In this blog, I’ve often suggested you join a critique group to improve your writing. Such groups can help you in other ways, though, aside from just learning to produce higher quality writing output (though that would be reason enough). In varying degrees, I’ve received all of these benefits from critique groups.
Writing Opportunities. Critique group members can alert you to writing contests, upcoming conferences, useful workshops, and writing classes. They can also warn you about scams.
Story or Idea Inspiration. Every now and then, a critique group member may say something that sparks your creative flame. It could be a snippet of dialogue, a setting description, a plot event, or an entire story. When this occurs, you should ask if you can use the idea.
Market News. Often, one member of the group will share information about a new fiction market opening up, or new trends that agents and publishers are looking for.
Promotion Help. When other members run a blog or post on social media, they’re sometimes willing to promote your writing on their platforms. It’s courteous for you to reciprocate for them, of course.
Taking Criticism. At some point, your writing will face criticism from editors and readers. Once you’ve learned to receive harsh blows from your critique group friends with understanding and without defensiveness, you’ll be prepared to endure anything others dish out.
Giving Criticism. Participation in a critique group also trains you how to critique others’ writing, which may come in handy should you ever work as an editor. Even more important, you’ll become a better reader. You’ll read with the perception of a writer.
Production Motivation. Critique group meetings serve as a prod, urging you to write and submit to the group. You’ll feel guilty when you have nothing to share. Without the schedule pressure of an upcoming group meeting, you might fall into lazy habits.
Peripheral Proficiency. There’s actual writing, and then there’s the other stuff—submissions, correspondence with editors, cover letters, bios, author photos, public speaking, book signing, etc. Chances are, someone in your critique group can prepare you for your first experience with these tasks.
Connection and Rapport. If those who live with you aren’t writers, there are things they just won’t understand. Worse, they may harbor suspicions that you’re not quite right. But the members of your critique group get you. To them, at least, you’re normal. It’s reassuring to socialize with people who share your interest.
You’ll benefit from a good critique group even if all it does is improve your writing. The incidental benefits add icing and candles and sprinkles, etc., to the cake. Join a critique group, or start one. You’ll enjoy it for many reasons, and maybe end up thanking—
Today I’m interviewing author Nigel Blackwell, a fellow member of one of the writing critique groups I’m in.
Nigel Blackwell was born in rural Oxfordshire in England. He has a love of books, a PhD in Physical Chemistry, and a black belt in pointing out the obvious. He is presently working on both short stories with supernatural and mystical elements, and thrillers. By The Light is the first book in this range. In the past he authored Paris Love Match, the story of what happens when an engineer encounters the mob, a bag of diamonds, and a girl to die for— and finds that’s exactly what might happen if he doesn’t think fast.
Collaborating with New York Times best selling author Diane Capri, he wrote the Jessica Kimball series of thrillers. Jess is an investigative reporter with an uncanny gift for putting herself in mortal danger when justice needs to be served. Nigel has driven trains, crashed single seat race cars, and travelled much of the world. He now lives in Texas with his wife and daughter, where they enjoy the sunshine and listen to the coyotes howl at night.
And now, the interview:
Poseidon’s Scribe: How did you get started writing? What prompted you?
Nigel Blackwell: I‘ve loved reading and stories since elementary school, and writing seemed an obvious thing to do, but I didn’t start on full length novels until about ten years ago.
P.S.: Who are some of your influences? What are a few of your favorite books?
N.B.: Wow. Where do I start? In (what Americans would call) middle school, we used to have to read classics such as Sheridan, Shakespeare, and Chaucer (but sadly not the “Wife of Bath’s tale!”). I can’t say I hated them, but at the time HG Wells, AC Clarke, Aldous Huxley, Isaac Asimov and almost anyone else was more interesting. Weirdly, when I read back over my own writing, I think the stiff style of the former set have influenced me as much as the latter.
These days, I’ve added many more influences. Lee Child for the way he’s made a brilliant series that doesn’t feel like soap opera; Michael Crichton for his variety; Greg Bear for his science; F Paul Wilson for his mix of realism with the supernatural, and … well, it’s a big list.
