Archive for February, 2010

Writer’s Block, The Writer’s Strain of Asthma

I have asthma. I found out several years ago when I went to an allergist and he asked me how long I’d had it. To which I responded, “Um, I don’t.” He snorted, laughed in my face, not unkindly, and told me, “Corrine, you’re having an attack right now.” Huh. No wonder I’d felt so crappy and tired for years. A damn elephant was sitting on my chest. See, my asthma attacks aren’t like those you see on TV where the person is breathing all hot ‘n heavy and everyone in a ten-mile radius starts a body search for the inhaler. My attacks come on slow, and my body adjusts gradually so that I take very shallow, quiet breaths. If I let this go on, the deep coughs that rattle to my toes will follow, especially if I dare to laugh or talk too much. My body is simply not getting enough air. And I didn’t have the tools to recognize what an attack looked like. These days I have an action plan and a peak flow meter, a lovely little device that measures how well my lungs are working. Green; I’m good to go. Yellow; whip out the inhaler and the ‘roids (that’s prednisone for you non-asthma people). Red; get thee to a hospital.

Wrestling with writer’s block has much in common with my asthma attacks. I’m strumming along in my work, and the words are tripping off my fingertips. Then, the spiteful muse I’m channeling decides to go shopping for the day or wash her hair or do whatever useless thing muses do when they are NOT doing their job. My fingers stumble a little on keys, but I forge on. Who needs muses anyway? So I plod along for a while until I realize everything I’ve written sans that harlot muse is absolute crap.

What happened? For me, writer’s block is indicative of a plot problem. And like my asthma attacks, I can’t diagnose the problem until I’ve run out of air. When I examine myself to see what caused the stumble, it’s most often traceable to a storyline or character decision that doesn’t gibe. And here’s where I’ve had to put an action plan in place to diagnose writer’s block before I end up needing beta first aid. A plot flow meter, if you will.

Green:

No symptoms. Words and ideas are flowing. I’m good to go!

Yellow:

Symptoms:

Sentences are halting and coming more difficult. My gut tells me I’m rushing this scene or that these characters would never interact like this. I ignore my gut, and I’ll end up writing down a path that puts me in a box I can’t get out of. Example: the very first draft of TOUCHED (that nobody but me has seen) had Remy taking a bus and a ferry to her father for help. I really wanted that ferry in my story (don’t ask me why – I have a fascination with them) so I ignored all these problems that came with that boat – like starting her relationship with her father off unbalanced and becoming too familiar with the hero from the get go (Asher was on the boat). By ignoring my gut, I ended up with twenty pages of deleted scenes with great descriptions of ferries.

Diagnosis:

Pay attention to your gut. Slow down, and figure out what’s making you pause. Fix it now before you write yourself in a corner. Or onto a ferry.

Red:

Symptoms:

I. Can’t. Write. HELP! I’ve lost momentum and enthusiasm. I stare at my laptop screen a lot. Usually because I’m on Hulu avoiding work altogether.

Diagnosis:

Figure out where the road forked and start over. The best fix for me is to talk about the problem with a friend. Somehow, hearing the problem out loud helps me to come up with a solution. I take an Aha! pill, and I’m back in the Green zone.

Learning to identify that yellow zone has been key to my growth as a writer. If you learn to listen to your gut, you may find yourself ending up with writer’s block less frequently.

Writing the Sequel: Touched Part Deux

Now that I am into the sequel for TOUCHED, I’m discovering more about my writing methods. I am an outliner. A fluid outliner who allows for surprises, yes, but I would still define myself as a writer who outlines. I also write chronologically, going from one chapter to the next. If I get an idea for a later chapter, it goes into my outline. I do not, however, skip around. For me, a character grows like a person does. They are formed by the people they meet and the choices they make. I don’t know how the Remy of Chapter One is going to react to a situation in Chapter Eighteen because, while the core of that person is established, the events between those chapters may have changed her in small but meaningful ways. The defensive Remy may have softened and her reactions may not be so kneejerk. I like to allow my characters to develop organically as I meet them on their journey.

What does this have to do with the sequel?  My characters are more decisive. They know each other, and they interact with familiarity. I’m dying to write the tense, action-packed scenes, and I find myself struggling to write the in-between chapters. I can trace this to two causes. First, I love to write tense, angsty scenes. My MFA mentor has told me more than once that I need to offer more breath between tense scenes so as not to fatigue my reader. I’ve worked really hard at this in revisions, and at building these moments into my outline in the sequel. That doesn’t make it any easier to write them, even while I see the necessity. Second, I am mixing things up and having characters react in new ways as the novel marches on, and I am aching to get to these scenes faster. Don’t get me wrong. The first four chapters opened with a bang, but there are later scenes that will transform my characters. Those are the scenes I want to work on.

