Voice Friday: Lawyers
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Decisions
I'm trying to decide what to do next. Revise a novel or start a new one. Yes, I do have to write a first draft sometimes, or I won't have anything to revise!
Here are some things I'm considering:
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When I first started writing, I had four children at home, and I was home-schooling several of them. I walked around with an ink pen stuck in my jeans' pocket to remind myself that I needed to find fifteen minutes to write. In fact, I ruined one pair of jeans when the ink ran and made a huge black stain!
Now that I only have one left at home, you would think that it would be easier to find time to write. And it is.
Except.
I spend lots of time preparing to teach, teaching, sending out information about novel revision retreats, doing follow-up information, scheduling, travel plans, school visits, brochures for schools, attending conventions & conferences, updating blogs and websites, writing a bio, getting promo pics, talking to editors, talking to librarians, buying paper & ink, and so on and so on. In fact, some weeks, it can talk up to half my time for these related tasks.
This is normal.
In their book, Art and Fear,
Bayles and Orland suggest that getting your art out to the public takes a large amount of time, and if you only spend fifty percent of the time doing that, you may be doing pretty good.
This means you must protect your writing time! Set up business hours and writing hours. During writing hours, don't answer the phone, don't check email. Write. During business hours, do all that other stuff.
What percentage of your time is spent on the business of getting your writing out to the public?
Please post answers on the new website at www.darcypattison.com!
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Q: How do you go deeper into a character’s voice?
A. I wonder if this question is about the character’s voice or about characterization in general. When a critiquer says you need to go deeper into a character’s voice, it could be either.
If characterization is the problem, there are a couple things you might consider. First, novels enable a reader to get into the hearts and minds of a character. In movies or theater, you never know directly what a character feels/thinks; you can only know it indirectly from their actions and dialogue. But in a novel, readers can experience an event with the character.
If the reader is feeling like s/he wants to be deeper into a character, consider looking at how you are expressing the characters thoughts, hopes, dreams, angers, fears, etc. Partly it’s the emotional response, but sometimes, it’s just the thought process: does the character make snap decisions, or take a long, circuitous route to a decision. For each small action, the character should have a reaction. Certainly for every scene, the character’s reactions should be clear.
Second, consider how unique your character is, or could be. We don’t read to experience mediocrity. We want characters who are interesting, outrageous, pathetic, loathsome. Out of the ordinary. Bigger than life (to use a cliche).
If voice is the problem, then you’ll look to your language. A friend was having trouble with a novel in which a dragon was a main character. We talked about what sort of language the dragon would use. My friend decided that he would use lots of “s” words, would have very long sentence structures to show that he liked to hear himself talk, and would always be formal. She revised, trying to incorporate these things. It was a rather mechanical sort of thing to try.
But a surprising thing happened: about halfway through the revision, she stopped thinking consciously about how to create the dragon’s voice. Instead, those language characteristics had BECOME the dragon’s voice.
The writer didn’t “find” the voice. She didn’t use trial-and-error and hope she got a good voice. She made a conscious decision based on characteristics of language that created a certain type of rhythm patterns, a tone of formalism and self-importance, and worked with those variables until it became the only possible voice for this dragon.
This entry is also posted at new website for Revision Notes. The new website allows for translations into twelve languages! Please update your feeds to the new address: http://www.darcypattison.com/notes/
The only real readers are flashlight readers.
Real writers take risks.
Do villains really have to be politically correct?
Libraries are learning to cater to digital natives.
First, write a scene. If you’re going to interrupt the on-going action to insert this backstory then at least give the reader a full scene that will keep their interest.
The trickiest part of a flashback is getting into in and out of it. Try to do it with a single sentence both times. One sentence signaling a time shift, and then go straight into past tense like you would in any scene.
“I remember that cloudy evening, the night before the tornado. Dogs whined restlessly, cattle kicked over buckets of full milk, and chickens scratched endlessly at the dust, all warnings that something bad was coming.”
Coming out of it, use a single sentence again.
“I walked away without a scratch on the outside, but felt like a stray splinter of wood had stabbed my heart. Now, looking at Jeremiah, the coward of that night of horror, I couldn’t believe he was asking me to be brave.”
(Wow! Where did THAT story come from? I was just trying to think of something exciting, to demonstrate that the flashback needs to be a high point or a low point in a character’s life, something worthy of a dedicated flashback. There also needed to be some emotional hook, so you can sense that the Jeremiah’s behavior during the tornado was cowardly and that affects the current scene.)
