Some of you have asked for some insight into where I think the market might be going. It's a bit early for my conclusions, but I thought I would share part of an email discussion Alicia and I have been having over the last few days.
People tend to think of stories as light or dark, but there's another element that comes into play, which is, for lack of a better term, bigness. A big story can be funny or gloomy. The size stems from things like the shock factor in the plot events, the severity of the characters' reactions, and similar. You can have a big funny story, and a small dark paranormal. Big stories provide better escapes. They demand attention. They're cathartic.
In any event, Alicia and I were talking about movies because movie attendance stayed high during the depression. Books and movies were the most common forms of commercial entertainment back then. I've had several people comment to me recently about Depression-era publishing, and in particular, about the success of Gone With the Wind during that time. People seem to think this is evidence of why publishing will be recession-proof this time around. But, in fact, for whatever reasons -- the Borders situation, the severity of the economic climate, more variety in commercial entertainment options, whatever -- we're not recession-proof this time.
What movies became popular against the setting of the depression? The screwball comedies, and also all the movies about rich people in ballgowns drinking champagne. All the Fred and Ginger movies, and Philadelphia Story, Bringing Up Baby, and so on -- people wanted to forget about money trouble and be high-spirited. Not carefree, but something else, something that would allow them to experience a real belly laugh and a new set of problems. That's not the same as "light." Something can be deeply funny rather than light and funny.
I think the key to the screwball comedies was their outrageousness. They really pushed the envelope. Every scene would introduce some new complication, usually something so inventive as to be almost unbelievable, but that was what audiences wanted. They wanted the bigness of the guy who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt charging up the staircase while two little old maiden aunts quietly poison every man who wanders up their sidewalk.
It's cathartic. And I really think that's the key. Whatever the emotion, it will have to be big enough to be cathartic.
And don't forget, Scarlett O'Hara was obsessed with money and fighting against the demon poverty. The book was big in number of pages, but also big in plot and character and emotion, and her struggles were something readers could relate to -- lost affluence, crushing poverty and hunger, and reputation as a function of wealth.
Theresa,
eyeball-deep in work
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Voice and rhetorical situations
I'm getting ready to go to Portland to do a two-day workshop (eek-- they are going to be so bored with me before it's over), and one element I want to address is voice. Well, nothing like choosing an amorphous concept. But I had lunch with a friend who is getting her PhD in Rhet-comp today, and she said the research now suggests that writers don't have a single "authentic" voice, but rather that writers assume a different "persona" for different rhetorical situations. Of course, we all know that we're going to "sound" different when we're writing a technical manual and when we're writing a thriller. But I think even different novels present different rhetorical situations, and a single voice, however authentic, might not be effective.
(BTW, some of the research has to do with something I've come across working in a university writing center-- following a new graduate student whose initial writing "isn't graduate enough". I occasionally tutor grad students who have been told by a prof: "You don't write like a graduate student." That is meant, btw, as a criticism, not a compliment. The voice in graduate papers is more neutral, more analytical, not "This is an amazing book," but "This comprehensive history offers insights into...." There's an expectation of a voice-- one of those "you know it when you read it," but not necessarily anything I can identify point by point.)
So... think about your own writing. Do you think you change voice when you change books? Or do you think you "write to your voice"-- maybe not trying the type of book your existing voice wouldn't fit? (For example, there's nothing so excruciating as a dramatic writer who is forced by an editor to write comedy... either you're funny or you're not, let's face it.)
Well, maybe I should ask: Do you think you can create a comic voice if you aren't (previously) funny? (I just asked my husband, and he said, "Sure," and when I demanded and example, he replied, "You." Not funny, babe.)
Alicia
(BTW, some of the research has to do with something I've come across working in a university writing center-- following a new graduate student whose initial writing "isn't graduate enough". I occasionally tutor grad students who have been told by a prof: "You don't write like a graduate student." That is meant, btw, as a criticism, not a compliment. The voice in graduate papers is more neutral, more analytical, not "This is an amazing book," but "This comprehensive history offers insights into...." There's an expectation of a voice-- one of those "you know it when you read it," but not necessarily anything I can identify point by point.)
So... think about your own writing. Do you think you change voice when you change books? Or do you think you "write to your voice"-- maybe not trying the type of book your existing voice wouldn't fit? (For example, there's nothing so excruciating as a dramatic writer who is forced by an editor to write comedy... either you're funny or you're not, let's face it.)
Well, maybe I should ask: Do you think you can create a comic voice if you aren't (previously) funny? (I just asked my husband, and he said, "Sure," and when I demanded and example, he replied, "You." Not funny, babe.)