For the first time ever, I have skipped ahead. A couple of nights ago, I wrote scenes from Chapters Fifteen and Sixteen. And discovered the problems working out of sequence brings. I introduced new characters without having defined them to myself, let alone the reader. The scene lacked the buildup of tension that preceding scenes would have lent it as moments and looks and little bits of conversation wove together to create a perfect moment. What I did by skipping ahead was create an awful lot of work on the backend because now I will have to edit that scene to death.

So tonight, I will be backing it up to Chapter Five. I will pace myself and not rush ahead. I will not presume to know who my characters are a hundred pages from now, and I think my work will be better for it.

What about you? What revelations have you had about your writing style?

Dear Meg Ryan – I Miss You

Film critics tell me I’m wrong, but damn it if I don’t miss the romantic comedies of the 80s and 90s. Pretty Woman, You’ve Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle, Notting Hill, Four Weddings and a Funeral. Pretty much any movie with Julie Roberts, Meg Ryan, or Hugh Grant. I lived and breathed these movies growing up, and they’re part of my movie collection now. When you walked into a romantic comedy, you knew the hero and heroine would end up together. Like genre romantic fiction, the surprise came in who the hero and heroine were – what their quirks and personal disasters were – and how they would end up together. Always, though, you could count on a happy ending.

Now, before you tell me, “Cory, happy endings don’t happen in real life,” let me remind you that you’re talking to the product of nine marriages and eight divorces (my parents’, not mine). I’m more educated than most in how fairy tales are fiction at best and propaganda at worst. And you know what? I don’t care. Sometimes, I need to be able to count on the fairy tale ending, if only in movies or books. I need to know that if I’ve had a crappy day dealing with finance worries or a fight with a friend that I can turn on that movie and not waste two hours investing in two characters that don’t end up together.

Lately, movies like this are few and far between. I’m not really sure why. Did we stop believing in romance? Did people get tired of what they considered formulaic movie-making? Whatever the reason, I really wish they’d get over it and feed my romantic comedy addiction. What romantic comedies do you shamelessly love and watch repeatedly?

Some romantic movies you may have missed (not all are comedies, but all are dearly loved by me):

Jack and Sarah

Dear Frankie – early Gerard Butler

August Rush

It Started with Eve – Deana Durbin

Holiday – Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn

The Philadelphia Story – Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn

Bringing Up Baby–Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn

Tough Love for Writers

December was a dark month in my life. Behind on my schoolwork, my responsibilities, my life, I felt like my writing had no direction and no hope of getting published. Agents had requested my full, but as time went by without a response I let doubt sink in. This niggling, pervasive doubt said, “You’ll never make it,” and I started to believe it. A horrible thing happened: I sabotaged myself.

I see it every day on the AW boards and Twitter. A rejection comes in, and a writer thinks about quitting, no longer sure this dream is worth balancing on the edge of heartache every day. Like those other dejected writers, I couldn’t write, couldn’t think, couldn’t find the joy I had when I was writing my novel. If you can relate to me at all, here’s where I tell you something you may not want to hear.

It was my own damned fault. I let the querying and the quest for publication overtake my love of spinning stories. I did that. Not the agents who rejected me, or the ones who were too busy to get back to me on my timeline. The stories didn’t go away. My confidence in my ability to tell them did.

When you are writing, the experience belongs to you. The exhilaration and obsession and frenzy to put words to screen: All yours. The experience of reading the finished work belongs to others, but you have sole and proprietary custody of the rest. Shame on you and shame on me for giving that away to others.

You might think it’s easy for me to say this now that I have an agent. Not true. My family knew my self-doubt had reached an all-time low when I went home for Christmas and basically cried for a week. My brother-in-law – a very talented musician – knows all about dreams that don’t come true. For Christmas, he had two copies of my book bound in secret – one for me and one for my greatest fan, my sister. Then he delivered me a solid lecture about having a little faith and remembering that my accomplishments are not measured on anyone’s scale but my own. Wise man and a lot of tough love.