1. Too much exposition. Give the reader a scene, not pages of compressed exposition. Work the facts they need to know into the scene just like you would into any scene.
2. Watch verb tenses. The conditional tense that uses the “would” construction is awkward and should be avoided. Sometimes, you want to indicate that, for example, watching fireflies in the evening was a habit of your family. You write something like this:
“Every evening we would gather on the lawn and wait for dusk. We would slap at a few mosquitoes, would murmur quietly in the heat, and would sip ice tea. We would wait until the fireflies would start winking, and then the chase would begin.”
That’s too awkward. Instead, use the one “would” construction and go straight into the past tense. Use a single “would” to come out of it.
“Every evening we would gather on the lawn and wait for dusk. We slapped at a few mosquitoes, murmured quietly in the heat and sipped ice tea. We waited until the fireflies started winking and the chase would begin.”
3. The flashback has no connection to the current time in the story. Why include this flashback? It must up the stakes, provide motivation, increase the emotional tension; it must relate to the current story in a vital way.
Any other problems with flashbacks?
Last week, I made a few comments about backstory, but I wanted to spend more time on it.
Many of my thoughts about backstory are shaped by the needs of fantasy and science fiction writing (sff) where the writer creates a world, complete with complex histories and magical norms. The challenge in this genre is to communicate this complexity, without stopping for a history lesson.
Orson Scott Card has an excellent chapter on handling exposition (and backstory) in his book, How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Basically, the information is filtered through the main viewpoint character. Specific terminology, even if unfamiliar, is helpful and implication is essential.
Often a phenomenon is named, but the explanation isn’t given immediately for what this means. Sff readers understand this as one of the conventions of the genre and don’t mind waiting and pondering the meaning until the right time comes for an explanation. My friend who write middle-grade non-fiction chaffs under the sff conventions, because she feels that the explanation must come immediately and be placed right next to the unfamiliar term. But for fiction, terms can be understood partially in context and the sff reader waits for more.
So, I come from a reading background of understanding huge chunks of backstory through the techniques of implication, slow revealing of complexities, intrigue, and I’m comfortable with a certain degree of ambiguity, as long as I trust the author that the answers will come eventually. It’s part of the appeal of the genre (and why many dislike it!). So, before we even start the discussion of where to put backstory, I’m comfortable with delaying it a while, both as a reader and as a writer.
I know that one of the cliches of contemporary stories is a first chapter with lots of immediate action and a second chapter of backstory. But I think stories are stronger if the backstory doesn’t stop the flow of action.
Pulls the reader out of the current time flow.
“Ideally, all fiction should seem to be happening now.” Sol Stein, Stein on Writing.
“One of the most common ways that inexperienced and even practiced novelists bog down their openings is with unnecessary backstory.” Donald Maass, Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook.
Backstory tends to “tell” a story instead of show it.
“Again and again in manuscripts I find my eyes skimming over backstory passages in chapters one, two and even three. Backstory doesn’t engage me because it doesn’t tell a story. It does not have tension to it, usually, or complicate problems.” Donald Maass, Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook.
Wow, are you in trouble if a reader (especially an agent like Maass) is skimming chapters!
The use of flashbacks for backstory is often awkwardly handled. More on this tomorrow.
Deepen inner conflict.
Backstory can provide motivation for the conflict, deepen the emotional effects and let the reader empathize with even the villain.
Increase tension. Hinting at backstory, but not telling all makes readers long to know the “secrets,” too. We read on, to find out what secret is so terrible that it provides the motivation for this conflict.
Usually backstory, especially flashbacks, should be put at a point where it will enhance the tension and conflict of the story.
You can think of a story of a collection of scenes, followed by characters reflecting upon the scene and deciding what to do next, which leads to the next scene. Scene, reflection/decision, scene. Often the backstory needs to come in that in-between stage where the character is reacting emotionally to the events of the scene that has just happened.
For example, Gloria slaps Joe.
So what? What are the readers supposed to make of that? What does it mean? We don’t know. The scene could progress without the explanation until Joe turns around and makes a fast exit. Then, Gloria has the time to react emotionally. That’s the point for a flashback that explains that Joe once accused her of embezzling money and let her stand trial, even though it was Joe who had stolen the money. Ah, now the backstory explains and deepens the tension. But an early chapter that goes into this long story of how Gloria and Joe worked together for many years and Joe was Gloria’s mentor and they even had a brief affair that Gloria’s husband still doesn’t know about–that’s boring stuff. It doesn’t help Gloria make a decision about what to do next. It doesn’t add to the present conflict, even if it does explain it somewhat.
