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A Reason For Now. A Reason For Later.

April 22, 2008 — Pat Bertram

During the past few months, I was privileged to read the first chapters of many unpublished novels and the critiques other readers left. One thing that interested me was how often readers would mention that a certain episode didn’t fit and should be taken out, and the writer would counter that it was necessary to the story. Can’t argue with that, I suppose, since only the writer knows what he or she intended. But it made me wonder why readers don’t see the same thing in published books. Do we just assume because it’s been published that everything fits? Do we have a different set of rules for published and non-published works?

Last night the answer came to me. It’s not so much that we’re looking for things to pick at in a work we’re critiquing. (Is that even a word? I’ve used it so much that I no longer know.) It’s that good authors know how make every episode in their novel do double duty. If has to be in there to set up a later episode or scene, it must also have a reason for being in there now. If a character places a gun in an unlocked desk drawer to make it available for a murder in a later scene, for example, the character must be a reason for putting the gun in the drawer and not locking it. Perhaps he’s a cop and was cleaning it. So what could have been so terrible that he would forget his training and toss it in an unlocked drawer? Maybe one of his kids is trying to drown the other in the bathtub. A skilled author can make the gun in the unlocked drawer seem so reasonable and natural that readers forget it’s there until someone finds it and shoots it. The reverse is also true. If there is a gun in an unlocked drawer at the beginning, someone must use it in the end.

So, to make your novel tight and keep from jarring your readers out of the story because something doesn’t fit, make certain that everything has two reasons for being there: a reason for now and a reason for later.

Posted in books, life, writing. Tags: motivation, scenes, unpublished novels, writing, writing: characters. 2 Comments »

It’s Not the Will to Win, But the Will to Prepare to Win That Makes the Difference

April 18, 2008 — Pat Bertram

I never wanted to write the Great American Novel (whatever that is). I wrote my first novel to see if I had the discipline to do it, and discovered that I did. It was terrible, though, so much so that I do not count it as one of my works. Besides having broken all the rules of good writing, especially the one demanding that the writing be good, it had too much of me in it. The one positive thing about it is that I will never again make the amateurish mistake of writing a thinly disguised autobiography.

Although I have improved my writing with each succeeding book, I have not yet found a publisher. In publishing, as in life, a great deal of luck is involved, and I have never been lucky. But that does not keep me from acting as if I will get published.

Football coach Paul Bryant said, “It’s not the will to win, but the will to prepare to win that makes the difference.” Many writers have the will to get published, but they do not have the will to prepare for that eventuality. They hold onto their prose as if it were gold and not merely the coin that will get them where they want to be. They are profligate with adverbs and stingy with rewrites. They think readers are waiting breathlessly for their immortal prose.

I am not one of those writers, or at least I hope I’m not. I slash every excess word, I challenge every adverb, I write and I rewrite, I work on my query letter and synopsis. And I plan my publicity strategy for when my book is published. I am already getting known on the internet. (All right. So only two or three people know my name. It’s a start.) I blog. I’ve joined social networking sites. I have a website. I write articles. I think of ways to talk storeowners into letting me do a book signing, and I think of ways to make it a success. I plan speeches to give to local groups. I’m learning how to juggle several writing-related projects, such as editing, blogging, writing, rewriting, because once a writer is published, more is required than simply writing, and I want to be ready.

Hundreds of thousands of people write a novel every year, and few will find a publisher. If the will to prepare to win makes a difference, perhaps some year I will be one of the lucky ones even if I haven’t written the Great American Novel.

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Posted in blogging, life, writing. Tags: publicity, publishing, winning, writing. 2 Comments »

Follow the Rules or Don’t Follow the Rules

April 17, 2008 — Pat Bertram

In my quest for publication, I read books about writing, books about how to get published, books about staying out of the slush pile. I also read articles by agents and editors explaining what they are looking for. Although I have not yet reached my goal of getting published, my advice is good. It is based on a distillation of these books and articles combined with my experiences with agents and editors and writing.

One thing I have learned is that there are four groups of writers: the successful ones who make big money for their publishers. These authors can write however they wish. Their books sell millions of copies, but that does not mean they write well (though once they did write well enough to get published). Novice writers would be wise not to base their conception of good writing on these works.