As for books, The Affair by Lee Child is a standout in both style and story, Rendezvous with Rama because of its mystery and portent (Raman’s do everything in threes …), and Pirate Latitudes because (published after Crichton passing) it is a fitting end to a fabulous storytelling career.
P.S.: Is there a common attribute that ties your fiction together (genre, character types, settings, themes) or are you a more eclectic author?
N.B.: Ha, if eclectic is the polite way to say all over the place, then yes, with thrillers, capers, mysteries, and verse, I’m eclectic! That said, what I try for in all my work is close POV with conflict on multiple levels.
P.S.: You’ve collaborated with author Diane Capri on several books in the Jess Kimball thriller series. What was it like to collaborate? How did you split up the work?
N.B.: Diane’s a full-time author. She works very hard on all aspects of the business from concepts and writing to marketing and promotion. That focus certainly helped my productivity! We tried various approaches to collaborating, interleaving chapters for example, but they made for more work. So we settled on a quick first draft which we would cycle back and forth editing. It was a great time, and I’m proud to have worked on the series.
P.S.: You’ve written novels, novellas, short stories, and poems. Do you have a preference among those forms?
N.B.: I prefer to write novels, they give time to explore the characters’ lives and situations. But short stories and verse are good in two respects, they help you focus on what’s essential to tell the story (no getting sidetracked into bunny trails), and they take a month not a year 🙂
P.S.: If you could win a trip to the fictional world of another author, where would you go and what would you do there?
N.B.: As a teen, I wanted to be in Clarke’s 2001—grown up and heading to Jupiter. Now I’m grown up I want to be a teen at Hogwarts. But that’s the great thing about books, they give us the chance to live vicariously. You can travel in time and space meeting new people in faraway places—all at the turn of a page!
P.S.: Your most recent book is By the Light, a collection of novellas, short stories, and poems. Please tell us about it. Is there a common theme?
N.B.: After a string of Jess Kimble thrillers, it was great to write self-contained pieces on different subjects. Most have a touch of the supernatural to them, and a number have an element of ambiguity until the end. For example, the captain (a typically male occupation) in “Sisters” is never said to be female, but for a cryptic comment (“… of no comfort to man. Nor me.”).
P.S.: What are the easiest, and the most difficult, aspects of writing for you?
N.B.: Easiest is the first draft, most difficult is the last. Sadly, that’s more than just humor. It’s easy to come up with ideas, but filling in all the details is hard work. But it’s satisfying when things come together in a scene, and that makes it all worthwhile.
P.S.: If you traveled through time and met yourself at a point when you were first thinking of being a writer, what would you tell this younger version of you?
N.B.: Know the ending before you start.
A book takes readers on a journey. If you simply take left- and right-hand turns hoping to end up somewhere interesting, you might, but most times you won’t. On the other hand, if you decide you’re going to Niagara Falls you can plot the most interesting way to get there. That way the reader feels like the draw of each step inevitably leads to the right conclusion.
P.S.: What is your current work in progress? Would you mind telling us a little about it?
N.B.: I’m closing in on the end of The Devil’s Bible. In WW1, a British mathematician is sent to retrieve a document from occupied France. He finds the document is one of a series of scrolls spread across Europe that will bestow demonic powers. Chasing after them, he discovers a German General is also in the hunt … and the General has a whole army behind him.
Poseidon’s Scribe: What advice can you offer aspiring writers?
Nigel Blackwell: The typical response would be to stop aspiring and write. I’d also say, see question 9 😉
Less flippantly, watching movies is a quick way to pick up story ideas, characters, and locations. But most important is to read. When I started writing novels, I felt reading was a luxury that took me away from the work. But really it’s education, inspiration, and encouragement all rolled into one—mysteries are solved, justice is done, and heroes and heroines save the day. Stories are all about playing with the readers emotions, and is there any better feeling to help put pen to paper?
If you’d love to write a story, are unsure what to write about, and you think every possible story has already been written, don’t worry. So long as you don’t plagiarize, there’s room in the world for your story.
