Basic Tenets for Good Writing

Opinion has supplanted intellect. There is no reason to learn the facts if an opinion is as acceptable as the truth. Nowhere is this as obvious as on the internet. Everything here is debatable: news stories, celebrity lifestyles, even encyclopedia entries.

When it comes to good writing, however, there are certain basics that are not debatable. Whether we are bloggers, content producers for various websites, novelists, these are all tenets we must heed:

1. Use dynamic verbs and concrete nouns, and keep adjectives and adverbs to a minimum. Watch for word qualifiers such as “a little,” “quite,” “somewhat.” They undermine our authority and make our writing seem indecisive.

2. Action first; reaction second. Cause first, effect second. “He finished smoking his cigar, then he aired out the room.” Not: “He aired out the room after he finished smoking his cigar.” When we don’t use the proper sequence, our writing seems unfocused.

3. Use active voice; too much use of passive makes our writing seem muffled.

4. Don’t be clever just for the sake of cleverness, don’t complicate the obvious, and don’t be unconventional for the sake of being exotic; ultimately, our readers will feel used or confused, and we will lose them.

5. Punctuation, spelling, and grammar do count. Content is important, but what good is all our wisdom if we come across as dolts?

6. Strive for clarity, economy, grace, and dignity. We can string words together, but without at least a couple of these elements, our writing will not be worth reading.

On Writing: Basic Story Structure

It bears repeating: you can write your novel however you wish, but if you are a first time writer looking to get published, there is a certain structure to which you must adhere. This structure is not a new convention; it stretches all the way back to the epics of Gilgamesh. It is the structure of myths and fairy tales, Shakespeare and Dickens, Gone With the Wind and most bestsellers.

It is a simple structure. Start with a character who wants something desperately. Throw obstacles in her way and keep throwing them at her until, in the end, she gets what she wants or what she deserves.

Though I am giving you a formula, I am in no way advocating formulaic writing. Your writing should be beautiful and out of the ordinary. Your ideas should be startling and show life in a new light. Your main character should be someone we have never before met. Your obstacles must be fresh and exciting, your ending ingenious and right for the story.

The formula is merely the scaffolding upon which you build your story. Because it is so familiar and satisfying, it becomes invisible, drawing readers into your story world and creating for them the illusion that it is real. If you deviate from this scaffolding, which you have every right to do, you must be aware that all of those sharp edges poke at your readers, reminding them that what they are reading is a fabrication. It takes them away from the sheer pleasure of experiencing another world, another life, another possibility. And if you take that away from them, you take away their reason for reading. Some might continue to read in admiration of your cleverness, but most won’t.

Is that a risk you’re willing to take?

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On Writing: How Not to Begin Your Book

The best-known first line of a novel is “It was a dark and stormy night.” It’s also considered to be the worst first line ever, though why I don’t know. Possibly because it’s a weather report and tells us nothing of what is to come. Readers do like to know a bit about the weather, but instead of reporting it we can weave it into the story. Mentioning the glare of the sun on the snow, the dampness of a brow, water dripping off the umbrella gives the reader a hint of the weather without us belaboring the point.

Even worse than beginning a novel with a weather report is to begin with a dream, which is the most common mistake beginners make. One fourth of the entries I tried to read in the Court TV Search for the Next Great Crime Writer Contest started with a dream, and I couldn’t get beyond that. I know that many bestselling authors do use such a trite beginning, but new authors cannot get away with it. It is a sign of an amateur and guarantees that no agent or editor will ever read the story.

It’s hard to get away from dreams completely — in More Deaths Than One I used dreams to show how Bob’s unremembered past was starting to affect him. I wish I could have figured out another way to do it, but I console myself with the thought that at least I didn’t begin the book with a dream.

The only thing worse than beginning with a dream is to continue it until at the end of the story the character wakes up and discovers it was all a dream. That is the coward’s way out and a sign of an unconfident writer. I know what you’re thinking: The Wizard of Oz. Okay, be honest. The very first time you read the book or saw the movie, didn’t you feel the slightest bit cheated? I know I did.

So, my advice to you is don’t cheat your readers. Think of a better beginning to your opus than a dream, and keep the dreaming to a minimum.

On Writing: Dealing with Compliments and Criticism

I feel as if I am a war correspondent on the front lines, taking flak and dodging sniper bullets. With only a few days left in the first round of the Court TV’s Search for the Next Great Crime Writer Contest, contestants are giving the top runners what are called drive-by ones – a single star without a comment to explain it – in the hope of lowering those scores. A futile activity at best, because only 10-star votes count. And then there are all the nasty comments that are being left on the chance that others will take heed and also give bad ratings.