The second group of writers is also published, whether by traditional publishers, POD publishers, and e-publishers — anyone who requires a submissions process. (There is a bit of gray area here that I don’t want to get into, but the point is still the same.) Some of these writers may achieve a modicum of success, some may never be able to quit their day jobs. Each succeeding book they write is open to review by publishers, and there is no guarantee they will continue to be published. These authors have a little bit of leeway when it comes to writing. They can break the rules, but only if they write well enough to make it work.

The third group of writers is the self-published. They can write however they wish, break whatever rules they wish. As long as they can sell a few books, most are content, but very few self-published writers ever make much money.

Then there are all the rest of us. We are the ones who need to follow the rules. Sure we can write however we wish, but if we wish to get published, we would do well to use those rules as a guideline for editing our work. As long as we are trying to get published, we need to attract a single reader: an agent or editor. That is who our target is, not our ideal reader. Our ideal reader may love the story, but until we hit the target, they will never see the published book.

I lied: there is a fifth group — those who are so talented or so lucky that they will attract an agent or an editor no matter what rules they break. Since I am not in this group, I have to try to follow the rules.

Unfortunately, I am not a very good rule follower — I want to do it my way — but if I heeded my own advice, I would greatly enhance my chances of getting published.

Posted in books, life, writing. Tags: agents, editors, following the rules, trying to get published, writing. Leave a Comment »

A Band-Aid For Writer’s Block

April 14, 2008 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday, quite by accident, I discovered a cure for writer’s block. Well, perhaps not a cure, more like a Band-Aid.

It has taken me a week to write seven paragraphs, and I was getting tired of my hero moping around his apartment while the world was ending. In book time, it was merely a matter of hours, but still, it was getting tedious. Besides, too much introspection is not good for a character. What happens if he begins questioning where he came from and discovers he’s merely a figment of imagination? He thinks he’s real. It would devastate him to find out he’s not. Even worse, he might go on strike, and then I’d never be able to write the book.

Determined to get him moving so he has no time to think, I dragged my work-in-progress to the breakfast bar that separates my kitchen from the living room where I have my weight-lifting equipment, and I worked on the novel in between sets of bench presses, upright rows, behind the neck presses, curls.

To my surprise, by the time I finished my workout, I had written an entire page. I also knew how I wanted to write the scene. The poor guy had been terrified to go outside — he’d seen creatures that had been long extinct and heard screams of absolute pain and terror, but I finally coerced him to get going, and last night I completed the chapter. Hallelujah! It was good, too, and did not sound at all like I’d been struggling with it.

So why did this Band-Aid work? Could be that the exercise pumped much needed blood and fuel to my brain. Could be that by standing at the breakfast bar to write I bypassed the part of my brain that says “time to work — not.” Could be that it was morning rather than evening when I usually write, and so the words snuck out beneath the radar of my internal censor.

Whatever the reason, it worked.

So, if you have writer’s block, or are merely stuck in a scene that you can’t get out of, change your venue of writing, write while exercising, write standing up, go for a walk, do anything to get the blood flowing and your mind working. You really don’t want to give your characters time to think. They might realize how much power they have.

Posted in blogging, life, writing. Tags: exercise, writing, writing: characters, writing: writer's block. Leave a Comment »

The Most Wasted Day of All is That on Which We Have Not Laughed

April 13, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The first half of a novel comes slowly for me. Some writers can sit down and let the story whoosh out of them, but I have to think of everything, to create everything, to draw in words the images I want readers to see. I castigate myself at times for writing so slowly, but if I finished the book quickly, I’d simply be adding one more unpublished novel to the world. And do we really need that?

So many books seem to be written as a way for writers and then later their readers to kill time. (Odd, how time such an ambiguous villain that we try to kill it while wishing we had more of it.) Perhaps books were always a way of wasting time. I came across this quote the other day: “Most of today’s books have an air of having been written in one day from books read the night before.” I can see you nodding your head in agreement. The interesting thing about this comment is that Nicolas-Sebastien Chamfort wrote it in the eighteenth century. (I don’t know who he is, either, other than that during the French revolution, he was an outspoken writer who botched his suicide. He died in 1794; his last words were, “And so I leave this world, where the heart must either break or turn to lead.”)

