So You Want to be an Author

Today’s guest blogger, Ernie Johnson, author of Destiny of the Divas, says:

If that title don’t grab you, nothing will.

Every once in a while you’ll hear someone say “Hell I can write a book. There’s nothing to it.”

DON’T YOU BELIEVE IT…..!

Anyone who thinks there’s nothing to it, better read this story, from someone who’s been there, done that.

Here’s a story about me, Ernie Johnson, a nobody with an electric typewriter and a friend’s manuscript that had been handwritten to the tune of 750 pages. Mind you, this was not written normally. Normal people will write from left to right. This friend wrote from right to left.

I knew nothing about writing books, but I said I’d try. I started by transposing his words, verbatum, until I had it all typed out – double-spaced 12 point Times New Roman. Then my fun began. I sat down and read it over to see where it needed tweaking, or to put it bluntly, what needed to be added to make it worth publishing.

When you stop to figure, I worked the midnight shift, with my friend, and by the time I got home, I needed to get some sleep, by the time I got to work on his book I only had about three hours a day, during the week with which to work on it. I won’t drag this out, but it took me five years to complete, to what I believed was a good story. By then I’d left the company and was working elsewhere, and hadn’t kept in touch with my friend. I went looking for him, and he’d fallen off the face of the earth. In fact, even the Police didn’t know where he was.

It was during the writing of my friend’s manuscript that I decided I wanted to write for myself, so by 1988 I started with an outline and a subject I knew something about, and began OVERTURNED.

By 1990 I’d received an old computer, and when I say old, it was a relic, but it served the purpose for the time being. I transposed everything from Overturned, and was able to see it on screen. I got involved with a writing group, on line, and it was there that I got humiliated by writers who critiqued my work. That may have been the best advice I was ever given. I wrote the way I talked, and, to be very honest, my use of the English language was not the best. I was, back then, an adverb junkie. Really, and truthfully, I was totally an adverb-a-holic, and it showed dramatically in my writing. That was an example of how I talked, and also the way I wrote. Those critiques, as humiliating as they were, was what I needed to be a better writer.

I went through my entire manuscript and corrected all the needless adverbs. I read and reread my manuscript, each time making necessary changes, like missing commas, etc., until I had that mss as fine-tuned as an Indy Racecar. Now the next step to publishing stardom, is finding a publisher to publuish the mss. Now don’t get me wrong, the old addage “PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE” comes to play here really bigtime, for if you don’t have the patience, this is the wrong profession for you to be in. Submissions after submissions came back rejections after rejections. In between all the rejections, I’d written Mountain of Love and Mountain of Love II – Return to Manhadden.

By late 1993 I’d given up hope of my work every being published. I didn’t have the patience to wait forever. I was so depressed with the process, I gave up writing altogether. I said to heck with it.

In the fall of 2001 I went out with a group of friends who did the karaoke thing once a week at a local watering hole, and we went out for breakfast at a local restaurant that was open 24 hours. While we ate, we talked, and I was talking with a friend who mentioned he’d had an idea for a story, but where he wasn’t a writer, he didn’t know how to go about it. Two days later, at the same restaurant, we were discussing his idea. What it boiled down to was he had the names of four girls, and the instruments they played. He had no beginning, no plot, and no title, so in other words – he didn’t have much. My mind was working overtime developing a story and it took me a while, because I didn’t want just any story, I wanted a best seller. I took my time and developed DESTINY OF THE DIVAS into a strong paranormal, mystery, suspense, drama. Even though all prognosis was in my favor, I still had the hard part, finding a publisher.

I got sidettracked, writing about my book and all, but finding a publisher is JUST AS HARD as finding a needle in a haystack, at least for the new untested author. What do I mean by untested? You haven’t proven your worth to a publisher. Publishers want authors who’ll sell books, lots of them, so a first time author has to prove his worth to a top name publisher.