First drafts tell the story; revisions find the best way to tell the story. Finding moments where backstory can up the stakes, increase the emotional depths, increase tension, deepen characterizations–these are worthy goals of a good revision.
Since I posted about Backstory on last week, I’ve been thinking about the topic all weekend and will post more about it tomorrow. Look for it!
I am also planning to move my blog to my own domain and off LiveJournal. The change should happen about July 1, so watch for the announcement. I’ve decided to do this, so I can have more control of how I lay out things, what plugins I use on the blog, how I monitor traffic and lots of other issues. The process of moving has been interesting. I’ve always used AOL for my webpage host and only used publically available software. Moving to my own domain, I’m finding that it’s a “buyer beware” world out there. Every time I try something new, there are bugs that have to be ironed out. I’m pretty good at doing this, but it’s been interesting to see how often this happens. Of course–part of that is I don’t always know what I’m doing! But part of it is just the nature of the web community.
For example, I’m switching to WordPress as my blogging platform (probably–still looking at b2evolution, but it has much less support in terms of plugins and other flexibility). I liked one theme/skin (the way the blog looks) and downloaded it and played with it for a while before I noticed that the code didn’t validate. I was, well, shocked, that someone would release a less-than-perfect theme. Yes, I’m naive about the web! My experience has been with AOL, remember, which doesn’t release anything without making sure there are few problems (And yes, I’m sure there are some who would disagree with that, but it’s been my experience, anyway.) This Buyer Beware mentality is different, but interesting.
Anyway, I’m working through all the issues needed to switch over. I’ll post on both this journal and the other for a while to give you time to switch. But look for the change.
Editor, Cheryl Klein has posted a speech she did on writing picturebooks.
Lots of changes in how the education community is using the internet to teach.
Art v. Design. The quotes here are fascinating, and relate to everything about good book design, or even to how blogs are designed, how stories are delivered online, and lots about our daily lives.
The sounds of language affect voice, yes? Here’s an article about Keats poetry and his use of vowels, interesting in the context of a voice discussion.
Fascinating discussion of the “class” differences of teens (and military personnel) who utilize Facebook v. My Space. I don’t know enough to have an opinion about it, but it’s something to watch. Particularly, as lots of writers use these social networks to publicize their new books.
Voice. It's a confusing, complicated topic.
Do you have questions you want discussed, dissected, batted around? I don't always have answers, but I like thinking about the nuances of voice.
Please post Voice questions or Revision questions here, or email me privately at ddpattison at aol dot com.
I'll try to research and discuss them in future postings.
Does point of view affect voice? Yes.
The current trend is to encourage first person point of view for young adult novels, and sometimes, I think this adversely affects the voice. The default for many years for novels was third-person point of view; you only when to first person when the attitude/personality of the narrator was so distinctive that it added something to the story.
First person point of view–The person telling the story tells it from his/her point of view, that is, the camera is in their head and you can’t experience anything they haven’t experienced. The pronouns are I, me, my, etc.
Third person point of view–The camera is now above the person’s head and the pronouns are s/he, their, etc. This point of view can focus into a deep third person point of view, where the writing is assumed to be the main character’s thoughts, feelings, actions, so that–in effect–it functions similar to a first person point of view. Or, it can draw back and be a more remote telling in which you must say, “he thought.” This focus can vary throughout the story.
Third person is the workhorse of novels and tells most stories well. First person, it seems to me, should be reserved for those times when the narrator is distinctive in some way–their voice stands out.
First person voices can emphasize attitude, emotions, voice, dialects, naivety, over-confidence, etc. Unfortunately, many drafts I see in first person are bland. The author has made the “safe” choices in attitude and tone, failed to emphasize the depth of emotions, failed to color the narrative with the character’s perspective.
If you’re writing a novel in first person, try taking an important scene and see how far you can push it towards the narrator’s perspective. Do it as different and wild and different as possible. Then test it: have a trusted critiquer read both and see what they say. Probably the new version will stand out the best.
