editing - Steven R. Southard (Poseidon's Scribe)

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The Publishing Times, They Are A’Changin’

To distort a line from a Bob Dylan song, times are indeed a’changin’ in the publishing industry. In the long march from storytellers to clay tablets to papyrus scrolls to bound books to electronic books, each technology has brought a revolution and we’re now in the middle of one.

After Gutenberg’s printing press and right up until the Internet, the book publishing industry had optimized into a fairly lean and stable operation, full of specialized tasks. Each task was fairly well understood.

The writer wrote, and sought an agent. The agent sought a publishing house and handled all the contractual details for the writer. At the publishing house, of which there were only a few big ones, the editor polished the prose. Upon agreement about the text, the publisher took care of cover design, printing, distribution, and marketing to booksellers. The bookseller catered to the reading public, offering books for sale from their stores.

Despite all the middlemen, that process had been pretty well honed such that readers could still obtain books inexpensively.

With the advent of the Internet, much has changed, and it’s got all of the middlemen wondering what their future role will be, if any.

For the writer, there are software word processors and Internet research options, but not much else has changed. A writer still must create the prose.

At the other end, the reader has more options, including e-readers and audiobooks, but for the most part reading is unchanged.

But agents, editors, cover designers, marketers, distributors, and booksellers are all left wondering what’s going to happen to them. These days, writers can connect directly with readers, bypassing all the former steps. An author can work with a single website such as Amazon, Smashwords, Kobo, and others, to get e-books directly to the reading public.

These websites offer many services, but the writer must do most of the tasks formerly accomplished by middlemen. This includes reviewing the contract, editing, cover design, and marketing.

So where is all this going? At what sort of equilibrium state will all this turmoil settle out?

It may be too early to tell, but I think there will be places for all the publishing middlemen in the future, assuming they adapt to an Internet-based world. Some writers still need agents, editors, cover designers, and distributors. Some readers still want bound books. Much like the continued (but low) demand for horseshoes and oil lamps, there will be niche markets for all these functions.

As for me, I have yet to take the full plunge into self-publishing. So far, with my short stories, I’ve been dealing with an independent ebook publisher, and with publishers of anthologies.

If Bob Dylan’s right, and the times they are a’changin’, where do you think the book publishing industry is headed? What change would you like to see? Leave me a comment and perhaps we can change things together, just you and—

Poseidon’s Scribe

December 29, 2013Poseidon's ScribePermalink

The Life Story of a Short Story

Hello. I’m a short story. Since Poseidon’s Scribe never got around to blogging about the whole short story process, he invited me to guest blog today. My title is “Alexander’s Odyssey,” and I was written by Steven R. Southard. My life story is typical of other tales, and might be obvious to many of you, but the steps weren’t clear to Steve when he started.

1. Idea. I started as an idea. You did too, I suppose, but with stories you only need one human with an idea, if you know what I mean. Getting a story idea isn’t as difficult as most believe. Ideas are all around you.

2. Outline. This can take many forms, not just the standard I-A-1-a-(1) type. It can be a mind-map, for example. An outline can keep you focused as you write, but don’t be afraid to deviate from it if the story takes off in a different direction. Steve used an outline for me, but if you don’t want to, just skip this step.

3. Research. You might have to conduct research for your story like Steve did for me. Use the most authoritative sources you can. Steve didn’t include all the researched data when writing me, just a tiny fraction. You might enjoy research, but don’t get stuck at this stage. At some point, enough is enough.

4. First Draft. Steve wrote my first draft fast, without caring about quality. He didn’t even stop to correct typos. He got it all down, the emotions, the drama, and the character interactions.

5. Edit. Steve did several drafts of me where he corrected typos; deleted extraneous stuff; added in foreshadowing, metaphors, similes, and symbolism, etc. Don’t get stuck at this stage either; some stories never even get submitted.