I didn’t rediscover hope like I was in a Hallmark special. I went home, opened my new WIP and made myself write, even though it felt like pulling impacted wisdom teeth. And damn it if he wasn’t right. As soon as I let go and started writing, the worry about the queries and all the rest faded. I didn’t give up on my dream of getting published, but I let another one take higher precedence: a dream that I could fall in love with words like I had before. And then I wrote some lines that shocked me with how right and perfect they were, and I sighed, “There it is. There’s that feeling again.”

Two weeks later, I got an offer.

My friend, Kate, called me a “zen princess” recently. The truth is I’ve discovered that being a writer is like taking an upper followed by a downer and then repeat. I’m going to do my best to hold on to the joy where I can in this process. And when I begin to doubt myself, or give away what’s mine, I’m going to hope my brother-in-law delivers another swift kick to set me to rights.

Querying: Where to Begin?

You wrote a novel, and you made revisions. You had beta readers, and you made revisions. You went to a workshop, and you made revisions. You’ve polished your piece to be the best you can possibly make it. Now what? I get this question a lot from writers who have no idea what the whole querying process entails. Here are some basic tips to help guide the uninitiated.

1. Write a rocking query letter. This letter is your introduction to agents and includes a short summary of your work. You get one page to draw the attention of the elusive agent. You will spend hours crafting this one-page Times New Roman nightmare. Lucky for you, several agents have been kind enough to post their guides to writing query letters, including Nathan Bransford, Kristin Nelson, and Janet Reid. Peruse their blogs for tips. I’ve also included my query letter here as an example, along with the tips an agent offered to make my specific letter better.
2. Have other proof your rocking query letter. After you’ve drafted your query letter, you might want to post it to the Absolute Write Share Your Work forums to have it critiqued, or have a good friend (who is grammar-wise) proof it for you. You will find that you are constantly tweaking that letter to make it better. Continue to proof it with each tweak. Tweak. Proof. Repeat. [Did you catch that I left the “s” off of “others” in this heading? You might not catch it on your own work either.]
3. Research agents. There are hundreds of agents out there. How do you possibly figure out who to send your work to and who would be a right fit? Here’s what I did. I went to Querytracker.net and looked up authors in my genre. Those agents went on my to-query list. I visited their PublishersMarketplace and AgentQuery pages to see who they repped and their record of sales. I also checked the Absolute Write Bewares and Backgrounds Checks forum to see if authors had issues with any of these agents, like scam agents who charge writers to read their work. After all that, if the agents fit my criteria, they went on my to-query list. This process takes HOURS, but it’s important. This person will have your career in their hands, and you want to make the right decision.
4. Research specific agent query requests. Don’t send a query until you know if the agent wants a query letter or a query letter plus the first ten pages of your book. Every agent has different criteria. Know what they are.
5. Address your query properly. This is by far one of the biggest pet peeves agents seem to have and an easy mistake to make. Make sure you have not sent a request for Ms. X to Mr. Y. This screams unprofessionalism, and your query may be deleted immediately. I can’t say I blame the agents, so check the address and salutation before you hit the send button.
6. Be organized. It’s important to keep track of your submissions. Know who you’ve sent query letters to and record who you’ve heard back from. You don’t want to bother an agent with a query follow up if they’ve already rejected you. It makes you look unprofessional. I used Querytracker to organize my queries, but a lot of people use tables in Word or Excel. Whatever your method, stick to it.
7. Wait. This is the hardest part. You will hear querying authors wail about this. Sometimes an agent responds in five minutes and sometimes they respond in five months. There is no norm. Rejections may flood in, and you may begin to feel despondent. During this time, you should get going on a new work. Don’t let your life revolve around your gmail. Trust me. I speak from experience.
8. What to do with a rejection. Chalk it up and move on. Nine times out of ten, you will get a form rejection. Agents get hundreds of queries a day sometimes. IF they take the time to give you personal feedback, show some class and thank them. This applies to every step from here on out.
9. Partial Request. If an agent writes back and requests a partial, they will tell you what to send. It may be the first 30 or 50 pages, or even the first three chapters. Pay attention to their request. If they read your partial and don’t think it fits them, they may reject you. If they like your partial, the agent may ask you for a full. This whole process can take months, so be patient.
10. Full Request. This is the mecca of querying. You may get a full just from a query or it may come after a partial. Either way, it’s exciting and your heart beats fast and you’re thinking OhmygoshohmygoshIcouldgetpublished. Slow down. You may be one of 50 fulls that the agent requested of which they may make only two offers. Celebrate the victory (because it is a victory), but KEEP WORKING. More months may pass while the agent responds to their fulls. If you don’t get an offer for your work, you want to have something new to start querying.