See what you missed by not entering that contest?

You also missed some valuable lessons. I didn’t realize until today how much I have learned about evaluating criticism. If you’re like me, you will have been given some meaningless compliments and equally meaningless criticism on your work. Oddly enough, the criticism (or compliment) is more of a reflection of the criticizer than it is the criticizee. If it comes from a family member, you should ignore it, good or bad. Depending on your family dynamic, you will be treated contemptuously or as if you were the reincarnation of Hemingway, neither of which reflects your true skill.

A friend’s comment should also be discounted. Because of course they give you high praise; and if they didn’t, why are you friends? 

A comment from a stranger is more difficult to evaluate, but can be put into its proper place by a bit of investigation. Who is the person? What have they written? If you admire their writing, whether an article, a story, or a comment left on another contest entry, then pay attention. If you see that they are leaving a similar remark on all the entries, disregard it. If it comes from an agent who is trying to sell her services as a book-doctor, then definitely ignore it.

There is no point in beating yourself up for unearned criticism; nor is there any point in puffing yourself up with unearned compliments. If you are a real writer, you are in it for the long haul. Contests come and go. Rejection letters too come and go. What is left after all that is you, your writing, and how much you improve. That’s what counts.

On Writing: How to Deal With Rejection

I got the first truly negative critique of my crime writing contest entry, More Deaths Than One, and it was savage. I emailed the guy, a POD publisher, and told him I appreciated his honesty, then it dawned on me his critique was no more honest than the ones from people who gave me great reviews hoping for a great review in return.

Though this was a comment left on an online contest entry and not strictly a rejection letter, it is basically the same thing. So how do we deal with rejection? After we calm down, we go through the critique line by line and see if it makes any valid points. (If you are interested in reading the chapter in question, you can find it at ptbertram.gather.com or off to the right under My First Chapters.)

This is what the publisher had to say:

“A lot of great comments, Pat, but I couldn’t get past the tenth paragraph. The opening scene just doesn’t compel me to continue reading. There are way too many pronouns, so much that the characters begin to appear as paper thin quite quickly. While there is probably a great deal to this story to warrant all the kudos this chapter has generated, I look at it as I would any submission I read, and my feeling is that the bookstore owners who read the first page are going to feel the same way. A first chapter has to bite the reader by the scruff of the neck and not let go. A mundane scene in a diner doesn’t do that. It doesn’t have to be over the top, but it has to fill the reader with the wonderment of the story.

“So, I went back and read the entire chapter, feeling that if everyone else thought it was great, I was missing something. I didn’t see the writing get any better, to be frank. In fact, the diner scene was the most interesting. The story focuses on the embezzlement part of the story, which seemed like a fair hook to start a mystery, and you throw in the one little sentence about the disembodied hand in the culvert, with apparently enough evidence to indicate that the victim was tortured. The cemetery scene was so devoid of description that I didn’t really catch on the first time through that it was a cemetery scene. I am not even sure what the heck happened after the cemetery scene, which ended rather abruptly. As it is the key scene in the story, having read your description in your spam asking me to read this story, I am a bit disappointed that the key elements of this mystery were given so flimsily and without impact.

“The only question I am left with is the question that never gets answered: What about the boyfriend who embezzles from his own business? This was the only compelling point in the entire chapter.

“I would make this first chapter entirely in the diner, and leave the cemetery scene for its own Chapter 2, with full descriptive imagery. Let the diner scene twist entirely around the opening question of the boyfriend’s embezzlement and the headline of the disembodied hand. Then, as the chapter has given us an understanding of these characters, and Bob’s indifference to the two crimes at the center of the reader’s attention, he finds the obituary, and waitress he is beginning to care less and less about gives him so many questions that he can ‘t answer about the obituary, and maybe even offers to help him figure it out if Bob helps her catch her boyfriend in the act of embezzling.

“But told with enough description and detail, and with enough characterization tags that everything is not He and She and It, the concept is intriguing enough to hang a story on. If it involves too much “Twilight Zonery,” I would not regard it as a story for the crime fiction genre. If it works out that there are imposters, or perhaps Bob is not the man he thinks he is, this has some prime potential as a crime story. If it works out that this is more in the genre of a ghost story, I would again expect it to fall into a different genre. However, as it stands, I would not be reading beyond this chapter to find out.

“Another question I have to ask is why you are setting this in the time of the S&L scandals? Not far enough back to be of any historical interest, and not recent enough to be of interest to readers of contemporary novels. Instead, the story is dated. Unless the Silverado scandal or that period of time is central to the story, there is not much point in pushing the story back to that time. Most readers won’t even know that the name Silverado is meant to fix the time period, as this is entirely a cultural reference that even in the midst of the scandal was a bit of obscure trivia.”