6. Submit. Steve located a suitable market, and had to modify me a bit to conform to the submission guidelines. After much hesitation, he submitted me. These days, you writers have the option of self-publishing us stories, so you could skip this step.

7. Rejection. Actually, I didn’t get rejected the first time, but I know the feeling. I don’t understand why writers take rejection so personally; the editor is rejecting me, not you. Just shake it off and submit your story to some other market. Keep us moving!

8. Accept. I was pretty happy when an anthology editor accepted me, but Steve was positively giddy. I’d never seen him so thrilled and, frankly, the details are embarrassing, so I’ll just move on.

9. Rewrite. The editor suggested Steve change me a bit. He agreed the changes would do me good, and made them. I’ve seen Steve agonize over suggested changes to other stories, though. I’ve even seen him push back against the editor. In the end, they always reach agreement and Steve signs the contracts. I guess he could always refuse and walk away if he wanted.

10. Launch. These days, publishers don’t just publish us, they launch us. It does make me feel like a rocket going off, sort of. Again, Steve seems really happy when a story launches, and again it’s awkward to watch.

11. Market. If I’d been picked up by one of the top publishing houses, they’d spread the word about me. Steve didn’t send me there, so he had to do it. Boy, does he hate that part, though I’ve heard some authors like marketing. Use social media, newsletters, writing conferences—anything to advertise.

12. Read. My favorite step. When a reader buys me and reads me cover to cover, that’s what I live for.

13. Reprint. When the rights to me reverted back to Steve, he submitted me for publication as a reprint. After three rejects, another market accepted me, but asked for significant changes. My reprint version states where and when I was published the first time.

14. Spin-off. Oh, I hope, I hope I can get spun-off into a novel, a play, or even a movie. Hey, a story can dream, can’t it?

That’s my story. Forget about Steve, or Poseidon’s Scribe. Address your comments to—

Alexander’s Odyssey

December 8, 2013Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Cure: Writer’s Block

Earlier I blogged about writer’s block, but focused on symptoms and causes. Today, let’s talk about getting over it.

As before, I’ll limit the discussion to minor writer’s block (minWB), the short-term state of being stuck while in the middle of a writing project. I’ll blog about Major Writer’s Block (MajWB) another time.

My many fans—both of them, actually, including my Dad—will recall that I stated there are several types of minWB, which I divided as follows:

Story-related problems
Writing-related problems, but not about the story
Personal, but non-writing, problems

I also stated that if you pinpoint which problem you have, that suggests a cure. For story-related problems such as plot, character, setting, or others, here are a few things you can try: (1) set the story aside awhile and let your subconscious (your muse) work on the problem, (2) try sketching a mind-map of the problem and creatively come up with multiple solutions, then select the best, or (3) ask your critique group or beta reader for help.

The craft-related problems all boil down to matters of attitude leading to negative mental associations, leading to stress. Since one type of craft-related problem is the pressure of the audience seeming too close, I have to point out what some might consider a contradiction in the advice I, Poseidon’s Scribe, have given out. In this blog entry I suggested, if you’re feeling the ‘presence’ of the reader too intensely, just forget about that audience and write freely for yourself.

However, just two weeks ago I urged you to keep the reader in mind, always.

Which advice is right—ignore the reader or be ever mindful of the reader?

(Aside: witness the clever way I get out of this paradox.)

I was right both times. In general, it is always wise to acknowledge that you’re writing to be read by others. Therefore, you should write with precision, avoiding ambiguity, so as to be understood. But if the fear of being criticized or disliked is paralyzing you into inaction, if the anticipation of bad reviews leaves you trembling before your keyboard, then forget about those readers for a while. Ignore them during your early drafts and focus on getting your story done.

Then in the later drafts, I suggest you visualize yourself as a sort of super-editor, far more critical of your own work than any reader could be, and yet able to fix every problem you find. In this way, you minimize your fear of the reader and substitute confidence in yourself.