Now, if you are lucky enough to get an offer after all of this, trust me on this – you will put Ochocinco’s endzone celebrations to shame.

Guide to Writer’s Workshops

You’ve signed up for your first workshop, and you are freaking out. You have no idea what to expect, except a vague idea that your work will be shredded and you’ll be found out as a complete fraud. OR you’ve been told that your work is amazing so many times that you secretly expect an ego stroking, though you won’t admit this to anyone. Unless you are in a really crappy workshop, both expectations are faulty. As former Editor-in-Chief of my alma mater’s literary journal and former President of the Creative Writing club, I’ve run my share of workshops. As a MFA student at Spalding, I’ve been to my share of workshops. Here are some tips on how to prepare for (and what to expect at) writer’s workshops.

1. Writers spend more time agonizing over what piece to workshop, and with reason. You don’t want to take a piece that isn’t good in your own eyes. You also shouldn’t take a piece that you consider finished (unless your only reason for going is the aforementioned ego stroking). Like Goldilocks, you want a piece that is just right – good but not too good. My advice? Find a piece that has a problem that you can’t put your finger on. The group may be able to help you identify the problem.
2. Proof your work. I’ll say it again, PROOF YOUR WORK. It’s the hugest insult to the people in your workshop if you turn in shoddy work for critique. You will be embarrassed. Trust me on this. I’ve seen it. And the people in your workshop will talk about how shoddy the work is. One more time for emphasis – Proof your work.
3. Some workshops require you to turn in your work in advance. You swap with the other writers. If you are lucky enough to get the work beforehand, read it three times. First, read it to enjoy it without making comments. Second, go through the piece and make margin notes. You should also read the work AND your notes the day before the workshop to make sure the piece is fresh in your mind. As with a beta read, your comments should include a mix of what the writer does well and where their piece needs some work.
4. If you don’t turn in or receive the pieces until the workshop itself, bring enough copies of your work for everyone, including the instructor. It’s difficult to listen to a piece, and remember what to comment on. A printed copy gives your readers something to make notes on. You cheat yourself if you forget the copies.
5. Most workshops ask the writer to read a portion of their piece aloud. It may be only a page. Practice reading your selection out loud. Sometimes you will hear mistakes or a problem with pacing. If you practice ahead of time, you have a chance to make changes. It’s embarrassing to read a work aloud and find your dialogue sounds unrealistic, even coming out of your own mouth.
6. A good workshop doesn’t jump right into what’s wrong with a piece. The workshop leader will generally set the tone, though, and I’ve been to a lot of workshops that went down this path. It’s not a good scene. While you can’t control the workshop, you can control what you say. Remember that it’s easier to swallow a criticism if you can see the reader has spent time with your work. If you like something the writer is doing, point it out. THEN, move on to something you thought could be fixed. Don’t ego stroke, but be honest. Be specific. Vague comments make me think a reader hasn’t read my work that thoroughly.
   1. Example: You have a gift for writing dialogue that sounds both gritty and true to the rough nature of your character. You might want to work on the pacing in this section, though. It undercuts the work you’re doing with the dialogue and the exposition slows things down.
7. The BEST workshop I’ve ever been to required us to analyze the work like it was Shakespeare before we dared to criticize it.* Can you imagine how amazing it is to have someone spend time reading your work for the symbolism you achingly laid in place? If you analyze the work from this place, the workshop discussions are deeper. The workshop opened with, “Tell me what you saw at work in this piece” or “What devices did you notice this writer using?” The discussion naturally brought out where the piece was strongest AND weakest without stripping the writer’s soul in front of the group. This type of reading takes time, but it is worth every second for the respect it shows respect the writer. Try this in a beta read, too, and see what a difference it makes.
8. Worst. Comment. Ever. Award goes to “I liked it.” This comment is the kiss of death in a workshop. It has three translations. First, I didn’t read your piece and can’t possibly comment on it. Second, I hated your piece and can’t think of anything nice to say. Third, I have no confidence in my opinion/ability to critique and am hoping this will get me off the hook. All three of these are a cop out. Don’t say you liked something unless you can back it up with solid reasons why.
9. Don’t be afraid to go against the popular opinion. Sometimes an alpha appears at a workshop. This is the person who knows everything, talks more than their share, and speaks with authority on EVERYTHING. This person can sometimes sway a group’s opinion on a work. Don’t be a lemming. Stand by your belief. After all, you’ve read the work three times, you’ve made notes, and you’re insanely prepared to comment.
10. Most workshops require you to remain silent while your work is discussed. With good reason. While you STAY silent, make notes on everything that said about your work. It gives you an excuse to be invisible while you die a thousand times inside. Don’t filter your notes – write both the good and bad down even if you don’t agree. These come in handy when you’re back home and thinking revisions.
11. After your work has been discussed, the floor is generally yours for a couple of minutes. This is generally meant for you to answer any specific questions or ask questions about comments you didn’t understand. Don’t use this time as an opportunity to make excuses or be defensive. It’s an insult to the people who spent time reading your work. Have some class, be gracious, and then go whine to your friends at home.