It may seem like writers before you already used every possible plot, character type, setting, theme, mood, and style. Maybe they have, but not in the combination you’ll use. None of the previous authors brought the distinct flair to their stories that you’ll bring to yours.
What does this have to do with the ‘grand hotel’ mentioned in this post’s subject? Everything.
In 1924, German mathematician David Hilbert introduced what’s come to be known as the ‘paradox of the Grand Hotel.’ Imagine a big hotel, so big it contains an infinite number of rooms. You arrive at the front desk and ask if you can have a room for the night. The receptionist says the hotel is full, with every room occupied, but there are vacancies.
That makes no sense, but the receptionist picks up the public address microphone and directs all guests to move from their current room to the next higher numbered room. The receptionist then offers you Room number 1. Problem solved.
You enjoy your stay there. The next time you’re in town, you go to that hotel again. You forget to get a reservation ahead of time (again), and this time you’re accompanied by an infinite number of friends who all want separate rooms.
The receptionist again says the hotel is full, but also says there’s no problem accommodating you and your friends. Over the PA system, the receptionist instructs all current guests to move from their room to the one with a number two times their current room number. The receptionist then checks you and your many friends into the odd-numbered rooms.
You get where I’m going with this. We live in a world filled with an infinite number of stories, and they’ve all been written before. Even so, there’s room for yours. Since it will bear similarities to previous stories, lawyers would call it derivative. Don’t copy character names or significant sections of text from previously published work—lawyers call that copyright infringement. Stay clear of plagiarizing, and the possibilities still go on without end.
In fact, even if your brain teems with an infinite number of story ideas, you can write them all (well, as many as a human lifespan allows). The world can accommodate an infinite number of writers, each writing an infinite number of stories.
Write as many stories as you can. There’s room for them all, as well as those written by—
Would you take that challenge? Could you write one short story every week for a year?
The challenge is part of the larger context of his talk. It’s worth watching the whole 55-minute video. His speech included great pieces of writing advice, and I’ll address those in a future post.
Bradbury thought it best for most beginning writers to start with short stories, rather than novels. (How I wish I’d done that when I started out!) He reasoned that the short story form trains you to focus on one idea, to compact your words. Moreover, every week you’ll complete a finished product, a tangible output.
It might seem a daunting challenge, but let’s break it down. Typical short stories run 1000 to 7500 words. That’s an average of 150 to 1100 words per day, though you’d more likely write a first draft at high speed and spend the rest of the week editing it.
By contrast, the NaNoWriMo challenge drives you to an intense burst of activity for one month (November), during which you must average almost 1700 words per day. Ideally, the end product is a 50,000-word novel, but in most cases, it’s an unpublishable one.
Bradbury’s challenge helps you form the daily habit of writing. It allows for—even expects—that you’ll enjoy concentrated, focused bouts of feverish, unconstrained flow, followed by periods of calm, dispassionate editing and revision to round out the week.
Moreover, his challenge grants frequent glows of happiness, satisfaction, accomplishment. Each week you affirm you’re a writer.
Think about the probabilities implied by his challenge. You’ll write no fewer than 1 good story out of 52. If you spent each year writing a novel instead, how long might it take before you wrote a good one?
Some might object that readers don’t read short stories, and publishers prefer novels. Perhaps, but you could do what Ray Bradbury did and publish themed collections of related short stories—so called ‘fixup novels,’ as he did with The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, and others.
Consider accepting Bradbury’s Challenge. You could write one short story a week for a year, couldn’t you? Even if 51 of those stories turn out to be terrible, you’ll have spent time learning the craft and discovering your voice. And you’ll have at least one good story to submit for publication.
I know, I know. You’re asking if I, Poseidon’s Scribe, am so willing to foist a challenge on others, would I be willing to accept it myself? Maybe I will set aside a year to do that sometime. Right now, I’m working on two novels. I’ve already written over eighty short stories, and had three dozen of them published. Though the writing took many years, I could claim I accomplished the Bradbury Challenge in slow motion.
If you do accept and complete the Bradbury Challenge, remember that all credit goes to the late Ray Bradbury, not to—