Alicia
Don't waste space
Even good writers sometimes lose focus. Often it's only a line or two of slack summary or position blocking, but if it comes across as that-- as filling in-- it breaks the narrative drive and the "reality" of the fictional dream you're creating.
Vagueness is always the enemy of verisimilitude.
These vague passages are often right at the beginning of a paragraph, sometimes the beginning of a scene. Often it's just one sentence that performs one job -- making a transition, or moving to a new setting-- but not the job of keeping the reader in the experience.
Here's an example:
Phillippa arrived at the airport.
That gets us to the new situation, but what's missing? Yes, often the rest of the paragraph supplies the point of view, the setting, the emotion. But even one line of just utilitarian narration can lose the reader's attention and that all-important belief. We can't afford to waste space, any space at all, but especially that essential real estate at the beginning of a paragraph. In fact, transitions are exactly where you don't want to slack off, because the reader really needs to experience the change of scene, POV, or situation as something vital and IN the story.
So how to infuse some vitality into those dull lines? A lot will depend on the viewpoint approach. If you're in a close POV, go to the character, and narrate it from her perspective. If you're in Phillippa's POV above, make it about her experience, not some generic arrival.
When Phillippa arrived at the airport, she looked around anxiously for her mother. But she wasn't at baggage claim, and Phillippa finally tracked her down-- typical-- at the bar.
Notice that making the movement (arrival) in a dependent clause leaves the all-important independent clause for something in the character-- a thought, a perception, an emotion.
So what if you're in a more omniscient or distant POV? Well, the great advantage of a more distant POV is the flexibility it gives in description. No need to filter the description through a character-- you can use your own observations and voice to fill in the world of the story.
The flight from Memphis came in so early, the airport was almost deserted, most of the stores shuttered and dark. But the bar was open already, or still, and it was there Phillippa found her mother.
Point is... you can't afford even a line that breaks the continuity of the narrative you're creating, the world you're building for the reader. When you revise, watch for those wasted-space lines and see how you can make that part of your narrative-- incorporating your voice, your setting, the character-- something that makes this more than just a space-filler. Challenge yourself. You can do it. :)
Alicia
Vagueness is always the enemy of verisimilitude.
These vague passages are often right at the beginning of a paragraph, sometimes the beginning of a scene. Often it's just one sentence that performs one job -- making a transition, or moving to a new setting-- but not the job of keeping the reader in the experience.
Here's an example:
Phillippa arrived at the airport.
That gets us to the new situation, but what's missing? Yes, often the rest of the paragraph supplies the point of view, the setting, the emotion. But even one line of just utilitarian narration can lose the reader's attention and that all-important belief. We can't afford to waste space, any space at all, but especially that essential real estate at the beginning of a paragraph. In fact, transitions are exactly where you don't want to slack off, because the reader really needs to experience the change of scene, POV, or situation as something vital and IN the story.
So how to infuse some vitality into those dull lines? A lot will depend on the viewpoint approach. If you're in a close POV, go to the character, and narrate it from her perspective. If you're in Phillippa's POV above, make it about her experience, not some generic arrival.
When Phillippa arrived at the airport, she looked around anxiously for her mother. But she wasn't at baggage claim, and Phillippa finally tracked her down-- typical-- at the bar.
Notice that making the movement (arrival) in a dependent clause leaves the all-important independent clause for something in the character-- a thought, a perception, an emotion.
So what if you're in a more omniscient or distant POV? Well, the great advantage of a more distant POV is the flexibility it gives in description. No need to filter the description through a character-- you can use your own observations and voice to fill in the world of the story.
The flight from Memphis came in so early, the airport was almost deserted, most of the stores shuttered and dark. But the bar was open already, or still, and it was there Phillippa found her mother.
Point is... you can't afford even a line that breaks the continuity of the narrative you're creating, the world you're building for the reader. When you revise, watch for those wasted-space lines and see how you can make that part of your narrative-- incorporating your voice, your setting, the character-- something that makes this more than just a space-filler. Challenge yourself. You can do it. :)
Alicia
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
On Numbers
Many moons ago, I interviewed for an editing job at a house that was expanding its romance lines. The VP of Something Or Other walked into our meeting, shook my hand, and told me, "You'll be happy to know that here at Big Ole Publishing House, our acquisitions are editorial-driven." And then he proceeded to outline all the various ways that their sales and marketing staff directed the acquisitions process -- by attending editorial meetings, generating concepts for books, even giving a final decision on whether to acquire a certain project pitched by the editors to the sales staff.
Not so at my house.