I try to write most days, but life tends to get in the way. Is it better to write or is it better to watch a movie with a friend? The friend, of course. And I know Chamfort would agree. He also said, “The most wasted day of all is that on which we have not laughed.”

But I am never far from my work-in-progress. As I watched the movie, Krippendorf’s Tribe, I found myself taking notes on all the things I would have to include in my apocalyptic novel to make my new society believable: rituals, games, dancing, stories. So I covered all the bases: I was with my friend, I laughed, I worked. Not bad for a night spent not writing.

Other nights when I can’t write, I edit. I know we’re told not to edit before we’ve written the entire novel, but if the first pages aren’t quite right, they niggle at me and keep me from continuing. But the words do add up, and by the second half of the novel, I know the characters, I have the story firmly entrenched in my mind, and sometimes, just sometimes . . . whoosh!

Posted in books, life, writing. Tags: books, killing time, Nicolas-Sebastien Chamfort, writing. 2 Comments »

A Writer Writes. Whenever.

April 10, 2008 — Pat Bertram

“A writer writes. Always.” Says who? Disregarding the physical impossibility — besides writing, one has to eat, sleep, work, do at least a minimum of household and personal chores — this adage simplifies what is a complicated process. Sure a writer writes, that is axiomatic, but every writer is different, and each must find his or her own way.

Writing, like life, is about strengths and weaknesses, and if you don’t find yours, you miss out. Perhaps you are naturally disciplined, in which case you are one of the always writing writers. Perhaps you are naturally undisciplined, in which case you should be one of the always writing writers. But most of us fall somewhere in between: disciplined when we need or want to be, rather lazy the rest of the time. Sticking to a writing schedule doesn’t make a writer, it’s what you write and how you write it that makes you a writer.

Unless you’re a published writer (if you are, will you introduce me to your agent?) or have firm expectations of being one, there is no reason except desire to adhere to a strict writing schedule. Perhaps if you are new to the game it would be a good idea to write at the same time every day for a while to get you in the habit of writing, but once you’ve completed a novel, you’ve proven you can do it, so what’s the point of forcing yourself? It should be fun, and it’s not fun doing something you have to do just because it’s time to do it. The one caveat is to make certain you write enough so you don’t lose the ability or the interest.

I know this goes against all the advice you hear, not just about a writer always writing, but also about needing to act like a professional in order to be a professional. You’re not a professional, and when the time comes, you will act like a professional, but until then it’s important to learn to write, to live so you will have something to write about, to think about what you want to say.

And it’s important to write, because a writer writes. Whenever.

Posted in life, writing. Tags: a writer writes, strengths and weaknesses, what makes a writer, writing, writing schedules. 3 Comments »

How Do You Create Characters That Readers Will Fall In Love With?

April 7, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The main reason editors give for rejecting my work (when they give a reason) is that they didn’t fall in love with my characters as they had hoped. This puzzles me because I have never fallen in love with any character I have read. I’ve liked some, found some interesting, but love? No.

I know what makes good characters — their strengths, their vulnerabilities, their flaws — but are these the things that make us love them? All I know is that I don’t like characters that have purposely been given flaws; they seem contrived and clichéd, like the boozing cop or the mother who can’t communicate with her teen-ager. Such purposeful flaws remind me of the Persian flaw. Supposedly, the Persian carpet makers put a flaw in every carpet because only God can be perfect; what that says to me is that they thought they were so perfect that they had to try to be imperfect, but such arrogance in itself is a flaw so they weren’t perfect after all.

I always wondered about that flaw in the carpet. I think the flaw come first and the rationale second. Can’t you just see the carpet maker in his stall at the bazaar telling an aggressive haggler, “No, ma’am, I can’t bring the price down any further. A flaw? What flaw? Oh, that. It’s not a flaw, it was put there on purpose because . . . because . . .only God is perfect. Yes, that’s it.”

But I digress.