Let’s look at this paragraph-by-paragraph. Bookstore owners? What is he talking about? Most books are sold online or in megastores or discount stores, and as I am willing to bet those corporate buyers don’t read any part of a book before buying it, we can cross off the first paragraph as irrelevant.

Next we come to the disembodied hand. There is no disembodied hand in the book. A brief mention of a decomposing corpse as an example of a news story is all. And the cemetery scene. Would you sit still for a description of a cemetery? I wouldn’t. I had one in there and took it out because there is no point in describing something of no importance especially when we all know what it looks like. Perhaps, as another commenter said, I could have mentioned the scent of lilacs or the feel of the leaves against his cheek, but that has no bearing on this particular critique of a critique.

We can forget any mention of the embezzlement, because it goes to the character of the waitress and is not a major part of the story. Since most readers thought the café scene too long, there is no reason to extend it (unless, of course, a publisher who offers me a contract wants it changed. Then I will do what I have to do.)

We can forget all about this particular publisher’s displeasure over pronouns; he’s probably right, but since he offers no suggestions of how to improve the writing, it falls under the category of criticism, not constructive criticism.

And we can ignore his diatribe about the timeframe since it is important to the story; the mention of the Broncos game and Silverado are necessary to put us there. As for Silverado being trivial . . . The son of the vice-president/president-elect and the brother of the current president was involved. This is more than a bit of obscure trivia. It is history and such an abominable misuse of power that we should have it seared on our brains.

So what are we left with? If “perhaps Bob is not the man he thinks he is, this has some prime potential as a crime story.” Since this is exactly what the story is about, and since elsewhere the publisher said that great writers welcome criticism, which I did, then what he is really saying is that I am a great writer and my story has some prime potential as a crime story.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

A Necessary Skill to Learn on the Way to a Publishing Contract

I do not have an insider’s view of the publishing industry — I am still unpublished — but I have read enough to know that the days of sitting back and waiting for the royalty checks to come flooding in once we have been published are long gone. Whether we publish the book ourselves or are lucky enough to get a publishing contract, the name of the game is marketing. The irony is that many of us writers are retiring types; if we knew how to sell ourselves, we would probably have reached literary fame a long time ago.

I have entered a writing contest. (No, I am not going to solicit your vote, but if you are interested, the link to my entry is in my previous two blog posts.) I am currently in the lead, but there are a few contestants who are rapidly gaining on me. For me, though, winning is not the name of this game. Learning how to market myself is. Even more than my rank, what pleases me is the number of comments I have been able to garner. Some, I admit, are from friends and relatives, but most are from other members of the site. Members I specifically asked to vote for me, I might add.

The way I figure it, win or lose, I have won. I can take this newfound skill of self-promotion and offer it to potential publishers. It should make them more interested in me as a potential asset since I will be coming to them with more than simply a novel.

That this is the most fun I have had since starting this blog (which was a thrill in itself) is a bonus I hadn’t counted on.

Seeing the Story World Through the Eyes of Our Character

Our characters are more than just the creatures of our story world, they are the lens through which readers see into that world. It is possible to tell a story without using this lens, but the resulting story world can be gray and lifeless. Characters interacting with that world and each other give it color, make it seem more real.

I learned this the hard way.

I had a character who supposed to appear to be an insignificant little man though he was rich, had a couple of influential friends, and once was a secret agent. Despite several rewritings, I could not make him come alive. He was dull and boring rather than the mysterious character I wanted him to be, and even when the information about him unfolded during the course of the novel, it too was uninteresting. No matter what I did, I could not make him or his past three-dimensional.

In desperation, I created a love interest for him. (It seems like an obvious solution, but originally I wanted him to be a loner.) When I began to see him through her eyes and her amazement, all of a sudden he burst into full color.

Using one character’s viewpoint to show another character also allows us to be enigmatic when it comes to characterization. If we as the author/narrator were to describe a character as being kind, he must be so; if another character describes him as being kind, he might be kind, but he also might be kind only to her and mean to everyone else, or he might be abusive to her and she interprets it as being kind because she is not used to having anyone pay attention to her. While learning about him through her eyes, we also learn about her.

In this same way, when we see the story world as the character sees it rather than how we as the creator of the world envisioned it, the scenery comes alive. The day might be bleak, but if the character sees this bleakness and thinks what a wonderful day it is, we learn about the weather, and we learn about her.

And we make the story world come alive for readers. We make readers a part of the story because they identify with the characters. They see the world through the characters’ eyes.