The thumbnail version of how it works is that, first, an acquisitions editor evaluates your manuscript. If she likes it and wants to take it on, she sends it to me for review. If I like it and have a slot for it, I approve it for acquisition.
That's a very broad overview, of course. Before an acquisitions editor even reviews your manuscript, she has already been prepped on our editorial vision. We have periodic conversations about our editorial direction, both in a generic sense and with respect to individual manuscripts under consideration. We talk about everything from where the lines are drawn on permissible sexual content, to how "beta" a hero can be before he needs revisions, to what makes a story slanted more toward male or female readers. Periodically, the publisher steps in and offers her guidance. All of these factors, and more, can influence an acquisition decision.
So I could tell you that sales doesn't lead editorial, but in a different sense, it does. We might not have sales staff attending editorial meetings and making editorial decisions, but sales prospects can certainly make or break a manuscript.
There are really two questions I'm asking when I read a recommended manuscript. One, does it fit with our editorial philosophy? And two, will it sell?
Our editorial philosophy includes a recognition that my house is known for publishing stories a bit off the beaten path. We weren't just one of the first places to publish erotic romance. We were also publishing vampire stories before those hit the lists, and we were moving away from the "big" books approach and into smaller, tighter stories back when romance paperbacks could be used as doorstops.
So we actively look for stories that might not sell elsewhere. Yes, we publish our werewolves and Scottish lords and international tycoons, but we are also hunting for really top quality stories unlike anything else on the market.
In that sense, at least, we're not sales-led. I find it unlikely, for example, that sales staff with approving authority would have approved Megan's Choice. It's an interactive branching story in e-book form. The reader can actually click on choices at the end of each chapter to tell the heroine what to do next. I imagine a sales person would have taken one look at that proposal and proclaimed it too risky. There's no cumulative sales data for books like this on the market, because there aren't any books like this on the market. Not that I've seen, anyway, and I've looked. (Yes, there was that old children's series of branching adventure books. But they weren't clickable. And they certainly didn't lead to holographic alien sex through particular story paths.)
So, we gamble when we can justify the risk according to our in-house criteria for publishing something outside the box. But really, other than those calculated risks, we care a lot about sales data. A lot.
Last week, we closed a royalty period. I don't have anything to do with preparing royalty statements or checks, but I get sales figures, and believe me, I study them. Those numbers are more than a report card for the editorial department. They're also a roadmap for the future. I break these numbers down twenty different ways, and then break the breakdowns down. There are dozens of different factors that might influence a reader's decision to buy a book -- the covers alone can change a yes to a no, or a no to a yes, for something as simple as whether the heroine wears lacy lingerie or nothing at all.
The difficulty lies in finding the trends. Interpreting data can be tricky. Did this werewolf book sell better than that werewolf book because of the lighter colors on the cover? Or because of the description of the hero in the jacket copy? Or because of the length of the story? Or because of the price point? Or because of some plot detail?
I'm in the process of sorting all that out now, and so far, I've reached only one conclusion:
The economy -- which tanked almost exactly in the middle of this royalty period -- is making any attempts at analysis and prediction all but impossible. I actually have two sales patterns, one from before October and one from after. We can't ignore the pre-crash data, because that indicates what people wanted to read before they got scared. Maybe if they stop being scared, they'll want that type of book again. And we can't dismiss the post-crash numbers ("that's just the economy") because this is what people want to read right now, when things are bad, and we know it's going to get worse before it gets better.
My analysis is far from complete. In fact, I came here to post about this mainly because the numbers are swimming before my eyes, and I needed a break. If I'm a bit scarce for the next week or so, or if I say things that don't make perfect sense (such as that post on agreement -- a thousand apologies for being so confusing), please take pity on me. Twice a year, I have to predict the future. And this time, thanks to the economy, that task is extra impossible.
Theresa
*I should note that most houses have greater sales involvement than ours. That's one of the things I love about Red Sage.
Not so at my house.
The thumbnail version of how it works is that, first, an acquisitions editor evaluates your manuscript. If she likes it and wants to take it on, she sends it to me for review. If I like it and have a slot for it, I approve it for acquisition.
That's a very broad overview, of course. Before an acquisitions editor even reviews your manuscript, she has already been prepped on our editorial vision. We have periodic conversations about our editorial direction, both in a generic sense and with respect to individual manuscripts under consideration. We talk about everything from where the lines are drawn on permissible sexual content, to how "beta" a hero can be before he needs revisions, to what makes a story slanted more toward male or female readers. Periodically, the publisher steps in and offers her guidance. All of these factors, and more, can influence an acquisition decision.