I do know that interesting characters make interesting stories, not the other way around. And how you make characters interesting is to make them come alive by giving them traits that are a bit more exaggerated than real life. Who wants to read about a character who sits around watching television all the time, or who repeatedly has the same tiresome argument with their child, or who can’t resolve their problems? We deal with that every day. We don’t need to read about it. On the other hand, if the traits are too idealized, characters come across as comic book silly.

So how do you create characters that readers will fall in love with? I don’t know. Sometimes while writing this blog I can figure out the answer to a question that’s troubling me, but not today. Sorry. I’ll let you know when I do figure it out.

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Posted in blogging, books, culture, life, writing. Tags: character, character's flaws, creating a character, falling in love with a character, Persian flaw, writing. 5 Comments »

The Most Powerful Tool at a Writer’s Command

April 1, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The most powerful tool at a writer’s command is not a computer or word processing program. It is not even a pen, though the pen is said to be mightier than the sword. (Frankly, though, I would prefer to go into a fight armed with a sword rather than a pen, but that could be a personal quirk.)

So what tool am I talking about? The power of three. Three is a mystical number that shows up repeatedly in mythology: three fates, three muses, three graces. Three is a prime component of fairy tales: three wishes, three little pigs, three bears. Three creates a series, a pattern of cause and effect. There are three stages of truth: first a concept is rejected, second it is violently opposed, third it is accepted as self-evident. Three is a basic structure of life: carbohydrates, protein, fat; electron, proton, neutron; past, present, future. And it is a basic structure of stories: beginning, middle, end.

The power of three is so pervasive that you can use it to plan a functional wardrobe. Before buying an article of clothing, think of three things to wear with it, three places to wear it, and three ways to accessorize it.

Three is a symmetrical number that satisfies something deep within our psyches, and if we use it in our writing, we can find a way into our reader’s minds, hearts, and souls.

To use the power of three in articles: Set up your premise, prove it, conclude it.

To use the power of three in a mystery: Give one clue to tantalize; two to suggest a direction of discovery; three to create a pattern.

To use the power of three in a story: Create tension, develop it, release it.

To use the power of three in description: Mention three attributes.

To use the power of three in devising a plot, following the storyline of The Three Bears. The first time Goldilocks tries to reach her goal, she fails but learns the risks. The second time she tries, she confirms that she’s doing things wrong, but she learns from her mistakes. The third time she tries, she gets it right.

To use the power of three in giving a speech: First, tell the audience what you’re going to tell them. Second, tell them. Third, tell them what you told them.

Because my work in progress has evolved into a story of a mythic journey, I have been paying particular attention to three. Instead of one mentor, my hero will have three, each of whom gives him a gift. He will meet three women; the third will be “the one.” He will have three chances to cross the threshold into a safe place. The story will be divided into three parts, like a play, and the hero will have three opportunities to accomplish a goal in each part.

Perhaps the power of three is formulaic, but life is a formula, and the power of three seems to work for it. So, when in doubt, I’ll think three.

Posted in blogging, culture, life, writing. Tags: description, formula for writing, Goldilocks, myth, plot, The power of three, the rule of three, The Three Bears, writing. 5 Comments »

On Writing: The Mythic Journey and Answering the Call to Adventure

March 28, 2008 — Pat Bertram

I have reached the point in my work-in-progress where the hero Chip has chosen not to enter the place of safety, preferring freedom to security, and he won’t be succumbing to the lure of safety until the third time it is offered. (Three is a very mythical number if mythicism can be said to have degrees.) Now that Chip is mostly alone in the world, however, I’m not quite certain what to do with him. For him to become willing to give up his freedom, he has to undergo many ordeals, and the dangers need to escalate. I know I can create these situations, but they should have an underlying feeling of cohesiveness, otherwise they will appear as a series of unrelated incidents that go nowhere. After my last blog post and the realization that my work-in-progress is starting to follow the mythic journey template, I thought I’d check the template to see if it offers a solution.

The mythic journey begins in the ordinary world, which is the way my work-in-progress begins.