*I have to give credit where it is due. The leader of this particular workshop was author and Spalding faculty member, K.L. Cook. If you see a workshop led by him, sign up immediately. Do not pass go. Seriously.

How to Beta Read

“A beta reader (or betareader, or beta) is a person who reads a work of fiction with a critical eye, with the aim of improving grammar, spelling, characterization, and general style of a story prior to its release to the general public.”  (Source: http://www.fanfiction.net/betareaders)

Your first foray into beta reading can be an uncomfortable process as you step into unchartered territory. Armed with the knowledge that writers can be thin-skinned and defensive about their work, you may be loathe to offer criticism. And then there is the little devil sitting on your shoulder asking you, “Who do you think you are to offer criticism to another writer? Like your writing is so perfect!” In fact, you may have volunteered only to return the favor of someone who has offered to do a beta exchange with you. Regardless of your reason, you can learn a lot about your writing when you beta. You learn to see your mistakes in the works you are critiquing, which somehow makes them less invisible in your works.

Here are ten tips to a valuable beta read.

1. Before you even open the document, you need to squash that devil sitting on your shoulder. Many newbie betas apologize in advance for the quality of their critiques, sure they will have no value to the writer. Not true. First and foremost, betas are readers, and writers are usually voracious readers. One of the greatest things a beta can offer is their honest reaction to the work. You know when you like or dislike something. Have confidence in your opinion. That’s where a good beta begins.
2. Read the work twice. On the first pass, allow yourself to get lost in the work – be a reader. On the second pass, offer your critique. Why read twice? Often, a lot of questions are answered as you delve further into a work – a writer doesn’t generally give everything away in the first chapter. Also, if you know where the road ends, you will be better prepared to put up hazard signs when the writer strayed from their path.
   1. Example: Say you are beta reading a mystery and the writer reveals who the killer is in the final chapter. Maybe you guessed who the killer is in chapter three. Armed with this knowledge, you can  point out places throughout the work where the writer gave too many clues too early on. Without that first read, your comments may not have been relevant or useful to the writer.
3. Most of us remember terms like tone or POV from high school English. Perhaps the authority with which writers bandy them about can be intimidating to newbie betas. The solution? Get a glossary or a writer’s guide. If you’re going to beta, you need to learn what the terms mean. Better yet, if you’re going to write, you sure as hell need to learn what the terms mean. I’m not saying you need to bandy the terms about like you’re waving a flag to say, “See what I know?” I’m saying that you should know the building blocks of a good story. Tone, characterization, POV, dialogue, pacing, imagery, symbolism – if you don’t know what they are, how will you ever use them properly? I’ll admit that when it’s obvious my beta reader knows the basics, their stock goes up.
4. Understanding your own reaction is key to knowing how to critique. Did you hate a character? Were you confused about why they did something? Ask yourself why. The answer often points to a problem at play in the work. Pay attention to your reactions – they will guide you.
   1. Example: If you were just dumped and find yourself hating the male MC who happens to be a manwhore, that may be telling you more about yourself than the work. BUT if you’re not understanding why said manwhore has a sudden newfound desire to be celibate, the writer may have not done the work to lay in the foundation for their character’s metamorphosis.
5. Line Edits vs. Overall Commentary – A line edit is just what it says – you go through the work line by line and offer critiques where you think they are needed. Some writers will ask for this to check for grammar or continuity mistakes. Other writers ask for your take on the whole work in a brief commentary – say a page of typed notes. The writer will tell you what they’re looking for, and if they don’t, you should ask. I believe in doing both, but I recognize time doesn’t always allow for this. My compromise? I do line edits as time allows and include a few quick summary notes at the end of each chapter to give my overall reaction.
6. Ask Questions. Sometimes your comments will come in the form of questions. If you don’t understand something, throw the question out there. Sometimes a theme will develop in the questions, and this will help you – and the writer – to identify a problem with the work.
   1. Example: Say the manwhore from above is acting like a saint, and my gut tells me it doesn’t fit with his character as the writer described him. I might ask “Why is the character reacting this way?” or “What happened to make the MC act like this?” A series of these questions appear, and I know the MC’s motivation hasn’t been explained.
7. Don’t give false praise. Smart writers see through this, and you’re not doing anyone any favors. The worst workshop comment you can make is, “I liked it.” Unless you can describe in detail, what you liked and why, it will be obvious that you are lying. This may come from a place of discomfort because you are struggling to find something, anything to like. You don’t want to rip the story apart, and so you fall back on faint praise. Don’t. The point of a beta read is to help make the work better. Take the time to find a way to tell the writer what you thought could be better.
8. On the flip  side, too many betas focus on all the negative. This isn’t that helpful, either. Find the things you admire, and point them out. A writer needs to know what they do well, in addition to areas they can improve. A beta is about balancing these two things – the good with the bad. It’s really rough to get back a beta that’s full of criticism. I’ve been left wondering if there was anything they liked about the story only to find out later that they actually loved it. I think this is where that general commentary is important.
   1. Example: Going back to our manwhore, if you love his voice and it makes you laugh – say so. Point out the passages that you particularly enjoyed. A simple LOL in the margins can go a long way with the writer.
9. A Note on Writers Directing the Beta – Some writers will ask you to read for a particular issue they’ve identified. I’ve done this, and I’ve found it’s not particularly helpful. Say the writer is worried that the pacing is off, and they ask you to focus on this during your reading. The problem is that this kind of direction is prescriptive. You basically agree or disagree, but that may not get at the root of the problem.
   1. Example: The pacing may not be the issue at all, but the writer may be too close to the work to zero in on the problem. Maybe the problem is that they are writing in third person when the story is begging to be told in first. They make the POV shift and the narrative comes alive with the MC’s voice. Suddenly pacing is a non-issue. I find that regardless of what the writer asks, I treat the beta like any other. The writer doesn’t always know best.
10. Watch the tone of your comments. Most betas are done digitally – many writers never even have a phone conversation with their readers. It’s easy to misinterpret a comment. Remember, sarcasm and self-deprecation don’t always come across in writing. Treat the work as you would hope to have your work treated – professionally and with respect.