That ‘visualization’ method may work for many of the minWB craft-related problems, by imagining a near-future version of yourself having already overcome the problem and working steadily on the story. Visualize yourself being in the flow, and once again gripped by the same enthusiasm you had when you first conceived the story idea. In this way you can change the mental linkages you’ve developed and re-associate writing with fun, success, and confidence rather than stress, fatigue, and inadequacy.

As to the last category of minWB, that of personal problems such as illness, depression, relationship difficulties, or financial woes, you need to confront those problems head-on first. Until you have a plan for solving them, and start to execute that plan, it will be tough to concentrate on writing.

Do these suggested cures work for you? Do you know of others I should have recommended? Unblock yourself and leave a comment for—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 21, 2013Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Readers on My Mind

Just a few thoughts today about the relationship between writers like you and the readers you aim to delight. Much of this will sound simplistic, but if you hang with me, perhaps we’ll both learn something.

Years ago I took a classroom course in communication. In essence, all communication is an attempt to convey one or more ideas from one mind to another, the trouble being that there are all sorts of filters in between so communication is never perfect. In the class they asked, “Given that there’s a person transmitting and a person receiving, who is responsible for the quality of the communication?”

It’s not necessarily the transmitter, nor the receiver. The Zen-like answer they were looking for is you. Whether you are the transmitter or receiver, you need to strive toward a clear conveyance of the idea from one mind to another.

When we consider writing, it’s different from other forms of communication. Some forms, like talking, dramatic plays, stand-up comedy, or musical concerts have an advantage in that the receiver is present in the room with the transmitter. The transmitter gets instant visual feedback about the quality of the communication, allowing her to alter her approach in real-time to improve it.

Obviously that’s not the case with writing. The writer and reader are almost never present in the same room. In fact, thanks to the permanence of the medium, the writer need not even be alive when the communication takes place. The writer gets no immediate feedback from the reader, and certainly cannot adjust the communication on the fly.

So the measure of your success as a fiction writer is how well you transfer emotionally appealing ideas from your mind to the reader’s with minimal loss of clarity. Using written words alone, you must convey the following things I’ve discussed in earlier blog posts:

Engaging characters
Vivid settings
A logical and relevant plot
The human condition

It should be apparent, then, that you must keep the reader ever in your mind as you write. Form a mental picture of someone reading your story. That clever turn of phrase you’re so proud of—would a reader stumble over it? That little plot detour you stuck in to show off your knowledge of some arcane fact—will it bore the reader? You must be willing to sacrifice them all for the reader.

In the end, only readers can determine the quality of your story. Editors can’t; reviewers can’t. Certainly you can’t. Readers are your customers, and the customer is always right.

I mentioned that fiction writers don’t get immediate reader feedback, and that’s true. However, you will get valuable delayed feedback that is useful for altering your approach in later stories. This feedback comes in several possible ways:

Virtual feedback from the reader you’re imagining as you write, the one looking over your shoulder
Feedback from members of your critique group
Feedback from an editor
Feedback from reviewers
Sales figures from your earlier stories

All of these can be useful for improving your writing, making that mind-to-mind communication as clear and enjoyable as possible. Speaking of feedback, I’d welcome some concerning this blog post, so feel free to comment. With my mind full of imagined readers, I’m—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 8, 2013Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Is Your First Draft Terrible Enough?

That’s not a typo; I’m questioning whether the first draft of your story is horrible, trashy, and amateurish enough to qualify as a first draft. I’m not talking about cacography here, I’m talking about tripe, drivel, bunkum.

Yes, I know all writers are different and for some, their first draft is their publishable, final draft. Isaac Asimov said he didn’t re-write his stories. But I’m guessing that doesn’t work for most writers, especially beginning writers.

For most of you, here’s my advice: set out to write a bad first draft. Why? I’ll explain.

The first draft is unlike all later ones in that it has no predecessor, just a blank screen (or page) and a writer’s mind buzzing with ideas. That moment before you write the first word is a daunting one; the task seems mountainous. Often that story idea in your head seems so perfect, you just know readers will love it.