But even third person needs to worry about voice. In my middle-grade fantasy novel,The Wayfinder, I have two sisters vying for control of the Wolf Clan. When I re-read an early draft, I realized the sisters sounded the same, even though they were clearly on opposite sides of a philosophical and political debate. Yes, as sisters, there should be some similarities, but not as much as there was.
A revision strategy I used was to cut and paste each sister’s dialogue into a separate file and then compare the files. Too similar. I worked on each file, working to give them distinctive tics, distinctive vocabulary and sentence structures. Then, I worked the dialogue back into the text. I’m not sure I was totally successful, but at least the sisters didn’t sound like clones.
As you make choices about point of view, also consider what that means for voice. How will this choice affect the diction (the vocabulary choices) that you will allow into the book? How will it affect sentence structures, rhythm patterns, etc?
I’d like some suggestions on good MG and YA books in first person that have distinctive voices. Any one read a new book that does this well?
I seem to be thinking a lot about critiques these days, probably because I'm getting critiques from a couple different sources.
In critique groups, I find that writers/readers have different styles of critiquing.
Grammar Witches: This person always finds the punctuation, spelling, and grammar mistakes; I'm grateful for them, because fixing what they notice is easy.
Line Editors: This person rewrites lines by omitting words, moving things around, or just rewriting a sentence here or there. I appreciate the efforts of this person, but I don't always do what they suggest. I CONSIDER everything they suggest. But I also take into consideration the voice of the piece and sometimes, what the Line Editor has done is put the sentence into their voice, destroying the rhythms of my voice. Sometimes, their suggestion to omit a word is right on. Or, they've noticed that I've repeated "whirl" ten times in this chapter and they are right that I should drag out a thesaurus. Overall, my attitude towards them is one of caution.
Big Picture Critiquers: The hardest critiquers to find are those who can look at the shape of the overall story and see where there are holes in the story logic, where the pacing is off, where the characters are flat, where dialogue is boring, etc. But, for me, these are the most valued critiquers. This is why I always want my critiquers to read the entire story at one time, even if it's a rather long novel.
Sometimes, this type critiquer is the quietest in the bunch and you have to listen carefully. For example, once a group went over my WIP with enthusiasm, but as I was leaving, one person said casually as we were walking out the door, "Really, though, I don't think you'll get it published until you resolve the parent-child relationship."
Whoa! That was a great Big Picture Comment, but it was made casually, almost apologetically. Fortunately, I realized the importance of that comment--the most valuable comment of the hour's critique. So--listen for the small voices.
Under-Confident Critiquer: This person looks at a published writer and says to themselves, "Oh, gee, I can't say anything to them because they are published and they know everything." Sorry, but publication of one book doesn't mean you write the next one perfectly. Even writers with 100 books out need honest feedback from honest readers. I avoid these critiquers.
When you get that editorial revision letter--instead of the phone call you really wanted, be careful. Probably 90% or more of revision letters like this never go anywhere. Why? Because you do exactly what the editor asked for.
In my experience, if you do exactly what the editor asked for, you'll still get rejected. Instead, you need to go to the heart of what the editor said and go deeper than the surface of what the editor has suggested. You will do what the editor didn't know they wanted.
For example, in my first picturebook, The River Dragon, I had described the dragon's voice as "the clink of copper coins." And each time the dragon appeared, we heard him clinking along. The editor suggested a progression of sounds going from copper to silver to gold--with appropriate phrasing, of course. I tried that and it didn't work. Instead, I went toward baser metals: voice like the clink of copper coins, voice like the sound of a brass gong, voice ringing like a hammer on an iron anvil. This worked well because each step was a baser metal, a louder voice, and eventually, we wound up with the iron anvil, which harkened back to the main character's job as a blacksmith.
I could have tried to force it into the more precious metals. The editor didn't care about that, though. She was pointing out that a progression of sounds for the dragon's voice had the potential to strengthen the story. I went to the heart of that comment and did a progression, and it pleased her.
That's a very simple example of going to the heart of an editor's comments, but it demonstrates how important it is to understand exactly what the editor is concerned about with their comments. Don't hesitate to call and clarify the issues. If the editor took the time to write that letter, they won't mind a call.
Early drafts of novels often open with an exciting situation only to devolve into a long explanation of back story. Donald Maass, in his
Writing the Breakout Novel
and the
Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook, says to put back story somewhere after page 100. Yes, everyone wants to argue with this, saying that the back story is necessary for the reader to understand what is happening.
