In a previous entry, I gave the advice of writing short sentences. I said, "No matter how much you might think about it, talk about it, even discuss or argue with it, the easiest and fastest way to find out if it's good advice is to try using shorter sentences." So, the sentence that tells people to use short sentences is 36 words long (well above my recommended 15 words).
It looks like I'm breaking my own rules. This shouldn't come as too much of a surprise, though. I have found many writers who come up with lovely, elaborate systems for writing, and proceed to ignore them and wing it.
I have found that when an author doesn't follow his or her own rules, there are two possible reasons. One is that the reality of the rule is more complicated than the simple version that the author says. The other is that the author is a lousy writer. Since I'm sure that I'm not a lousy writer, then my rule must be more complicated.
In fact, I already am aware of that. That's why my exact advice is to "use shorter sentences more than long ones." Long sentences have their place in writing. They can add to the music of the writing. They can build up into a significant point. They can break the monotony of seeing too many short sentences all in a row.
The problem with long sentences is that they are heavy. Too many will drag writing to a halt. They're wonderful flourishes, but the meat of writing needs to be shorter and easily digested.
Of course, it is a lot easier to just tell people to use short sentences. It's mostly true and far shorter than giving the full explanation. It's just that mostly true isn't completely true.
If you have rules or standards or advice for writing, use them on yourself. If your writing doesn’t follow your own rules, either your writing is lacking or your rules are missing some fine details.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Feeling Your Characters
I am working on a series of books that I describe as "children's books that aren't for children". The title character for these books is Grosso the Oso. Grosso is a large anthropomorphic bear. He stands on two legs, talks normally, and nobody bats an eye at the fact that he's a talking bear. He's kind of like Smokey the Bear. The main difference between the two being that people like Smokey.
Grosso is the most hated person in all of the city. He lives in the dank alleys in a cardboard box. People who see him shout hateful obscenities and throw trash at him. On bad days, he accepts the life that people have assigned him. On good days he slinks into a hole where nobody can judge him.
Periodically, some thing happens in Grosso's life that fills him with hope and excitement. He proceeds to act on his hope, whether it be something like getting a mattress to sleep on in the alley, or buying a big cookie from the grocery store. Invariably, it explodes in his face and usually results in an angry mob chasing him back into the shadows.
These are fairly dark stories. An innocent soul is treated like a vile wretch for no good reason. It straddles the fence between depressingly cruel and hilariously twisted. One might find me to be a truly disturbed individual for making these stories. And though I won't say that I'm not disturbed (I am a writer after all), I would say that it is not the way that one might think.
When I was writing Grosso the Oso Gets A New House, I needed to think of something to destroy his current home to provide impetus for him to find a new one. The thought comes to me, how about a heavy rain makes his cardboard box collapse? I chuckled at the thought, started writing it down, then had the follow-up, the cardboard would turn into a disgusting mush that gets matted into his fur. I laughed even more. Then I felt bad. Grosso the Oso is a tragic character; he doesn't deserve the crap that happens to him.
When I write these things down, I feel them happening to my creation. And bringing misfortune and meaningless harm to something you've created should make you feel bad. Characters are not merely puppets that you manipulate. Good characters are people. They have lives, thoughts, feelings, desires, just like a real person. And nobody knows them more closely than you.
Even if you are the god of your universe when you write, you can surprise yourself with what you come up with. When something particularly cool happens, you should feel happy about your characters. When you come up with something truly horrific that happens to them, it should make you feel bad.
This is what prevents you from being a complete monster. This is not you torturing fictional people for your own sick thrills (I hope). This is you making things happen that have to happen in order to tell a compelling story. Feel your characters' pain and their joy; then tell the best damn story you can.
Grosso is the most hated person in all of the city. He lives in the dank alleys in a cardboard box. People who see him shout hateful obscenities and throw trash at him. On bad days, he accepts the life that people have assigned him. On good days he slinks into a hole where nobody can judge him.
Periodically, some thing happens in Grosso's life that fills him with hope and excitement. He proceeds to act on his hope, whether it be something like getting a mattress to sleep on in the alley, or buying a big cookie from the grocery store. Invariably, it explodes in his face and usually results in an angry mob chasing him back into the shadows.
These are fairly dark stories. An innocent soul is treated like a vile wretch for no good reason. It straddles the fence between depressingly cruel and hilariously twisted. One might find me to be a truly disturbed individual for making these stories. And though I won't say that I'm not disturbed (I am a writer after all), I would say that it is not the way that one might think.