But when you try writing down that idea, it looks so awful it’s embarrassing. The text falls far short of the shining, crystalline structure in your mind. You can get so frustrated you’ll be tempted to abandon the whole stupid idea. “What was I thinking? I’m no writer!”

I’m suggesting it’s best to admit up front your first draft will be garbage. That way you’re establishing reasonable expectations and lessening the frustration. Trust in your ability to improve the first draft later. Accept that those later revisions will be easier than writing the first draft; you will get closer to the ideal story in your mind.

How do you write a first draft that qualifies as pure dreck? Think of your writing mind as having at least four component parts, four people with distinct attributes. These are your muse, your playful inner child, your squint-eyed editor, and your glad-handing marketer.

I’ve described the muse before. By the time you’re writing your first draft, her job is done and she’s left town. Think of your squinty-eyed editor as a scowling old man with an eyeshade and a huge supply of blue pencils. Send this editor on vacation now. Trust me, he’ll come back well-rested to help you with your second draft. As to that ever-smiling, extroverted marketer with the plaid suit, he’s on vacation most of the time and that’s okay for now.

Let’s focus on the one I left out, the playful inner child. I suggest you picture the character Josh Baskin, played by Tom Hanks in the 1988 movie “Big.” He was pure drive, energy, and enthusiasm. He had no inhibitions, no taboos, and no fear of failure.

Channel that character as you write your first draft. Strive to get in the zone, in the flow. If you find yourself momentarily stuck, write down what you will need later to get past the sticky part, put that in brackets (or different font or color, whatever), and move on. For example, knowing how important the opening hook is, let’s say you can’t think of one. Just write “[come up with hook]” and write on. Chances are the words you write next might serve as a hook, or a hook will occur to you later. Don’t stop to do research now, just bracket it, “[Do whales really get hiccups?],” and look it up later.

Even though your first draft is a stinking pile of compost, you’ll feel better about having something written down, something you can now work with. Further, by writing in burst mode, you can maintain a consistent, integrated work that maintains the same tone and voice throughout.

More great first draft advice is available here, here, and here. By the way, do you think this blog post is poorly written? Ha! You should have seen the first draft typed up by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 24, 2013Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Turkey City Lexicon

In any specific human endeavor involving more than one person, the people involved soon find themselves repeating the same phrases over and over. It’s inevitable they should seek some shorthand way to avoid that. So they develop jargon, specialized terminology suited to their activity.

Some time ago, in science fiction writing workshops, the participants worked out a vocabulary of writing terms called the Turkey City Lexicon (TCL). There is no authoritative source for the TCL, nor is it copyrighted. It’s available on many websites; just search for “turkey city lexicon.”

I won’t reiterate the list here. My purpose is just to introduce it to you and comment on its usefulness to me. I encourage you to search for and read through the list, then come back to finish reading my blog entry. Several of the items are humorous to read through.

A few TCL terms are more applicable to science fiction (The Jar of Tang, Abbess Phone Home, Reinventing the Wheel, and Space Western), but the vast majority of the terms are applicable across all fiction genres. TCL might be useful to you even if you don’t write SF.

A number of the terms are disconcerting for me to read through since I’ve committed these errors before. These include Burly Detective Syndrome, You Can’t Fire Me–I Quit, Fuzz, and Bogus Alternatives.

But that gets right to the value of this list. Most of the terms describe deficiencies common to beginning level writing. Worse, they describe failings even experienced writers can succumb to, like a bad habit. Even just reading through the list periodically can refresh your resolve to avoid the bad habits.

I’ve found it vital to subject my writing to the crucible of my critique group just so they can identify faults I don’t see. Once you’ve been accused of any of the items in the TCL, chances are you’ll hear that accusatory voice again in your head while editing all subsequent stories. Thus will your writing improve.