Let’s distinguish between some terms. A story takes up a certain time and space. The prehistory of the story would explain the general background of the time and place. For example, where does Mark Twain’s story, Huckleberry Finn fit into the history of the United States. A personal biography explains where this story fits into the context of a character’s life and generally adds dimensions to the character. Back story plants and sows seeds of conflict, that is, it is the background for the particular conflict this story tells about.
Generally, as an author, you need to know all three types of histories; but these histories find their way into stories in different ways. An historical fiction novel would emphasize the prehistory, or the general history of the time and place. A character story would emphasize the character’s personal biography. But all stories need some type of back story, something that explains the origins of the conflict, why these characters are struggling with this situation.
1. Avoid the First Chapter. I once had an editor compliment my novel because it avoided the pitfall of putting back story in the first chapter. First chapters–story openings–work best when there is a scene with an immediate conflict and the main character is working toward solving that problem. It’s often not the main problem that the character will face, so Maass calls this a “bridging conflict,” an immediate problem that will lead into the main conflict. In other words, your main character must want something in the first chapter, s/he must have an immediate goal. Put them into motion and let the reader get to know them.
2. Can I Put the Back Story in the Second Chapter? Maybe. It’s a better choice than the first chapter. But do you really need it? By now, you probably need bits of the prehistory of the situation: for fantasy, the tendency is to include lots of prehistory by this point of the story. But think about Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings series. The hobbits don’t really understand the ring and its significance until they get to Elrond’s House, which is near the end of the first book. Readers will stay with you if you keep immediate conflicts going; they will wait to understand everything.
Personal biographies are often brought into the second chapter. This seems more natural, because from the character’s point-of-view, everything is filtered through their past experiences. The character might reminisce about a childhood incident to explain why they ask a certain question. In general, though, keep these short and relevant to the current thought, emotion or action.
3. Put Back Story Where it will Explain or Enhance. The general answer for where to put back story is to put it as late as possible, but put it where it will have the most impact. A flashback or an explanation of back story needs to come where it will explain a thought, emotion or action and result in the most impact on the reader. Will the back story increase the scene’s tension, will it pump up the emotional stakes, will it make events matter more, will it deepen the reader’s emotional reactions?
If you find yourself putting a long explanation of prehistory, personal biography or back story in the first chapter–STOP IT! That’s the wrong place. (OK, someone is going to tell me about a book where this worked well–there are always exceptions!)
Move the prehistory, personal biography or back story to later in the story, as late into the story as possible for it to still impact the story. Preferably after page 100. Make it relate to and deepen the current scene. You’ll have a stronger story as a result.
When you get the letter from an editor about a revision, what do you do?
Frankly, I get mad.
How dare that misguided editor diss my perfect mss?!
For novels, I give myself the luxury of three days of being mad before I get down to work. I think it’s important to let these emotions have their play and not deny them.
Writing a novel is a bit of an ego trip anyway, don't you think? I mean–who am I to think that I could tell a story that would hold an audience enthralled? Who am I to think that some world and some characters that I make up from my imagination–well, do you hear all the “I” and “my” in what I’m saying? Writing a novel is an ego-trip.
And when an editor gives “feedback,” my pride says that I don’t need their feedback and they are wrong anyway, because they just didn’t get it.
Of course, three days later–when I have a bit of distance–I REALLY read the letter and, of course, they are right and I wonder why I didn’t see it before.
I’m dealing with a couple revision letters right now. One is mostly a matter of audience. I’m working on a book for teachers about writing and the editor continually makes minor corrections that will make the material work better for teachers. Audience is everything in these revisions.
A second project is more about fine-tuning the story, making the characters a bit sharper, providing a better ending and probably making the language sing a bit more. Here, it’s story, characters, story arc, and language.
Either way, the editor’s goal is better communication. I do take time to let my ego have it’s pity party; but then, I cut that short and get to work.
How long do you allow for a pity party before you get down to work?
Related post: I Don’t Want an Honest Critique
The Shrunken Manuscript exercise that I devised for my Novel Revision retreat is gaining interest as people try it. It is advocated by Kirby Larson, author of the Newbery Honor book, Hattie Big Sky,
And now, Newbery Honor winner, Cynthia Lord has tried the Shrunken Manuscript exercise and offers a picture (scroll up a bit) of what it looks like.
For another look at a Shrunken Manuscript, see Kate Messener's photo.