When I was writing Grosso the Oso Gets A New House, I needed to think of something to destroy his current home to provide impetus for him to find a new one. The thought comes to me, how about a heavy rain makes his cardboard box collapse? I chuckled at the thought, started writing it down, then had the follow-up, the cardboard would turn into a disgusting mush that gets matted into his fur. I laughed even more. Then I felt bad. Grosso the Oso is a tragic character; he doesn't deserve the crap that happens to him.
When I write these things down, I feel them happening to my creation. And bringing misfortune and meaningless harm to something you've created should make you feel bad. Characters are not merely puppets that you manipulate. Good characters are people. They have lives, thoughts, feelings, desires, just like a real person. And nobody knows them more closely than you.
Even if you are the god of your universe when you write, you can surprise yourself with what you come up with. When something particularly cool happens, you should feel happy about your characters. When you come up with something truly horrific that happens to them, it should make you feel bad.
This is what prevents you from being a complete monster. This is not you torturing fictional people for your own sick thrills (I hope). This is you making things happen that have to happen in order to tell a compelling story. Feel your characters' pain and their joy; then tell the best damn story you can.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Learn It The Hard Way
Every lesson in writing needs to be learned the hard way. There's a lot of advice out there about writing, things you should and shouldn't do. But talk is cheap. How do you know that it's worth a damn? How do you know any piece of advice is even good?
Try it yourself. I advise people to use shorter sentences more than long ones. No matter how much you might think about it, talk about it, even discuss or argue with it, the easiest and fastest way to find out if it's good advice is to try using shorter sentences.
This same system works for the rules of avoidance. Good writing is concrete. The more abstract your words and ideas become, the harder it is for readers to connect or care. Am I right? Try it out. Write something with lots of concrete language and write something abstract. Which one do you like better? Which one do other people like better?
I want to clarify what I mean by "the hard way". The hard way isn't necessarily painful. It doesn't mean you spend hours or days or more on a project, show it to everybody you know, and have them all call it garbage. It doesn't mean submitting it to a publication and being rejected. All I really mean is personal, hands-on experience. In my examples, I suggest using yourself and your friends as testers. I'm suggesting writing experiments which do not have to be too involved (though still sincere and wholehearted).
In fact, you don't necessarily have to write to learn some of these lessons. Go read a low quality literary magazine. You will find countless examples of terribly abstract writing with incredibly long sentences. If it makes you cringe to read, then you have experienced firsthand these lessons. And if you find yourself enthralled with that writing, then you have still experienced these lessons firsthand; you simply know that they are wrong.
The importance here is that you are not reading discussion of craft; you are reading the craft itself. Discussion of craft can be great. This is my 456th discussion of craft on this site. But discussion only goes so far. Sooner or later, you have to test that discussion to see if it holds water.
Try it yourself. I advise people to use shorter sentences more than long ones. No matter how much you might think about it, talk about it, even discuss or argue with it, the easiest and fastest way to find out if it's good advice is to try using shorter sentences.
This same system works for the rules of avoidance. Good writing is concrete. The more abstract your words and ideas become, the harder it is for readers to connect or care. Am I right? Try it out. Write something with lots of concrete language and write something abstract. Which one do you like better? Which one do other people like better?
I want to clarify what I mean by "the hard way". The hard way isn't necessarily painful. It doesn't mean you spend hours or days or more on a project, show it to everybody you know, and have them all call it garbage. It doesn't mean submitting it to a publication and being rejected. All I really mean is personal, hands-on experience. In my examples, I suggest using yourself and your friends as testers. I'm suggesting writing experiments which do not have to be too involved (though still sincere and wholehearted).
In fact, you don't necessarily have to write to learn some of these lessons. Go read a low quality literary magazine. You will find countless examples of terribly abstract writing with incredibly long sentences. If it makes you cringe to read, then you have experienced firsthand these lessons. And if you find yourself enthralled with that writing, then you have still experienced these lessons firsthand; you simply know that they are wrong.
The importance here is that you are not reading discussion of craft; you are reading the craft itself. Discussion of craft can be great. This is my 456th discussion of craft on this site. But discussion only goes so far. Sooner or later, you have to test that discussion to see if it holds water.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Validation Is Awesome
There are no two ways about it: when somebody says that something you've made is good, it is amazing. The nicer the compliment given, the greater you feel. And if it isn't a close friend or family member, then you should feel the urge to get up and dance in joy.