So I could tell you that sales doesn't lead editorial, but in a different sense, it does. We might not have sales staff attending editorial meetings and making editorial decisions, but sales prospects can certainly make or break a manuscript.
There are really two questions I'm asking when I read a recommended manuscript. One, does it fit with our editorial philosophy? And two, will it sell?
Our editorial philosophy includes a recognition that my house is known for publishing stories a bit off the beaten path. We weren't just one of the first places to publish erotic romance. We were also publishing vampire stories before those hit the lists, and we were moving away from the "big" books approach and into smaller, tighter stories back when romance paperbacks could be used as doorstops.
So we actively look for stories that might not sell elsewhere. Yes, we publish our werewolves and Scottish lords and international tycoons, but we are also hunting for really top quality stories unlike anything else on the market.
In that sense, at least, we're not sales-led. I find it unlikely, for example, that sales staff with approving authority would have approved Megan's Choice. It's an interactive branching story in e-book form. The reader can actually click on choices at the end of each chapter to tell the heroine what to do next. I imagine a sales person would have taken one look at that proposal and proclaimed it too risky. There's no cumulative sales data for books like this on the market, because there aren't any books like this on the market. Not that I've seen, anyway, and I've looked. (Yes, there was that old children's series of branching adventure books. But they weren't clickable. And they certainly didn't lead to holographic alien sex through particular story paths.)
So, we gamble when we can justify the risk according to our in-house criteria for publishing something outside the box. But really, other than those calculated risks, we care a lot about sales data. A lot.
Last week, we closed a royalty period. I don't have anything to do with preparing royalty statements or checks, but I get sales figures, and believe me, I study them. Those numbers are more than a report card for the editorial department. They're also a roadmap for the future. I break these numbers down twenty different ways, and then break the breakdowns down. There are dozens of different factors that might influence a reader's decision to buy a book -- the covers alone can change a yes to a no, or a no to a yes, for something as simple as whether the heroine wears lacy lingerie or nothing at all.
The difficulty lies in finding the trends. Interpreting data can be tricky. Did this werewolf book sell better than that werewolf book because of the lighter colors on the cover? Or because of the description of the hero in the jacket copy? Or because of the length of the story? Or because of the price point? Or because of some plot detail?
I'm in the process of sorting all that out now, and so far, I've reached only one conclusion:
The economy -- which tanked almost exactly in the middle of this royalty period -- is making any attempts at analysis and prediction all but impossible. I actually have two sales patterns, one from before October and one from after. We can't ignore the pre-crash data, because that indicates what people wanted to read before they got scared. Maybe if they stop being scared, they'll want that type of book again. And we can't dismiss the post-crash numbers ("that's just the economy") because this is what people want to read right now, when things are bad, and we know it's going to get worse before it gets better.
My analysis is far from complete. In fact, I came here to post about this mainly because the numbers are swimming before my eyes, and I needed a break. If I'm a bit scarce for the next week or so, or if I say things that don't make perfect sense (such as that post on agreement -- a thousand apologies for being so confusing), please take pity on me. Twice a year, I have to predict the future. And this time, thanks to the economy, that task is extra impossible.
Theresa
*I should note that most houses have greater sales involvement than ours. That's one of the things I love about Red Sage.
Cake!
Today isn't technically Alicia's birthday, but it is the day she chose to celebrate her birthday with her writing friends. They're all gathering for a nice lunch, and I bet there will be cake. (pout) because I can't be there!
Happy birthday, Alicia!
And many more!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Answer for Alicia
Re "The rest of the group" --
"of the group" is a prepositional phrase and doesn't affect the number of the subject. This is a common point of confusion. The plural object is closer to the verb and can throw us off. I fall for it myself sometimes.
"rest" is a singular noun.
I know we're not supposed to distribute the style guide to outsider, but let's break the rules here -- one of the joys of making the rules for this sort of thing is that I can break them. :) You were talking about the style guide earlier, and this might give a taste of what's in one. (Yes, it was in there, on page 8 -- lots of agreement issues on pages 7-10 under A for Agreement.)
Agreement, Intervening Phrases
When considering the agreement of subject and verb, keep in mind that intervening phrases do not change the number of the subject.
CORRECT: The pyramid was spectacular.
CORRECT: The pyramid built by the cheerleaders was spectacular.
INCORRECT: The pyramid built by the cheerleaders were spectacular.
In all three examples, the subject is pyramid and is singular. The intervening phrase, “built by the cheerleaders,” contains a plural noun but does not change the number of the subject. The verb must remain singular.