One question that often arises is, “Can you revise for voice?”
Yes.
For example, in an early draft of Nineteen Girls and Me, I revised for an editor and sent him a version that started like this:
When John Hercules Po started kindergarten in Room 9B, it was an odd class. There were nineteen girls and one boy, John Hercules.
"You'll be a sissy," said John's big brother. He was in second grade and he was not a sissy.
"No, I won't," said John Hercules. "I'll turn those girls into tomboys."
On Monday, when the kindergarten went out for recess, a ladder was lying beside the wall. John Hercules called to the nineteen girls, "Let's climb that mountain."
Nineteen girls and one boy climbed Mount Everest and played with the Abominable Snowman until Mrs. Ray called them in to warm up with chicken noodle soup for lunch.
I thought I did a good job!
The editor at wrote back:
“You clearly took my suggestion to heart, and have a stronger manuscript as a result. My sense is you're not all the way there yet, though. When I read this story, my gut is searching for a snap! of energy, to play alongside the soaring imagination of the children. Instead, the narrative voice feels bland, and so the energy level of the story remains somewhat grounded. You have a fun concept with true potential; now you just need to inject your narrative voice with some of that spirit in order to reach that potential.
What I'd like to suggest is that you turn yourself loose (as you did when thinking of a new title); really inject some personality into the piece. It's always better to reign energy back in than it is to come up short."
Oh, great! This editor is known for “buying voice” and he’s saying, “the narrative voice feels bland.” I was in big trouble!
But, I had been studying voice–all the things I’ve discussed on Voice Fridays–and I was ready to give it a try. A year earlier, I would have been in despair, not having a clue of where to begin. Now, I had some ways to start, things to look at, strategies to try.
First, I thought that I would look at stress. In talking about words, I mentioned that the ends of sentences are positions of stress, especially if the word is a single syllable word ending in a hard consonant.
In this sentence, what is the most important word? (Try to answer it before reading on!)
“When John Hercules Po started kindergarten in Room 9B, it was an odd class.”
I thought that ODD was the most important word; it’s also a single syllable word, ending in a hard consonant. I moved it to the end of the first sentence and started the revision from there.
Here’s part of the revision:
The kindergarten class in 9B was odd.
“Nineteen girls,” said John Hercules Po. “And me.”
John’s big brother shook his head. “What a shame! A sissy for a brother.”
“Not me!” John Hercules said. “I”ll turn those girls into tomboys.”
At noon on Monday, the kindergarten went out.
John Hercules saw a long ladder near the wall. “Let’s climb Mt. Everest!”
Nineteen girls and one lone boy, they climbed and climbed.
They climbed so high, they reached theYeti’s peak.
“Stay!” the Yeti cried. “Today, we play!”
Nineteen girls and one lone boy, they played beneath the Yeti’s peak until–
“Lunch,” called Mrs. Ray.
Nineteen girls and one lone boy warmed their hands with soup du jour.
Same story, different voice; Philomel Books bought this version.
I call this type of revision a Quantum Leap Revision, because I’m not just looking at punctuation or grammar, but at the way I tell the story. This isn’t a Pretend Revision, but a leap in how the story is told.
Once you know the story you want to tell, then you want revisions that focus on HOW you tell the story. That is voice. Revising has two goals: what is the story I want to tell; what is the best way to tell that story. Yes, they are intertwined and affect each other. But you can revise for voice. Consciously. Successfully.
Do You Know The Monkey Man? and 
Shh! Don’t tell my editor that I’m blogging over here. I’m supposed to be finishing up a revision of a middle grade novel right now. And since my editor reads my blog, I decided I’d better not do any more blogging until I turn that manuscript in. But I told Darcy I’d do a guest blog a long time ago, so here I am.
Darcy wanted me to talk about my experience reading my work in progress to a classroom of real, live kids last year. Basically, what I did was I wrote two new chapters of a novel each week and then I went in and read those raw chapters to a class of sixth graders. Actually, the TEACHER read them so I could sit back and listen and watch the kids’ reactions.
I also brought a page of questions I’d made up on the chapters each week. The type of questions varied from week to week…so did the wording of the questions. Sometimes they were open-ended; sometimes they were multiple choice. But no matter how I worded the questions, I was always interested in the same basic information each week: what did you like best about these chapters, what did you like least, what was boring, what was hard to understand, what did you have a hard time believing, what do you think of such-and-such character, what do you think is going to happen next…as soon as the teacher finished reading, I’d pass out my list of questions. I wanted to make sure I got honest responses, so we always went right from reading to the questions. (I would tell them NOT to put their names on their papers…) Then we’d have around 10-15 minutes to discuss the chapters after they finished filling out my questionnaire. I found it was valuable to have both written questions and a discussion because sometimes I heard different things in writing than I heard out loud.