Anybody who tells you that validation isn't that great is lying to you (and possibly also to themselves). The common sentiment is usually along the lines of, "It doesn't matter what other people think about you; it matters what you think about you." Trust me, if you want other people to read your writing, if you want to get your writing published, it totally matters what other people think about you.
However, there is a truth to that idea. It is very important that you respect your writing. Of course things can always be better, but you have to be able to make something and be proud of it. You have to love that you made it and know that it is a great piece of writing. That is when you will show it to other people who will read it and compliment it, giving you that sweet, sweet validation.
People can't compliment your writing if they don't read it and they won't read it if you don't have them read it. And if you don't respect your own writing, you will never share it with anybody.
So yes, it does matter what other people think of your writing. And yes, compliments from other people are incredibly validating and awesome. But, none of it happens without you, some self-love, and some self-respect.
Anybody who tells you that validation isn't that great is lying to you (and possibly also to themselves). The common sentiment is usually along the lines of, "It doesn't matter what other people think about you; it matters what you think about you." Trust me, if you want other people to read your writing, if you want to get your writing published, it totally matters what other people think about you.
However, there is a truth to that idea. It is very important that you respect your writing. Of course things can always be better, but you have to be able to make something and be proud of it. You have to love that you made it and know that it is a great piece of writing. That is when you will show it to other people who will read it and compliment it, giving you that sweet, sweet validation.
People can't compliment your writing if they don't read it and they won't read it if you don't have them read it. And if you don't respect your own writing, you will never share it with anybody.
So yes, it does matter what other people think of your writing. And yes, compliments from other people are incredibly validating and awesome. But, none of it happens without you, some self-love, and some self-respect.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Love Your Knowledge
Being an observer, you end up learning a lot of things you wouldn't necessarily learn on your own. Sometimes it may disturb or disgust you, but you shouldn't reject that knowledge. Love it.
I don't do drugs, but I've heard enough people talk about them that I know a lot of the lingo and customs. Sometimes it strikes me as odd how much I know about drugs for somebody who doesn't do them. What gets even odder is when drugs come up in conversation and I start using my in-depth knowledge to somebody who never would have guessed that I would know so much about the subject. The usual assumption is that I must do drugs in order to know so much. But it's wrong. I'm just a good observer.
And although it can be annoying to get the looks and stares that come with knowledge of unpleasant things, you still should love it. Love that you're informed. Love that you know more than other people do. Love that you are aware of things outside of your personal world and that you will be far better equipped to describe them in your writing.
I don't do drugs, but I've heard enough people talk about them that I know a lot of the lingo and customs. Sometimes it strikes me as odd how much I know about drugs for somebody who doesn't do them. What gets even odder is when drugs come up in conversation and I start using my in-depth knowledge to somebody who never would have guessed that I would know so much about the subject. The usual assumption is that I must do drugs in order to know so much. But it's wrong. I'm just a good observer.
And although it can be annoying to get the looks and stares that come with knowledge of unpleasant things, you still should love it. Love that you're informed. Love that you know more than other people do. Love that you are aware of things outside of your personal world and that you will be far better equipped to describe them in your writing.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thoughts on Showing vs. Telling
Sometimes I'll be watching a TV show and somebody will walk in on it and ask what's going on. So I'll say something like, "The cops thought that guy killed a bunch of people, but it was actually his son, but now the father is copping to them to save his son." This usually happens with about 10 minutes remaining in an hour-long show. The only thing left is the verdict and the final thought.
The difference between showing and telling is the difference between watching a TV show and having somebody explain the plot to you. When you show, the audience sees the conversations, the actions and interactions. They see the subtle nuance and all the twists and turns. When you tell, you give the facts and little else.
Telling is like a skeleton. It's just bare bones. It more resembles an outline than a piece of writing. Showing adds all the meat to the bones. It fleshes out the story and makes it fuller and more whole.
This analogy is making me uncomfortable, so I'm just going to stop it there. Make sure you do use showing writing to add flesh to your stories. Just don't try to show too much. Nobody likes a body with excessive amounts of flesh on it. (Gross. I'm gonna be sick.)
The difference between showing and telling is the difference between watching a TV show and having somebody explain the plot to you. When you show, the audience sees the conversations, the actions and interactions. They see the subtle nuance and all the twists and turns. When you tell, you give the facts and little else.