Does that resolve it for you? If not, let me know. Jeepers, but this feels more like an email than a blog post.
Theresa
"of the group" is a prepositional phrase and doesn't affect the number of the subject. This is a common point of confusion. The plural object is closer to the verb and can throw us off. I fall for it myself sometimes.
"rest" is a singular noun.
I know we're not supposed to distribute the style guide to outsider, but let's break the rules here -- one of the joys of making the rules for this sort of thing is that I can break them. :) You were talking about the style guide earlier, and this might give a taste of what's in one. (Yes, it was in there, on page 8 -- lots of agreement issues on pages 7-10 under A for Agreement.)
Agreement, Intervening Phrases
When considering the agreement of subject and verb, keep in mind that intervening phrases do not change the number of the subject.
CORRECT: The pyramid was spectacular.
CORRECT: The pyramid built by the cheerleaders was spectacular.
INCORRECT: The pyramid built by the cheerleaders were spectacular.
In all three examples, the subject is pyramid and is singular. The intervening phrase, “built by the cheerleaders,” contains a plural noun but does not change the number of the subject. The verb must remain singular.
Does that resolve it for you? If not, let me know. Jeepers, but this feels more like an email than a blog post.
Theresa
Theresa, I couldn't find this in the style guide (yet-- still looking :). Jeff asked me if this is singular or plural (Word grammarcheck insists it's singular):
The rest of the group (was/were) left behind.
My first thought was that it was singular (because "rest" is singular), but then I thought maybe plural. (Nothing if not decisive here. :) I said if "the rest" was actually substituting for a portion (like "Half the group"), it was singular, but if it was substituting for a number (like "Two members of the group"), it's plural if the number is more than 1. I realize that half of four is two, so the antecedents for "the rest" would amount to the same thing, so it's actually more of a matter of emphasis. Did he want to emphasize the individuality of the "left-behind" (two), or the decimation of the group (half left behind and the group bisected)?
Collective nouns represent both a single entity (the group) and more than one entity (the individual members together), so you often have to do some thinking about which you're referring to at the moment. It might help to think of the singular group as being in consensus or acting as one (The committee was pleased with your report and was planning to approve your request) or in disagreement (the audience were divided about the third act). (I might add that this is not something most readers are likely to take issue with either way, but your choice might emphasize the unity or disunity of the group subliminally.)
It might help to see if the meaning comes across if you add "members" to the collective noun (that is, plural-- emphasizing the individuals). The rest of the group members were left behind? But if adding "members" or some other individual marker messes with the meaning because you are really talking about a unified group, then you might go with the singular verb. (I just want to put in here that S/V agreement is really unnecessary in a language where "number" is already marked on the noun -- cat/cats-- but does anyone in charge listen to me and change the grammar? NOOOOOO.)
Now in Britain, collective nouns are mostly treated as plural-- The team are ready for the game Friday. In fact, along with adding U to "-or" words, this is one of the most visible differences between British and American English. So it's a good idea to consider the nationality of your publisher!
Here's an example of "when in doubt, take it out!"
The team sprang to its feet, eager to take the field.
Well, the team is acting as one, so singular, but... but... "its feet"? Sounds like the team is a centipede! How about recasting to get rid of feet altogether?
The team sprang up--?
The crew team rested its oars, content with third place?
What do you all think?
Alicia
The rest of the group (was/were) left behind.
My first thought was that it was singular (because "rest" is singular), but then I thought maybe plural. (Nothing if not decisive here. :) I said if "the rest" was actually substituting for a portion (like "Half the group"), it was singular, but if it was substituting for a number (like "Two members of the group"), it's plural if the number is more than 1. I realize that half of four is two, so the antecedents for "the rest" would amount to the same thing, so it's actually more of a matter of emphasis. Did he want to emphasize the individuality of the "left-behind" (two), or the decimation of the group (half left behind and the group bisected)?
Collective nouns represent both a single entity (the group) and more than one entity (the individual members together), so you often have to do some thinking about which you're referring to at the moment. It might help to think of the singular group as being in consensus or acting as one (The committee was pleased with your report and was planning to approve your request) or in disagreement (the audience were divided about the third act). (I might add that this is not something most readers are likely to take issue with either way, but your choice might emphasize the unity or disunity of the group subliminally.)
It might help to see if the meaning comes across if you add "members" to the collective noun (that is, plural-- emphasizing the individuals). The rest of the group members were left behind? But if adding "members" or some other individual marker messes with the meaning because you are really talking about a unified group, then you might go with the singular verb. (I just want to put in here that S/V agreement is really unnecessary in a language where "number" is already marked on the noun -- cat/cats-- but does anyone in charge listen to me and change the grammar? NOOOOOO.)