My critique group has found three TCL terms to be the most useful—Infodump, As You Know Bob, and Telling Not Showing. I’m not sure why those three dominate, but they do, at least for us.

Do any of the TCL items ring embarrassingly true for you as you think over your own writing? Are there other fiction writing failings that should be recognized by the TCL but aren’t yet? If so, leave a comment for me and let me know. On a mission to improve own writing and that of others, I’m—

Poseidon’s Scribe

December 23, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

To Do, Or Be Done To?

That is the question. Today I’ll cover one of my pet peeves—passive sentence construction, as contrasted with the active version.

Defining these types is easy. In active sentence construction (also called ‘active voice’) the subject of the sentence performs the action described by the verb. In passive construction, the subject is the recipient of the action.

For example, here are two sentences from a recent story of mine:

Doctor Rudolph Wellburn looked up from his workbench as Red dragged the trampled man through his door.

The man had been bound with ropes to three tree limbs lashed together.

In the first, the subject is the doctor, Wellburn, and the verb is looked. There’s another clause with its subject Red and verb dragged. Both are active, since the subject is performing the action. In the second sentence, which is passive, the subject man has had an action done to him, described by the ‘had been bound’ verb.

It’s possible to convert sentences back and forth between the two voices. I could have phrased the first sentence as “The workbench was looked up from by Doctor Rudolph Wellburn as…” I also could have worded the second sentence as “Red had bound the man with ropes…” I’ll soon reveal why I didn’t do that.

I think of active sentences as direct, honest, and clear. They also seem stronger to me. Passive sentences, with their ability to hide the subject entirely, seem dishonest, confusing, and weak. Needless to say, I prefer active sentences. At my workplace many others write in passive sentences, so I’m on a one-man crusade to change all that. Change has to start somewhere!

Ulysses S Grant - mistakes were made Among the worst passive sentences ever written is “Mistakes were made.” Politicians since Ulysses S. Grant have used that one to acknowledge a problem but to hide the responsible party from blame. However, the press and the public are on to that tactic, and would pounce on any official who uttered it (after laughing out loud).

By now you’re wondering why Poseidon’s Scribe has stated a firm bias against passive sentences, and yet used one in a recent story. There are several valid reasons for using passive sentences:

1. The doer of the action is unknown, unwanted, or unneeded in the sentence.

2. The action of the sentence needs more emphasis or focus than the doer of the action.

3. Sentence variety.

4. Putting the subject at the end of the sentence can delay its impact to achieve surprise or humor.

I chose a passive sentence in my story for reason 1, since the identity of the person who bound the man to the tree limbs was unimportant to the story. Police reports use passive sentences when the person who committed the crime is unknown. Scientists often use passive sentences for reason 2, to emphasize the experiment, not the experimenter, and to sound more objective.

But in your fiction writing I advocate sticking to active sentences as much as you can. Weed out passive ones, and make each one defend its place in your story. Remember, passive sentences are easier to write and you can fall into the habit of favoring them unless you make the effort to avoid them.

Am I being too harsh on passive sentences? Leave a comment and let me know. I’m not infallible, after all, but I’m not too proud to admit that mistakes were made by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

P.S. Be sure to check this space on Wednesday, December 19. I’ll be participating in a blog hop called The Next Big Thing. You wouldn’t want to miss the next big thing, would you?

P.S.

December 16, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Those Maddening Editors!

Good news! You just heard from an editor who will be happy to accept the story you sent…except for the Bad News, which is the acceptance is contingent on your agreeing to some changes in the manuscript. The question is: will you accept the changes or not?