I kept a journal of my experience from week to week, so I thought I’d post excerpts from my first and last days reading to this class.
I was intrigued when Darcy told me about this experiment she was trying. Donna Jo Napoli told Darcy that she always reads her work to a live audience before it’s published, so Darcy wanted to try that, too. I read Darcy’s diary entries on the subject with great interest, all the while thinking I should try this, too. I can see the value in reading my work aloud – I think I’m likely to HEAR things in my own work that I don’t necessarily SEE.
But that’s not the main reason I decided to give this a try. I have a problem balancing my “supplemental writing” (the writing assignments that build my resume, pay pretty well and are generally kind of interesting, but they’re not really “mine”) with my “real writing.” It’s so easy to say yes to every assignment that comes along and then never write anything new of my own. By making a commitment to go into a classroom every week and read two new chapters, I know I’ll continue to make progress on my new novel. And by the time the school year is over, I should have a completed draft of this book. That’s my real goal here – to end the school year with a draft of a new novel.
So my main goal is a little different from Darcy’s. I’m also going into the classroom at a completely different stage in the writing process than Darcy did. I’ve only written about five chapters of the book I’m planning to read to the kids. Darcy had a complete draft of a manuscript. A complete draft that she’d already spent substantial time revising. So this may not go as well for me as it went for Darcy…
My “relationship” to my chosen classroom is also different from Darcy’s. Darcy knew the teacher she approached, but she didn’t know any of the kids. My original plan was to go into a classroom where I didn’t know the kids, either. Preferably a sixth grade classroom because my story is probably a “low YA.”
My youngest son is in sixth grade, so I was going to contact a sixth grade teacher at one of the other schools in town. But when my son heard I was going to do that, he got upset. He really wanted me to come and do this in HIS classroom. And well…I know his teacher pretty well. We already had a relationship before the start of this year. So I got to thinking…
1) it won’t be long before my sixth grader doesn’t want me to come into his classroom, so I may as well take advantage of that while I can;
2) I already have a relationship with this teacher…if I find this to be a useful exercise, I might want to do it again in future years. And it would be easiest to work with the same teacher;
3) I’ve been volunteering in my son’s classes since he was in first grade. For five years I’ve been telling this same group of kids what they need to do to improve their writing; so now it’s their turn to tell me how to improve my writing!
The only problem is I don’t know if I’ll be able to trust them to be completely open and honest with me. They know me, so we may have a little “sitting on Grandma’s lap” effect and they’ll just tell me everything is wonderful. Though with five years of frustration built up, it could go the other way, too. They may tell me my chapters are awful just to get back at me for all the times I’ve made them rewrite things they thought they had finished. Only time will tell…
I am so glad I did this! I wanted to complete a draft of a new novel this school year, and I did that. I also got a sense of whether going in to a classroom of real kids and reading from my work was useful to me (it was) and educational for the kids (the teacher says it was)…and I learned way more than I ever expected to learn. I learned how to phrase questions so that I’d get the most useful response out of the kids (yes, you CAN train kids to be good critiquers!); I learned how to read the kids faces; I learned what’s working in this story and what’s not; I learned what kids respond to and what they don’t…
This experiment forced me to take a closer look at my own writing process. Every week I analyzed what I was doing in this story and why I was doing it. Eventually, I became less fearful of “taking a risk” (just showing up every week to read chapters in draft form was a risk!), more willing to try new things. As I told Darcy last week, this is really my first experience writing a TRUE first draft. Usually, I rewrite so much as I go along that by the time I get to the end, the manuscript is well beyond the “first draft” stage. But I didn’t have the luxury of going back and rewriting so much this time around…not when I had this commitment to produce two new chapters every week.
Having a true “first draft” is really exciting! I feel like there are all these possibilities open to me for revision…new avenues to explore. I already know what the story is about…I know my characters…I know where the strengths and weaknesses in the story are. I can go anywhere from here. And I can build on those strengths in order to fix the weaknesses. Darcy talks about “seeing the shape” of a novel…I’ve never really been able to do that before, but I see the shape of this one! (I see where I need mold the story into shape!)