Now in Britain, collective nouns are mostly treated as plural-- The team are ready for the game Friday. In fact, along with adding U to "-or" words, this is one of the most visible differences between British and American English. So it's a good idea to consider the nationality of your publisher!
Here's an example of "when in doubt, take it out!"
The team sprang to its feet, eager to take the field.
Well, the team is acting as one, so singular, but... but... "its feet"? Sounds like the team is a centipede! How about recasting to get rid of feet altogether?
The team sprang up--?
The crew team rested its oars, content with third place?
What do you all think?
Alicia
House style
Theresa, at some point, we should discuss house style and how it might affect an author's edit.
(House style is how a particular publishing house decides various editing issues, like in "the fall of 1999," is "fall" capped or not. Often, as with our house, these rulings are captured in a stylebook, which is available to editors and authors. Complicated editing issues are not usually dealt with in the stylebook, but it's very useful with those discretionary decisions in capitalization and punctuation.)
One thought I have-- the house style is not something a submitting writer needs to worry about. You won't even usually have access to the stylebook. So if you're faced with one of those trivial but knotty questions, like how many if any periods should go in "Ph. D.", check the Chicago Manual or go with your own inclination. It won't make any difference in acquisition decisions.
Once your ms is acquired, the house style becomes more important. And if you can get a hold of the stylebook, it's very helpful if you run through the ms again and make the changes needed to conform to the style. However, the stylebook is really more for editors, first, for quick answers to those pesky little questions, and second, to provide an excuse when an author is sure that deleting that space in Ph.D. will mess up her style. "Hey, that's the house style. Sorry."
Alicia
(House style is how a particular publishing house decides various editing issues, like in "the fall of 1999," is "fall" capped or not. Often, as with our house, these rulings are captured in a stylebook, which is available to editors and authors. Complicated editing issues are not usually dealt with in the stylebook, but it's very useful with those discretionary decisions in capitalization and punctuation.)
One thought I have-- the house style is not something a submitting writer needs to worry about. You won't even usually have access to the stylebook. So if you're faced with one of those trivial but knotty questions, like how many if any periods should go in "Ph. D.", check the Chicago Manual or go with your own inclination. It won't make any difference in acquisition decisions.
Once your ms is acquired, the house style becomes more important. And if you can get a hold of the stylebook, it's very helpful if you run through the ms again and make the changes needed to conform to the style. However, the stylebook is really more for editors, first, for quick answers to those pesky little questions, and second, to provide an excuse when an author is sure that deleting that space in Ph.D. will mess up her style. "Hey, that's the house style. Sorry."
Alicia
Some Questions Answered
True confession time. I save up the moment when I can read the comments to this blog. They're such a delight to me that they're almost like a chocolate truffle in the house. I know the truffle is there, waiting for me. I know how much I'll enjoy it. And I want to pick the perfect moment for it, using it as a reward after I've slogged through a bunch of tedious paperwork, or as a pick-me-up when something has gone wrong again. I want to be left alone to enjoy the comments, just as I don't want to savor a delicious chocolate while simultaneously talking on the phone, typing emails, scanning my daily task list, and watching for the mail carrier. Some things are just worth savoring. So, thank you all for being like chocolate. :)
Jennifer asks,
On the then as a conjunction thing--does the test of taking the "then" out work? Consider: He looked left, then right. If you take out then, you are left with He looked left, right. Which sounds absurd, even though it doesn't with the then in. So does this example require an and?
That's an excellent test, and I suspect it will help a lot of people to get this detail right. I think the test might not work as well when there are long bits of predicate chained together that might mask the missing conjunction. For example,
She walked up the stairs, turned right down the corridor, then counted to the seventh door.
Compared to,
She walked up the stairs, turned right down the corridor, counted to the seventh door.
Because of the rhythm of this structure, it might slip past unnoticed. That is, I notice it, and many others might notice it, but not everyone will. Or maybe they'll notice, but their ears will respond favorably to the rhythm and decide to leave it in place for style's sake. It's not great style, and the conjunction doesn't undermine the rhythm, but I can see where there's a greater danger in a construction like this one.
Jordan says,
Once I was reading articles on writing around the Internet and I found one from someone who claimed to be knowledgeable claiming that using 'and' as a conjunction implied simultaneity. The example was something about grabbing the phone, calling 911 and getting in the car, and she said this was physically impossible (guess she hadn't heard of cell phones, either). That left 'then' as the only way to connect more than one non-simultaneous verbs in a sentence.