Some authors bypass the traditional publisher route, by going to a POD (PRINT ON DEMAND) publisher, and today there are a number of them out there, both scrupulous and others who try to do good by the author, and I won’t name names here, but for those of you who are considering this route, check with PREDITORS & EDITORS before you sign any agreement with a POD publisher.

I went with LULU.COM – and published OVERTURNED, MOUNTAIN OF LOVE, KASHMANTOU, LET FREEDOM RING, and THE MISADVENTURES OF THE DEVERS BROTHERS.

You might be reading this, and are thinking, WOW…! He’s published six books. He must be rich and famous. Guess again. Yes I’ve got six published books, but if I’m not out here, seven days a week, marketing my books, they won’t sell themselves. Each book needs me out here marketing them.

Is marketing fun? I think I’d rather wrestle an alligator. No, marketing your book is not fun, but it’s necessary.

Being an Author is more than just writing the words. Being an author is being the conductor of the symphony, being the symphony itself, and being the promoter of the symphony. The better a promoter you are, the larger the audience you’ll attract. Not every author is a good promoter, but every author has to try.

Writing Discussion: Playing Fair With Your Readers

A novel is a writer’s contract with readers. The author promises to keep readers interested, to not waste their time, to play fair. The reader promises nothing, except perhaps to read the book if the writer fulfills the contract.

To a great extent, genre is about fulfilling the contract of reader expectations. In a romance novel, the story conflict revolves around the romantic relationship between two people and is characterized by romantic tension, desire, and often an ending that unites the couple. In mystery, the story conflict revolves around a crime and is characterized by clues leading to answers, increased tension, and often danger as the solution nears. If a story strays too far from the reader’s expectations, the reader will feel as if the author is reneging on the contract and might not finish reading the book. Even worse, they might not buy the author’s next one. That isn’t to say a writer can’t follow unexpected storylines, but somehow that difference must be conveyed to readers so they know the author is playing fair.

Suspense is considered a genre, yet suspense should be part of every novel, part of the contract with the reader. If readers are not at least bit curious about the outcome, if the story or the ending is obvious, readers have no reason to read. On the other hand, if the author withholds vital information to release at the end, it creates suspicion, not suspense, and the reader feels cheated.

So, let’s discuss playing fair with the reader. How do you create suspense in your genre? How do you gradually release the needed information, so that at the end, your reader feels surprise mingled with “Of course!” What is your contract with your contract with your readers, and how are you going about fulfilling it? How do you keep from cheating your readers? And for the reader in all of us, have you ever read books that made you angry because the authors did not fulfill their contract?

My online writing group No Whine, Just Champagne will exchange ideas about playing fair with readers during our live discussion on Thursday, November 6 at 9:00pm ET. Hope to see you there!

Good Witches Should Never Try to Be Very Good — A Halloween Fable

Once upon a time,
Long ago and far away,
Lived the queen of the witches,
Griselda the Gray.
If you think all witches are tall and thin,
You are wrong about that.
Griselda the Gray was short
And extremely fat.
Like everyone else,
Griselda tried to be good.
Griselda never did anything bad
Like normal witches should.
This upset the other witches
Because they had to copy their queen.
They had to be nice
When they wanted to be mean.
So they all got together
And mixed up a brew.
They gave it to Griselda
When they were all through.
The brew was so rotten
Griselda had a fit.
She screamed and yelled
And hollered and bit;
She howled and cackled
And made such a noise
That the other witches were happy
And began to rejoice.
“Griselda is bad
And we are glad.
Griselda is ghastly
So now we can be nasty.
Oh, what a happy, horrible day!
Hurrah for our queen, Griselda the Gray!”

The moral of this story is that witches should
Never try to be very good.

De-Creating a Sea Beast

Today I created a marvelous sea beast. It had the body of a crocodile and a knobby round head with flat features perched atop a long neck. It moved with the speed of a snake strike, and its breath smelled of wildflowers. It was supposed leap out of the water to try to ravage my hero. What would save the poor guy was the beast’s inability to gain purchase on the pebbly beach.