Telling is like a skeleton. It's just bare bones. It more resembles an outline than a piece of writing. Showing adds all the meat to the bones. It fleshes out the story and makes it fuller and more whole.
This analogy is making me uncomfortable, so I'm just going to stop it there. Make sure you do use showing writing to add flesh to your stories. Just don't try to show too much. Nobody likes a body with excessive amounts of flesh on it. (Gross. I'm gonna be sick.)
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Power of Vacation
I went to Cortland to visit my old college. They have an event called Scholars Day where, among other things, the Professional Writing department has a reading that students do and the literary magazine(s) are released.
The event was wonderful. The students did a good job performing, had interesting pieces, and the literary magazines were beautiful. I got to see my professors and some old friends (both older and younger than me).
After the students had read, the floor was opened for others to read, so I pulled out my notebook (so glad I bring it everywhere), found something I liked, and read to the class my children's book that's not for children, Grosso the Oso Gets A New House. This was the most amazing experience ever. I had the room laughing out loud. They were eating out of the palm of my hand. On top of that, this was my first public reading where I had zero nerves, no butterflies in the stomach, or anything else like that. I was confident, clear, and articulate. All those workshops I took at Cortland really seemed to sink in.
I was originally planning on staying in Cortland a couple of days to make sure I could hang out with everybody I wanted to see. That couple of days turned into nearly a week. It turns out I was more popular than I realized. But this came with certain consequences.
I didn't bring my laptop with me. I didn't think I would be using it. It was kind of annoying not having all of my files and notes with me, but this reinforced the vacation aspect of the trip. I couldn't bring my work with me.
On the second day of the trip, I got an idea for a story that was so brilliant that I had to snatch some paper and a pencil so that I could get it all down. For the rest of my time there, I spent several hours a day just sitting alone with no distractions, working on my new story idea. It was so invigorating. I felt like such a writer. I felt reborn.
When I finally returned home, there was a certain sameness to it. It's like everything was exactly the same as it was when I left. However, there was a difference in me. I still had that energy, that excitement. I had done a killer reading that proved the quality and validity of my writing, surrounded myself with some of the best people in my life, got a fresh idea for an exciting story, and had the energy to move forward on as many projects as I could.
I couldn't have felt more different. And I was definitely needing a recharge like that. I know that a vacation like that isn't always possible. Life has a nasty habit of getting in the way of our plans. Still, the reward is totally worth the cost. You don't even need to go far away or have some amazing plan. Just get a change of scenery. Be around some different people (or some people you aren't around often enough) and leave as much baggage as you can at home.
The event was wonderful. The students did a good job performing, had interesting pieces, and the literary magazines were beautiful. I got to see my professors and some old friends (both older and younger than me).
After the students had read, the floor was opened for others to read, so I pulled out my notebook (so glad I bring it everywhere), found something I liked, and read to the class my children's book that's not for children, Grosso the Oso Gets A New House. This was the most amazing experience ever. I had the room laughing out loud. They were eating out of the palm of my hand. On top of that, this was my first public reading where I had zero nerves, no butterflies in the stomach, or anything else like that. I was confident, clear, and articulate. All those workshops I took at Cortland really seemed to sink in.
I was originally planning on staying in Cortland a couple of days to make sure I could hang out with everybody I wanted to see. That couple of days turned into nearly a week. It turns out I was more popular than I realized. But this came with certain consequences.
I didn't bring my laptop with me. I didn't think I would be using it. It was kind of annoying not having all of my files and notes with me, but this reinforced the vacation aspect of the trip. I couldn't bring my work with me.
On the second day of the trip, I got an idea for a story that was so brilliant that I had to snatch some paper and a pencil so that I could get it all down. For the rest of my time there, I spent several hours a day just sitting alone with no distractions, working on my new story idea. It was so invigorating. I felt like such a writer. I felt reborn.
When I finally returned home, there was a certain sameness to it. It's like everything was exactly the same as it was when I left. However, there was a difference in me. I still had that energy, that excitement. I had done a killer reading that proved the quality and validity of my writing, surrounded myself with some of the best people in my life, got a fresh idea for an exciting story, and had the energy to move forward on as many projects as I could.
I couldn't have felt more different. And I was definitely needing a recharge like that. I know that a vacation like that isn't always possible. Life has a nasty habit of getting in the way of our plans. Still, the reward is totally worth the cost. You don't even need to go far away or have some amazing plan. Just get a change of scenery. Be around some different people (or some people you aren't around often enough) and leave as much baggage as you can at home.
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