Without reading the article, I can't comment intelligently, but that won't stop me from commenting. ;)
Think gentle thoughts about the writer of that article. She used a faulty example, perhaps, but she was trying to illustrate a difficult point. The conjunction and frequently does imply simultaneous actions. It also can be used in other ways, as you correctly point out. But generally, and describes like items that go together. (Compare to but and or, which conjoin items by distinguishing them from each other.)
Keep in mind, too, that like things can sometimes go together but happen sequentially. There are non-temporal ways to "go together." Think, for example, of someone describing all the actions taken to prepare for a dinner party. The order of completion isn't important. Their togetherness doesn't stem from time, but from another common factor.
The afternoon before the dinner party, I marinated the steaks, baked a pie, cleaned the parlor, set the table, arranged the flowers, and delivered the children to the sitter's house.
The conjunction and is fine there, with or without the adverb then, even though these actions can't possibly occur all at once.
Writing simultaneous actions and sequential actions is a very tricky business. We've touched on this a little in past posts about participial phrases and opening red flags, and probably in other places which I can't find. (Note to Alicia: We really ought to do something about cleaning up our post tags for the sidebar. Yikes!)
The main thing is to avoid glaring errors in simultaneity. Yes, some of us are gifted with the ability to talk and walk at the same time. But when you have two actions which must happen in sequence, don't write them as if they go together in time. This is the big boo-boo. There are other boo-boos, but if you avoid this one, you'll be in decent shape.
Murphy asks,
Man, there has to be some easier way through all this, isn’t there? Don’t you guys have any EASY ancient writing secrets you’d like to impart? Ones that don’t require a lot of hard work and deep examination? A pill, perhaps, that one can take to fix all the glitches while remaining pain free during the tedious process?
Ah, yes, fiction writing does have a long apprenticeship. I suppose I could say something pithy about perseverance -- or try to, anyway, given that I'm not the most concise writer. But I think what I'll do instead is treat this as a serious question and try to offer some pointers.
First, focus on clarity. Plenty of authors get published and sell well despite the lack of prose pyrotechnics. You don't need a vast repertoire of magic tricks and poetical flourishes. But you do need to be lucid.
Second, focus on the drama. Keep your scenes vivid and lively by exploiting the ways in which the characters thwart each other. This doesn't mean there must be constant shouting or stomping of feet. People can be exquisitely polite and still undermine each other with wicked accuracy. They don't even have to be doing it on purpose. Just keep your scenes focused on all the conflicts, small and large, and all the obstacles and unfulfilled desires and subconscious needs, and your scenes will be taut enough to pass scrutiny.
Third, eliminate gaffes. You may need a beta reader to help you with this. Ask them to mark all the places they got confused or distracted. Those are the places where your prose blunders, and those are the places that need your attention during the editing process. You probably won't need to ask for anything more detailed than that from your beta reader, because confusion and distraction result from just about any type of mistake. Used the wrong word? Screwed up your commas? Wrote a long, dull passage about the history of paring knives? The result is most likely either confusion or distraction.
Fourth, build your vocabulary. A good, vivid, precise word choice can enliven a prose passage quicker than just about anything. Also, you can get away with more simple SVO sentences when your verbs aren't always the same old dull things.
If you find yourself overusing some flat verb, you have two options. Change the verb, or use a different action altogether. Let's say, for example, you use the verb pushed three times in two pages. And now you come across it a fourth time, where you say the hero pushed his fingers through his hair. You can change the verb -- he raked, combed, tangled, etc. -- or you can change the action. In this case, ask what the action was meant to imply. Hair-pushing is often used as a show of frustration or temper. What else might the hero do to demonstrate that emotion? I bet you can list a half-dozen examples right off the top of your head. Pick one that is a bit off the beaten path, and use it. (That second solution isn't so much a matter of vocabulary as of understanding human behavior, but I include it because it works to overcome weak word choices.)
Happy New Year!
Theresa
Jennifer asks,
On the then as a conjunction thing--does the test of taking the "then" out work? Consider: He looked left, then right. If you take out then, you are left with He looked left, right. Which sounds absurd, even though it doesn't with the then in. So does this example require an and?
That's an excellent test, and I suspect it will help a lot of people to get this detail right. I think the test might not work as well when there are long bits of predicate chained together that might mask the missing conjunction. For example,
She walked up the stairs, turned right down the corridor, then counted to the seventh door.
Compared to,
She walked up the stairs, turned right down the corridor, counted to the seventh door.