Today I also de-created the beast. The problem? It was a duplication of effect. Two pages before the beast’s emergence, I had a similar scene involving a tiger attack, and as the saying goes: when it comes to writing, one plus one equals zero.

It’s hard to move an episodic story forward. How many times can one guy manage to survive dangerous situations in a hostile new world without it beginning to seem contrived? But if he isn’t beset by multiple problems, why would he ever let himself be maneuvered into entering a human zoo? Duplication of effect would take away the immediacy of his problem, making it seem more humdrum and less of a conundrum.

No wonder each book I write takes longer to write than the last. I don’t like to follow in my own footsteps, so I always choose stories (or they choose me) that I don’t know how to write. Not only do I have to write the book, I have to teach myself how to write it. But that’s my own conundrum: Writing that which I don’t know how to write.

At least I had fun creating my leviathan. And perhaps someday I will be able re-create him, if later in not in this book, maybe in the next.

You’ve Written “The End.” Now What?

Sherilyn Winrose, author of Safe Harbor, talks about her novel:

It’s been written, you’ve come to the conculsion of your story. Joy, Elation! Congratulations you’ve finished a full length novel. Many dream, many aspire, and you’ve completed the goal: to write “The End.”

When I was writing my first manuscript (ms) I had my best friend (the one person in the world who would tell me if it was crap) beta reading as I went. In as much I did clean up editing along the way. Little did I know how far from the finish line I was; probably a good thing in retrospect.

I bought books on how to query and be published. Very quickly I discovered I was a guppy swimming with sharks. One needs an agent to find a publisher. Agents like to take on authors who have an interested publisher. Huh? I need an agent to get a publisher, and to get an agent I need a publisher?

Confused, I set about sending queries and writing my next book.

What I didn’t know?

I had a first draft, not a finished piece. Reject letters came in and I kept writing.

Fast forward to a contest. I got out my ms and started to read in hopes of polishing it into a winning submission. Gasp! I wrote that? It’s littered with infomation dumps, saidisms, head hopping.. good gracious no wonder all I got were reject letters.

Time for the first real rewrite/edit. Good news? I still love my characters and the stories I’ve written. Bad news? As I learn and grow as a writer I find myself back in the orginal mss looking to clean them up.

The journey from “The End” to Published is a long road.  I made it, and stand as a testiment that hard work and perseverance does indeed pay off.

Sherilyn’s debut novel, Safe Harbor, is available through Second Wind Publishing.

On Writing: Finding Your Style

Most books on writing I’ve read talk about developing a syle, but recently I came across the remark that “style happens.” If style is simply the way you write, how does it come about? In my case, I don’t try for a specific style, such as gritty or sentimental, flamboyant or minimal, sassy or grim or lyrical. Whatever style I have does not even come when I write, but when I edit. In paring away all the excess, I end up with a matter-of-fact style (or so I’ve been told).

I recently entered a contest to rewrite the first 263 words of The DaVinci Code. Dan Brown has a melodramatic style, one that sublimates good writing for effect. (For example, it is a physical impossibility to freeze and turn one’s head at the same time.) In editing his words, I changed the style, but not the basic meaning of the piece.

Here are Brown’s words:

Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Carravagio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-three-year-old man heaved the masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the wall and Saunière collapsed backward in a heap beneath the canvas.

As he anticipated, a thundering iron gate fell nearby, barricading the entrance to the suite. The parquet floor shook. Far off, an alarm began to ring.

The curator lay a moment, gasping for breath, taking stock. I am still alive. He crawled out from under the canvas and scanned the cavernous space for someplace to hide.

A voice spoke, chillingly close. “Do not move.”

On his hands and knees, the curator froze, turning his head slowly.