Go forth and beta!

Editing, Wordles, and the Color Gray

I am editing.

Pause.

I. AM. EDITING.

If you haven’t written a novel, you have no idea how tedious this process is. On the plus side, my agent’s changes have been minimal. On the also-plus side, I have taken this opportunity to hoover my manuscript. I am tightening up every line, removing unnecessary words and phrases. The times I was lazy and told the reader what my character felt instead of showing it – deleted. This terrible habit I have of overloading my descriptions with a train of adjectives – picked one and made it stick. That little sub-plot that didn’t move the story but amused me – had to go.

Here’s where I congratulate myself.

As my manuscript progressed, I noticed I had to kill less. My writing was cleaner, more concise as the story deepened.

Here’s where I berate myself.

I created a supernatural world with two sets of opposing beings, and I did not adhere to the rules I created. Oh, I built Microsoft Word tables to show how A interacts with B, which changes A to X and B to W. Believe me, I had tables that broke this down by chapter. BUT I didn’t stick to them. I let myself fall into gray areas because that’s where my story wanted to go. All I did, though, is create confusion and a headache for myself as I correct this laziness. My editing tip for the decade: Avoid gray areas – they make for bad plot continuity.

Here’s where I took a break from editing to make art out of my manuscript.

Kate introduced me to Wordle, and I decided to try it out to see which words I had abused. I LOVE my Wordle. At least 90% of the words on it should be on it. Character names – check. Relationship names – check. Verbs and nouns inherent in my MC’s world – check. This is a book of self-discovery and creating relationships and making connections. If I take out the innocuous verbs and prepositions (which I ruthlessly will do), I’m left with words that I would use to describe my novel’s theme. That’s a win-win to me.

My Quote for the Week:

The work was like peeling an onion. The outer skin came off with difficulty… but in no time you’d be down to its innards, tears streaming from your eyes as more and more beautiful reductions became possible.

By Edward Blishen