Writing Suspense: More is More

Suspense is a hard thing for most authors to write. They don’t want to give away the story too soon, yet if they don’t tell enough, they will bore us readers. We need to know where the author is going, we need enough clues to be able to participate in the journey, and we need a stake in the outcome. If a character agonizes for pages about a decision she has to make without us knowing what the problem is, we won’t care. We will skip ahead or, even worse from the author’s viewpoint, toss the book aside.

For example, while getting dressed for an appointment that she’s dreading, a character is dropping things out of nervousness and arguing with herself or another character about keeping the appointment. We might have empathy with her indecision, might even wonder what’s going on, but there is no real suspense because we have no stake in the matter.

If we find out she’s getting ready to go to the doctor to learn the results of some tests, the suspense is a little greater, and we have a little more empathy, but the scenario is still not detailed enough to build tension.

If we find out she has uterine cancer and needs to meet with the physician to decide on a course of treatment, that raises the stakes for both the character and the reader. And the tension level rises.

But if we find out that her mother died an agonizing death even after undergoing years of treatment for uterine cancer, and she is trying to decide whether she is willing to undergo the same treatment or whether she would rather live out the remainder of her days the best way she can, then the author has created real tension, and we care. We wonder what she will do, what we would do in her place, how we would feel if we had to make the same decision. It gives us a personal stake in the outcome, and we keep reading to find out what she is going to do.

As an added bonus, we get to know her better and can empathize with her even if we don’t agree with her final decision.

So, by not withholding story points, the author can create tension, develop a character, and please us readers. Not a bad day’s work.

Writing is About the Choices We Make

When we choose to write, we are faced with a universe of choices where all things are possible. Many would-be writers never put a single word on the page because the number of choices to be made seem insurmountable. First, we have to choose what to write about. The topic can be anything: love, abuse, super novas. Next we have to choose how to present the topic. As fiction or nonfiction? As a blog? A poem? A short story? A novel? 

By making these decisions, we begin to limit our universe of choices. A blog has certain criteria to be met; it must be brief and interesting or we run the risk of losing our readers. A short story can contain complex ideas, but a novel has the scope for us to develop those ideas more fully.

Suppose we choose to present the topic as a novel. Now there are more choices to be made. How are we going to write it? First person or third? Sassy, sarcastic, serious? Who is going to be the main character? What does she most desire? Who or what is stopping her from fulfilling this desire? What does she look and act like? What are her internal traits, both her admirable ones and less admirable ones? Who are her allies? Who are her mentors? 

And those choices lead to other choices. What does the character need? (As opposed to what she wants.) Is she going to get what she wants or is she going to get what she needs? For example, maybe she wants to be a homebody, to marry the boy next door, but what she and the story need are for her to become a senator and possibly leave the boy behind.

And so the choices continue, each choice narrowing the story’s universe a bit more.

Some writers love the choosing, the creating, but I love when the weight of those choices become so great that the answer to all future choices can be found in past ones. The character might need to fight off an attacker, and when we try to choose between success and failure, we realize there can be only one outcome. Because of who she is and what she has done, she cannot succeed. To succeed might mean to kill, and she cannot kill anyone even to save her own life.

When the story gets to the point where it seems to make its own choices, it takes on a feeling of inexorability, as if there was always only one way to tell the story.

But, in the end as in the beginning, writing is about the choices we make.   

On Writing: Telling and Showing

Like many new writers, I have a hard time with “show, don’t tell,” but today I came across a graphic example of the difference between the two.

I was reading an article in a sports magazine about a baseball player who was an all around good guy. He was honest, had integrity, was kind, was raised right by his parents. This “telling” of his virtues continued for page after page without once “showing” us an example of his honesty, integrity, etc.

At the very end of the article, though, the writer finally showed us who the athlete really is. After receiving a $400,000 signing bonus, this very fine, honest, upright athlete went to Wal-Mart and bought the furnishings for his apartment. He kept the receipts (taped them to the merchandise so he wouldn’t lose them) and returned the used products in ninety days.

If the article had been about screwing Wal-Mart (or rather the Wal-Mart customers who would have bought the used merchandise thinking it was new) then this example would have fit. If the article had been about the athlete’s frugal ways, then the example would also have fit. But in a story about a person of integrity? No.

One of the lessons I gleaned from this is that if I am going to tell, don’t show. What I might think is a good example, readers might not, and I run the risk of alienating them.

The other lesson I learned is that I shouldn’t try to foist my feelings for a character’s action on readers by telling about the action. I need to simply show the action and let the readers decide how it makes them feel about the character.

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