Only fifteen feet away, outside the sealed gate, the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared through the iron bars. He was broad and tall, with ghost-pale skin and thinning white hair. His irises were pink with dark red pupils. The albino drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the long silencer through the bars, directly at the curator. “You should not have run.” His accent was not easy to place. “Now tell me where it is.”

“I told you already,” the curator stammered, kneeling defenseless on the floor of the gallery. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”

“You are lying.” The man stared at him, perfectly immobile except for the glint in his ghostly eyes. “You and your brethren possess something that is not yours.”

Here is my edit:

Jaques Sauniere staggered through the vaulted archway of the Louvre’s Grand Gallery, lunged for the Carravagio, and tore it from the wall. He collapsed under the weight.

Fifteen feet away, an iron gate dropped with a thud, barricading the entrance of the suite.

Sauniere lay still, struggling to breathe. The sacrifice of the Carravagio gave him a moment’s safety. But he needed to hide.

He inched from beneath the canvas.

“Do not move.”

He froze. That accented voice was unmistakable. How did the albino find him so quickly?

“Where is it?” the albino demanded.

Sauniere turned toward the hulk on the other side of the gate. His gaze shifted from the silenced pistol in the man’s huge hand to the pink eyes with the dark red pupils. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You and your brethren are in possession of something that does not belong to you. I want it.”

Setting the Scene

Sherilyn Winrose, author of Safe Harbor published by Second Wind Publishing, talks about setting the scene:

I find when I’m writing it is like a movie playing in my head and I tend to get wrapped up in the action, dialog and characters, forgetting to paint the scene. So I find myself going back to add visuals later. Often times more than once. Doing sweeps for clothes, decor and so on.

What are my character’s wearing? Do I have the correct styles, fabrics for the period? Do I know the names of the fabrics, styles I’m using? Sometimes I don’t and have to looking for them or have long chunky sentences.

The Costume Gallery

The Fabric Store

Whether it’s a Regency or a Contemporary setting knowing what you are talking about takes a bit of research. 

What a character wears says as much about her as the way she interacts with other characters. Clothes can give subtle hints to things yet to be revealed, or negate the need to explain she’s modest or eccentric or at the top of fashion.

Where do our character’s live? An Arts and Crafts/Californian bungalow or a  Victorian style house. Do you know the different Victorian architecture styles?  As the author it’s your job to be precise in your settings.

Queen Anne is a specific Victorian type not a generic term for the era.  Queen Ann is my personal favorite.

Dave’s Victorian Houses

Are your characters Frank Lloyd Wright, free from clutter, streamlined? Or are they stuck in the eighties with dripping oil lamps and enormous water bed furniture? Or somewhere in between with Gustov Stickley’s clean lines which lend themselves to a homey feeling consistent with the Arts and Craft movement?

FM4 Furniture Styles

Clem Lambine’s Period Homes

As I see it; there should be nothing in a novel which doesn’t serve the purpose of the story. Whether it’s a chintz tea set, Mission style furniture, the color of the walls, carpet or lack there of.

While they might seem inconsequential, what you dress your story with adds layers to characters and the mood of the story. Can you imagine Dracula living in a 70’s split-level? How about Queen Victoria in a sod house?

Knowing what you are talking about can make the descriptive short and unobtrusive. Unless you are in Queen Elizabeth I court it shouldn’t take paragraphs or a page to set the scene or describe a gown.

When I find that I’ve done just that, a lot of it hits the cutting room floor in edits.

So does window dressing happen as you write your first draft?

Do you write in layers, going back to add color to the script?

Is any of the background conscience thought or does it just happen/dictated by the characters themselves?

Do you use back drops and accents as a means to propel the story, or just as fill?

When a Writer Defaults — Muse on Writing

Karl C. Klein, author of Unnatural Girl soon to be published by Second Wind Publishing, muses about writing:

I cover a lot of ground.
1)defaulting
2)modifiers
3)blonde/blond
4)OK/okay

Reminder: I don’t have the benefit of a formal education. This essay is from my observations. 