The decision is personal, and different in every case. It depends on how you weigh many factors, including the following. These are not listed in any priority order:

How desperate are you to make the sale? Early in your writing career, the degree of desperation might be greater.
How likely is the story to be accepted elsewhere? You can measure this, to some extent, by the number of rejections the story has garnered so far.
To what degree do you find the changes acceptable? I advise you to take a little time to determine this, since there’s an initial negative reaction to suggested alterations. Sometimes the editor’s ideas start to sound better after a few days.
How extensive and explicit are the recommended revisions? This is a measure of the amount of work you’re going to have to do before you can resubmit. By ‘explicit’ I mean whether the changes are the change-this-word-to-that variety or the ‘make the tone lighter’ variety.
How much would the changes affect a significant aspect of the story? You might have poured sweat and soul into this tale and now the editor proposes cutting a section packed with important symbolism and deep meaning. That scene is the heart of the story! In effect, the editor is suggesting you turn your story into something else.
How much is this particular market paying? Yeah, let’s admit it–that’s a factor. If it’s a pro market, you’re much more likely to accept any changes.

You ought to give editors some credit and at least consider the changes they propose. They may not know your particular story as well as you do, but they read a lot and, in general, have a good sense of what works in today’s marketplace.

Often the editor’s suggested changes are negotiable. You might accept some, but hold the line on others. When doing this, state your case about why you think your version is better (without belittling the editor, of course!). The editor may still disagree, and then you’ll have another decision to make. When you get as well-known as John Champlin Gardner, then you can negotiate as he did when an editor told him his novel The Sunlight Dialogues was too long and needed to be cut by one third. Gardner is said to have asked, “Which third?”

Let’s say you aren’t crazy about the editor’s ideas, but you are anxious to make the sale, so you decide to agree to the changes. I recommend you keep your original version saved. Later, when your rights to the story revert back to you, you can market that original version and perhaps get it published. In that reprint version, you’ll need to cite the earlier publication with a statement such as, “Previously published in a different form in <market> in <year>.”

Ultimately it is your decision whether to make the suggested revisions. After all, it is your good name that goes on the story. If you feel very strongly, then don’t alter a line; keep on sending the manuscript to other markets. Your story may find an editor who likes it as is. These days, you can also publish the story without getting it accepted by an editor at all.

Leave a comment and let me know what your experience has been in this situation. Did you make the change, negotiate, or refuse and submit elsewhere? What were the reasons for your choice? Did you regret it later? Always willing to at least consider an editor’s suggestions, I’m–

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 12, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Who Polishes the Diamond?

You see it in the submissions guidelines for almost every market–“Submit your best material,” or words to that effect. If not stated, it’s implied, since they’ll just reject manuscripts containing too many editorial errors.

I’m speaking here of the traditional method of getting short story fiction published, dealing with editors. However, the answer is the same even for self-published works.

Some writers chafe at the requirement to submit your best material. “Why are they called Editors,” these writers ask, “if I’m the one doing the editing?”

Such writers think their job is to cleave the diamond shape out of rough stone, cut each facet almost flat, and then hand the gem over to the Editor who works it against the polishing wheel. Finally the Publisher displays the brilliant, gleaming diamond in his store.

Advocates of this view say they can’t really be expected to get every little detail right. It’s hard enough to be a writer without being an Editor too. How is a writer supposed to be prolific and also submit perfect manuscripts? If the writer is spending all that time with editing third, fourth, fifth drafts, she’s getting less real writing done, isn’t she?

Let’s look at the matter from the editor’s point of view. I’ve never worked as an editor, so I’m guessing here, but all the editors reading my blog will tell me if I’m wrong.

There is some process involved in the decision to accept or reject an incoming manuscript. I suspect editors judge stories against the following criteria at least:

1. How well does the story fit with the publisher’s needs? Is it compatible with the magazine or anthology?

2. How original is the story idea?

3. Can this story sell in today’s market? Is it in line with, or just ahead of, an emerging trend?

4. What is the quality of writing? I don’t mean the minor editing issues, but instead an assessment of the writer’s talent in storytelling, choosing words well, creating compelling characters, setting a scene, advancing a plot, use of tension and suspense, etc.