I certainly got frustrated with this experiment part-way through, though…especially when I faced a blank screen two days before I was supposed to go in to school and I had no idea what was going to happen next in the story. I’ve never forced myself to write through the frustration like this before. But I discovered that interesting things can happen when you force yourself to write through frustration…
All in all, I’m glad I read this book to the kids as I wrote it rather than after I had a complete draft. But I wondered how good it was for the kids to hear something that wasn’t polished? So I asked the kids and the teacher what they thought – were they glad I came with a rough draft or did they wish I’d come with something that was more polished? It was interesting to hear that the majority of the class (as well as the teacher!) preferred that I come at this stage. That’s not to say I’ll always do it this way…I’d like to try going in with a more polished draft sometime, too, just to see how the experience differs. But I get the impression it’s easier on the school schedule for me to come once a week over many weeks than it would be for me to come several times a week for fewer weeks (which is how I’d want to do it if I had a polished draft…I’d be too impatient to just go once a week in that case).
I thought it was interesting that the reason most of them liked hearing the rough draft is they felt they were in a better position to be of some help. And they DID help…but not necessarily in ways they think they did. For instance, I’m not necessarily going to change a plot element or a character’s name just because several of them said I should. Like Darcy said, “I’m not writing a book by committee.” Still, just getting a sense of what they responded to in the story, and taking their answers to the various questions into account gives me a better sense of what’s important to my audience (both as average kids and as readers).
For instance, while friends are clearly very important to kids at this age, their parents are still MORE important. And it’s important for me as a writer to know what to do with that information.
Also, kids crave ACTION in their stories. I knew that, but I’m not sure I really got it until I had the experience of reading to them. So I’ll have to think about that chase scene in the middle of the book…it’s a terrible scene. I was thinking I’d get rid of it altogether. But several of the kids listed that scene as their favorite scene in the entire book. I suspect they’re remembering it to be a better scene than it actually was…I think what really grabbed them about that scene is it’s an action scene. So even if that scene doesn’t make it into the next draft, I will be more aware of action in my stories and its placement in the story.
Will I read a story aloud to a group of kids again sometime? Absolutely!
Here are the facts: AUTUMN WINIFRED OLIVER DOES THINGS DIFFERENT had racked up a number of rejections since I started submitting it in 2005. Then I attended Darcy’s Novel Revision Workshop in July 2006. I revamped the entire story using the techniques Darcy taught. The very first editor who read the revised manuscript bought the book.
The technique that I particularly adore is her “Shrunken Manuscript” exercise. If you are a visual learner (like myself), this technique allows you to visualize your narrative arc. Darcy described it an interview with Cynthia Leitich-Smith: “Basically, you single-space a manuscript and then shrink the manuscript to a small font and print it out. This allows you to mark and see the overall structure of a long story like a novel.”
It’s so deceptively simple, you’ll wonder why you never tried this before. It’s so amazingly useful, you’ll wonder how you ever revised without it.
In my case, AUTUMN shrinks down from a 140-page behemoth to a tidy 28 pages. I use my Shrunken Manuscript in every aspect of the revision process. When my editor asked me to flesh out my main character’s sister, I laid out my pages on the living room floor and highlighted all the scenes in which she appeared. Then, I highlighted all the scenes in which she could grace us with her presence (she’d be delighted to know we think of her in this way). A pattern emerged, and the task of making Katie more Katie-ish was manageable and (dare I say it about the revision process?!) fun!
It somehow feels easier to experiment with changes within the Shrunken Manuscript. Perhaps because you’re marking up 30 pages instead of 150. Perhaps because you’re moving that block of text two pages instead of 18. Perhaps because your words seem more disposable in 8-point font. Whatever the reason, I’m forever grateful to Darcy for sharing this technique. To her, I say: Thank you!
-About the book: Autumn Winifred Oliver has charmed a hive of bees, wrangled a flock of geese, and filched a stick of dynamite from the U.S. Government. But it’ll take a whole new kind of gumption to save her Cades Cove home. AUTUMN WINIFRED OLIVER DOES THINGS DIFFERENT is due Fall 2008 from Delacorte Press.
-About the author: Kristin O’Donnell Tubb has written a number of magazine articles and activity books for children. AUTUMN is her first novel. Please visit her at www.creativefreelancewriting.com.