The difference between an archetype and a stereotype is vast. The archetype stands as bones upon which we hang flesh — a stereotype is a cardboard cutout we allow our readers to flesh out. I’ve come to call the use of stereotypes defaulting.  

People assume what they assume, shorthanding the world. (I know shorthanding isn’t a word.) We pre-decide many aspects of life. I believe this to be a gift from Darwin, but I’m not going into that aspect. I want to talk about literary fiction.  

When a writer defaults.  

Reading a short story some years ago, I was introduced to many characters. Finally, a new character entered the story. The writer wrote: 

“He was a black man.” 

I wondered about the racial background of all the other characters. I wondered why the writer found it important to mention his race and not the race of the other characters. I wondered: what does he really mean by “He was a black man.” 

The writer used a default. Obviously, all his characters were white, unless otherwise noted. But still, what does he mean by “He was a black man.” I think of the many, many black males I’ve known over the years, their similarities and their differences and realize the statement doesn’t tell me anything worthwhile. After all, Colin Powel and William Drayton (Flavor Flav) are both black men and from where I’m sitting, have little in common. 

“He was a black man” is meant as a default, a stereotype, a cardboard cutout, a straw man merely to take the place where a real character might stand. The reader has the responsibility to hang the flesh on this character based on the reader’s prejudgment of what a black man looks like and how he might act. 

Let’s bring another character into the room: “She was a blonde.” 

OK, now we have a story populated with Will Smith and Brittany Spears. 

Note: Blonde is a person, normally female, with blond-colored hair. This term in many circles is consider derogatory (The color of the hair is not the person. To say, “See that blonde over there” is akin to saying: “See those tits over there?”) To me, in literary fiction, I see ‘Blonde’ as a meaningless term, saying nothing about the character. The term blond refers to a range of colors from sun-faded wicker to light walnut. 

Allow me a copy and paste here, a snippet from a short story, “Remembering the 4th:” 

“Minutes before lunch, I found myself suspended against the lockers outside English class, angry faces like an animated Whitman Sampler pushed shouts at me. The walnut face holding me leached so close, I knew we’d be having pizza for lunch.” 

Let me backtrack a moment and say this: there’s nothing wrong with populating your work with straw men, allowing the reader to flesh them out. It’s been a style growing in popularity, some people arguing we should describe characters and scenes as little as possible, allowing the reader to be more involved in the creation of the story. I have no idea what the style might be called, but I call it ‘reductionism.’  

The rewrite of “Waiting for Godot:” 

The curtain opens, the stage is bare. For sixty minutes the audience stares, waiting for something to happen, imagining what Estragon and Vladimir might do if they were there. Now that’s existentialism.  

OK 

(Note: OK is the preferred spelling over okay, though I prefer okay, I write OK with clenched teeth just like I drop the *@%* comma between two independent clauses connected with a conjunction, though I hate that comma with the passion of 10,000 suns. However, I’ll only give up my comma splices when they peel the pen from my cold, dead hand). 

Anytime we drop something generic on the page, we’re defaulting. When we say ‘his eyes were brown,’ we’re assuming the reader is going to know what we’re talking about when in reality, brown for eyes is a generic color.  

Again, a copy and paste, this time from a book in process I’m editing as she writes, “As Time Goes By:” 

“I thought her eyes should be blue like the midday summer sky, but they were like oiled rawhide with splotches of suede and a baker’s chocolate corona.” 

(there’s that comma I hate with the passion of 10,000 suns) 

Note, too, the ‘midday summer sky’ is a different blue than a winter sky or even a morning sky. 

Another copy and paste from the same work: 

“Uncle Mike’s eyes are dark and rich like winter evergreen in the shadows but with a hint of moist soil. His hair’s black, almost blue with a curl flipping in the front like Superman. I had to look up, standing under him.” 