Because of the rhythm of this structure, it might slip past unnoticed. That is, I notice it, and many others might notice it, but not everyone will. Or maybe they'll notice, but their ears will respond favorably to the rhythm and decide to leave it in place for style's sake. It's not great style, and the conjunction doesn't undermine the rhythm, but I can see where there's a greater danger in a construction like this one.
Jordan says,
Once I was reading articles on writing around the Internet and I found one from someone who claimed to be knowledgeable claiming that using 'and' as a conjunction implied simultaneity. The example was something about grabbing the phone, calling 911 and getting in the car, and she said this was physically impossible (guess she hadn't heard of cell phones, either). That left 'then' as the only way to connect more than one non-simultaneous verbs in a sentence.
Without reading the article, I can't comment intelligently, but that won't stop me from commenting. ;)
Think gentle thoughts about the writer of that article. She used a faulty example, perhaps, but she was trying to illustrate a difficult point. The conjunction and frequently does imply simultaneous actions. It also can be used in other ways, as you correctly point out. But generally, and describes like items that go together. (Compare to but and or, which conjoin items by distinguishing them from each other.)
Keep in mind, too, that like things can sometimes go together but happen sequentially. There are non-temporal ways to "go together." Think, for example, of someone describing all the actions taken to prepare for a dinner party. The order of completion isn't important. Their togetherness doesn't stem from time, but from another common factor.
The afternoon before the dinner party, I marinated the steaks, baked a pie, cleaned the parlor, set the table, arranged the flowers, and delivered the children to the sitter's house.
The conjunction and is fine there, with or without the adverb then, even though these actions can't possibly occur all at once.
Writing simultaneous actions and sequential actions is a very tricky business. We've touched on this a little in past posts about participial phrases and opening red flags, and probably in other places which I can't find. (Note to Alicia: We really ought to do something about cleaning up our post tags for the sidebar. Yikes!)
The main thing is to avoid glaring errors in simultaneity. Yes, some of us are gifted with the ability to talk and walk at the same time. But when you have two actions which must happen in sequence, don't write them as if they go together in time. This is the big boo-boo. There are other boo-boos, but if you avoid this one, you'll be in decent shape.
Murphy asks,
Man, there has to be some easier way through all this, isn’t there? Don’t you guys have any EASY ancient writing secrets you’d like to impart? Ones that don’t require a lot of hard work and deep examination? A pill, perhaps, that one can take to fix all the glitches while remaining pain free during the tedious process?
Ah, yes, fiction writing does have a long apprenticeship. I suppose I could say something pithy about perseverance -- or try to, anyway, given that I'm not the most concise writer. But I think what I'll do instead is treat this as a serious question and try to offer some pointers.
First, focus on clarity. Plenty of authors get published and sell well despite the lack of prose pyrotechnics. You don't need a vast repertoire of magic tricks and poetical flourishes. But you do need to be lucid.
Second, focus on the drama. Keep your scenes vivid and lively by exploiting the ways in which the characters thwart each other. This doesn't mean there must be constant shouting or stomping of feet. People can be exquisitely polite and still undermine each other with wicked accuracy. They don't even have to be doing it on purpose. Just keep your scenes focused on all the conflicts, small and large, and all the obstacles and unfulfilled desires and subconscious needs, and your scenes will be taut enough to pass scrutiny.
Third, eliminate gaffes. You may need a beta reader to help you with this. Ask them to mark all the places they got confused or distracted. Those are the places where your prose blunders, and those are the places that need your attention during the editing process. You probably won't need to ask for anything more detailed than that from your beta reader, because confusion and distraction result from just about any type of mistake. Used the wrong word? Screwed up your commas? Wrote a long, dull passage about the history of paring knives? The result is most likely either confusion or distraction.
Fourth, build your vocabulary. A good, vivid, precise word choice can enliven a prose passage quicker than just about anything. Also, you can get away with more simple SVO sentences when your verbs aren't always the same old dull things.
If you find yourself overusing some flat verb, you have two options. Change the verb, or use a different action altogether. Let's say, for example, you use the verb pushed three times in two pages. And now you come across it a fourth time, where you say the hero pushed his fingers through his hair. You can change the verb -- he raked, combed, tangled, etc. -- or you can change the action. In this case, ask what the action was meant to imply. Hair-pushing is often used as a show of frustration or temper. What else might the hero do to demonstrate that emotion? I bet you can list a half-dozen examples right off the top of your head. Pick one that is a bit off the beaten path, and use it. (That second solution isn't so much a matter of vocabulary as of understanding human behavior, but I include it because it works to overcome weak word choices.)
Happy New Year!
Theresa
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