to the bear, should anyone have forgotten). Tolstoy relates much later in the tale that Anatol lost a leg in battle, but there is not one single mention of him in any other section of the book.
In THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE, Captain Vye is a fabulous character for which a rich fabric is knitted by Hardy. But after Eustacia meets her end, there is no further reference
to Vye–and his feelings–thus leaving the story and the reader with a huge void.
Can there be a Happy Medium?
Perhaps an expedient way to view threads is via Dos Passos’ USA. Eventually he had to leave some threads to their own devices or he’d have been writing ad infinitum because of the type of historical chronicle the story happened to be. However, USA demonstrates in abundant terms how threads can be expanded to reach a satisfactory conclusion in the mind of the reader–yet sans “finality” in each and every scenario.
Shouldn’t the Writer be Cut some Slack?
Some can argue, and most justifiably, that it’s not a literary transgression to defer providing a detailed chronology for the life of every character in a book the size of WAR AND PEACE. This is certainly not disputable, but it does beg reconciliation by the author when, in my opinion, a character is prominent enough to drive a significant segment of
a story. This is my contention in the Tolstoy example, and for me it’s even more acute in Hardy’s work because the captain is such a viable character in so much of the narrative.
It could be nothing more than an issue of degree, but if readers were to parse stories they didn’t enjoy, there might be a legitimate question as to how often their disappointment was due to dangling threads.