The second stage in the format is the call to adventure. I suppose the ending of the world qualifies; you can’t find anything more unsettling and disturbing than that. The choice to enter the place of safety is another call to adventure, for Chip doesn’t know what will await him, but it’s also the antithesis of the call to adventure in that he is being called to safety not danger.

The third stage is the refusal of the call. The refusal is supposed to show the hero’s fear, his need to be cajoled, the riskiness of the adventure. But if the call isn’t dangerous, does Chip’s refusal to enter the safety zone qualify for the third step? He is confronting the great unknown, so perhaps his choosing freedom and danger isn’t as noble as I think it is. Perhaps he is choosing the known over the unknown. Either way, he prefers to stay where he is.

Traditionally, the hero cannot achieve his or her full potential without accepting the call and the risks that come with it. Choosing to accept the call does not guarantee the hero’s success, for the road is long and treacherous. But for Chip, refusing the call is the long and treacherous time. Still, in the mythic world, opposites often lead in the same direction, so I will presume the lessons learned are the same.

Many influences come into play to get the hero to answer the call, such as a change in circumstance and offenses against the natural order of things. These Chip will have, and they will help him redefine his objectives. Readers also like to see the hero’s reluctance overcome, and the stiffer the reluctance, the more they enjoy seeing it worn down. Perhaps that’s my answer. Maybe I need to have readers hoping Chip will opt for safety, make them an accomplice in his choice so they will have a stake during the other nine stages of the journey. To do this, I will need a character that stands in for the reader, which means Chip can’t go it alone.

This brings us to the next stage of the mythic journey: the meeting with the mentor. A mentor helps prepare the hero for the coming adventure, giving him advice and gifts. A mentor would certainly give this part the cohesiveness it lacks, and it would also give life to what would otherwise be simply a string of ordeals.

So there it is, the solution to my problem: a mentor.

A nice irony: in my mythic journey as a writer, I always hoped to find a mentor, one who would help me overcome the problems I encounter. Who would have thought I’d find this mentor in my own blog?

Posted in blogging, books, culture, fiction, life, writing. Tags: call to adventure, character, hero, mythic journey, writing. Leave a Comment »

The Mythic Journey: Star Wars, Tin Cup, and Me

March 26, 2008 — Pat Bertram

New writers often rail against formulas and rules in an attempt to find their own voice, but the rules of good writing and storytelling need not be formulaic. Nor do formulas themselves need to be formulaic.

The most prevalent formula for writing fiction is the mythic journey, and two of the most obvious examples of this template are The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars. Does anyone doubt that these two movies tell the same story? Yet the mythic journey is not always so obvious. Tin Cup, far from the plots and contrivances of The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars, follows the same basic structure as they do and is equally mythic.

The movie begins in Roy McAvoy’s ordinary world, a driving range. The main call to adventure comes when his friend Romeo suggests that Roy enter the U.S. Open. Roy refuses the call, not wanting to change his ways, but he agrees when he realizes it is a way of catching the interest of the woman he loves. The woman and Romeo act as Roy’s mentors, helping him prepare for the game. He crosses the threshold into the extraordinary world when he enters the U.S. Open. As in any mythic journey, other archetypical characters (non-stereotypical but recognizable) accompany the hero Roy and help, hinder, and cheer him along the way.

Roy wants to change, and he prepares for and passes first one test and then another. Then comes the big moment, the mythic moment. He fails the final test, losing the U.S. Open, but wins his personal quest. He makes the shot he knows he can make, and he returns to the ordinary world with his ladylove. At the end he attempts to figure out what he learned, and recommits himself to another quest, next year’s U.S. Open.

Because of mythic journey formula, Tin Cup is not simply an amusing movie but is the quintessential story: an ordinary person who transforms himself into an extraordinary one.

In my own mythic journey as a writer, I have learned not to be afraid of formulas and rules, but rather to embrace them and make them my own. I hadn’t considered using the mythic journey formula again, since I already used it for my novel Daughter Am I, but my work-in-progress is the story of an ordinary man who is transformed into an extraordinary one, so whether I like it or not, I will be following the formula to a certain extent.

And I do like it. Perhaps it will give my novel a mythic aura. Not a bad quality for any story.