Let me address modifiers while we’re here. As the writer, we often get in the story and write from our point of view and not the character’s. We want to make a statement like “He was very tall,” which in reality is meaningless to the reader. First off, ‘very’ is not a very good modifier because it doesn’t say much.  

Substitute “damn” every time you’re inclined to write “very”; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be. —Mark Twain 

“Very” isn’t a very good modifier.

“Very” isn’t a good modifier. 

Both say the same thing. “Very” is great in dialog, particularly with excited tweens, but in narrative, similes and comparisons are better. 

“I had to look up, standing under him.”

is much better than:

“He was very tall.” 

Another example of ‘show’ instead of ‘tell.’ 

Another example from a short story: “Love Letters,” by Kacie Kameron: 

“I had the gift of a perfect love. 

I was fifteen, spellbound by his brown-green eyes, the color of wet cow dung, intoxicated by the moist sea air and hot summer morning.” 

I think when people say a story needs to open with a hook, this is what they’re talking about.  

“wet cow dung” is wonderful. 

Good writing is hard work. Great writing is damn hard work.

Do You Want People Studying Your Book in School?

After watching the movie, “The Jane Austen Book Club,” which followed several couples whose stories mirrored those in Austen’s books, I decided to reread Sense and Sensibility. While plowing through the incredibly long and obtuse introduction to the book, I couldn’t help wondering what Jane would think of it. Did she really mean to say all the things the author of the introduction said she meant to say? How would she feel if she found out that kids were studying her book in school and adults were studying it in book clubs? Did she mean her books to be studied? Or did she mean for them to be read?

I can’t think of anything more terrible than having my books taught in school. Well, of course I can think of a lot of worse things. On the list of world horrors, it comes pretty far down on the list. And, on a personal level, not being read at all would be worse. But still  . . . I think it would be dreadful for kids to sit in a stuffy classroom, bored out of their skulls, trying to figure out what I meant.

On the bizarre off-chance of that every happening, I’ll tell you right now what I meant. I meant for people to enjoy the stories. I meant for people to be taken away from their mundane lives for a couple of hours. I meant for people to read themselves to sleep and to wake up thinking about my world. And after all that, if I got anyone to wonder about the truth of anything my characters say, so much the better.

Did I have a theme? Did I use words in a certain way to create moods? Did I use symbols, such as lemon drops, as shortcuts to explain emotions? Of course I did. But including those was more for me, to keep me focused on the story. Because that is what I write. Stories. Not books to be studied, but stories to be read.

Finding the Dunce in Redundancy

I’m reading a book set in Australia in the early 1800s. Or rather, I was reading it. The author seemed competent, the story flowed, and the characters were engaging. Then all of a sudden I was jerked out of the fictive dream. “She had the intestinal fortitude necessary to help build this new country.” What? Intestinal fortitude in the 1800s? I think not.

First, intestinal fortitude is a ridiculous euphemism for guts. Fortitude is courage. Period. It needs no modifier. And it has nothing to do with intestines. Sure, some people do get cramps or diarrhea when facing fear, but then it’s up to the author to show it rather than relying on the wretched phrase “intestinal fortitude.”

Second, guts meaning fortitude did not make an appearance until the 1930s. Which means that the euphemism intestinal fortitude came later.

There are certain terms I would like to rub out of the English language. Intestinal fortitude is one. Coed is another. What a patronizing term! Coed is short for coeducational and refers to the women who were allowed into previously all male colleges and universities. Perhaps it had meaning back in the nineteen-thirties, but its use today is demeaning. It says men are educated, and women are co-educated. (Like a pilot and co-pilot.) So please, do not use coed. Student is sufficient, or woman student if you have to differentiate.

Another term that grates is excess verbiage. Verbiage means excess words, so excess verbiage is excess excess words. Doesn’t even make sense. Nor does “reiterate again”. Reiterate means to say again and again. Reiterate again means to say again and again, again and again.

The moral of the story? Don’t take any of your words for granted. They are a gift. And a responsibility.