5. How much editing will be required to bring this story up to the quality level needed for publication?

Only one of these criteria deals with the amount of editing to be done. But your story could clear just over the threshold of acceptance in four categories and still be rejected. I hear your objection already. Yes, it’s possible your story could exceed the threshold in the first four categories by far so the editor decides to accept it even though the diamond needs considerable polishing. Do you want to count on that for every story? Every market?

I’m sure Editors would rather do the sort of editing that improves the manuscript’s quality, mentioned in item 4 in the list above. Suppose, instead, she is dealing with matters of basic English–leaving out punctuation, wrong word choices such as farther/further or continuous/continual, wrong verb tense, subject-verb disagreement, overuse of the author’s ‘pet words,’ sudden point of view shifts, weak verbs, etc. She must conclude the writer is not serious about his craft. The decision to reject is much easier in such cases.

I’m not saying I’m perfect in this regard, but my message is: don’t make it easy for the editor to reject your stories. As a writer, you are both the diamond cutter and the diamond polisher. Those of you who self-publish have both roles by definition, so you must polish well. So get polishing, writers. Your prospective readers want to see your diamonds sparkle! So does–

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 29, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Fleshing Out Your Story

Perhaps you’re a beginning writer with a great idea for a story. Or maybe you’re an experienced author and someone has come to you with a story idea and suggested you just whip up the story inspired by that idea. Either way, there’s something writers know that non-writers don’t — the idea is the easy part.

Would you approach a sculptor with a sketch, then gesture to a nearby block of marble and suggest the sculptor merely chip away at the block until it looks like your sketch? Would you hum a tune to a composer, and suggest she spend a few minutes penning some lyrics and orchestrating all the instruments to play the harmonic parts to fit with your hummed tune?

It’s not clear to me why people think writing is so different. Somehow the belief got started that writers search and search for something to write about, that we spend 90% of our time enduring the agony of waiting for the idea to hit. Once it does, we simply dash off the story and hit send, apparently. A particularly long novel might, they think, take the better part of an afternoon to jot down.

I hate to be the one to burst the bubble on that myth, but it just ain’t so. On occasion, it’s true, some writers struggle to figure out what to write about. For a time, they seek some prompt. There are books and websites to supply these, but there’s also real life–it’s all around, filled with plenty of things that could form the basis of a story. Even that’s not enough. Next the writer must turn this ‘prompt’ into an idea. This idea forms the skeleton of the story. An idea includes main characters, a rough primary plot, and some notion of settings.

I don’t mean to downplay the difficulty of getting that far. But a writer reaching that point is a long way from finished. Moreover, we have no sense yet of whether the resulting story will be good. Promising ideas still can suffer from poor execution when converted to finished form. Alternately, a truly wonderful tale can be spun from a trivial, humdrum idea.

A writer with an idea now faces the task of fleshing out that skeleton. He must breathe life into the characters, making them identifiable and engaging. She must select such descriptive words for her settings so as to transport the reader there. He embellishes the plot with understandable motives for actions, and adds subplots. She imbues the story with her own style and flair, ensuring she touches on universal human themes. When his first draft is crap, as it always is, he edits and rewrites, often several times. During these subsequent drafts, she might spice the manuscript with symbolism, alliteration, foreshadowing, character quirks, tension-building techniques, allusion, metaphor, and the other little things separating good from average fiction. Then, because the story is now too long, he goes through it again, compressing, trimming, cutting, and making each word defend itself.

I’ve made this fleshing-out process sound like drudgery, and sometimes it is. True writers find enjoyment in it, or at least tolerate it. But it is not the easy part. For me, writing consists of the same proportions as Thomas Edison’s formula for genius–1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. Perhaps someday when I’ve written many hundreds of stories it will get more difficult to come up with new ideas, but I’m a long way from that. Even then the percentages will likely be 2% and 98%.

Were you laboring under a misconception about the difficulty of ideas and the ease of writing? Have I changed your mind? Let me know what you think by leaving a comment. While I wait for you to do that, it’s back to the hard work of fleshing out another skeleton for–

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 1, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink