"Killing Our Darlings" or a Double Review

 

As a writer I am painfully aware of the commandment that we must "kill our darlings." 

For those of you who haven't run into this rule yet, let me explain. It's that line in your poem that is so perfect it hurts your heart. It's that bit of dialogue in your novel that makes your character glow with their own personal soul. It's that bit of wisdom that makes writing worth living. And you wrote it.

But -- and it's a very big 'but' -- if the rest of your work is less perfect, you gotta cut it. 

Why? Because the whole point of writing a poem or a story is for the reader to experience it. It should all happen inside their head. They should see it and feel it themselves.

The very beautiful and quotable line that you are so proud of will throw your reader out of the story. It will say to them "Forget the poem for a minute or maybe forever because this bit is so much finer. I am the god who wrote that. Aren't you impressed?!"

That is not to say that there are not writers who can liberally sprinkle such gems throughout their work and I, as a reader, will be carried without interruption through their story, buoyed on beauty. 

Barbara Kingsolver is just that sort of writer. I believe she is the finest writer living and working today. 

My first experience of her was the Poisonwood Bible. It was published in 1998, but I didn't read it until two years ago. I was amazed by its language and structure. It's a story told in first person from five points of view -- a mother and her four daughters moved by her Southern Baptist missionary husband from a segregated Georgia to a small village in the lush but dangerous Belgian Congo.

I've since read several of her short stories and I'm pleased to say each is well-done.

Animal Dreams, published in 1990, is every bit as good as The Poisonwood Bible. 

Instead of going into the unknown jungle, Codi, the main character is returning to a small Arizona town named Grace where she and her younger sister grew up.

          "Hallie and I were so attached, like keenly mismatched Siamese twins conjoined
     at the back of the mind."

Codi remembers the day her sister left Tuscon to do good deeds in Nicaragua. 

          "She left in August after the last rain of the season. Summer storms in the desert
     are violent things, and clean, they leave you feeling like you have cried." 

And she, too, left Tuscon to return to the home she'd never felt at-home in. She was returning to care for her father, the town doctor who was declining into that worst of aging's punishments, dementia. She describes her town when she arrives by bus.

          "There wasn't a soul on the street today and I thought of those movies in which a 

     town is wiped clean of its inhabitants, for one reason or another -- a nuclear holocaust,
     say, or a deadly mutant virus -- leaving only a shell of consumer goods." 

          "I knew I'd been there. Sitting in Jonny's ... hunched in a booth drinking forbidden
     Cokes, reverently eyeing the distant easy grace of the girls who had friends and mothers.
     Those things didn't seem so much like actual memories as like things I might remember
     from a book I'd read more than once."

Some of those memories had not been true and some had.

          "I can see my mother there, a small white bundle with nothing left, and I can see
     that it isn't a tragedy we're watching, really. Just a finished life."

And Ray Bradbury may be the best wordsmith ever. Where Kingsolver scatters her jewels on every page, Bradbury often builds each paragraph, each bit of dialogue with the most wonderful lines. In one of the many short stories in the collection which takes its title from my own favorite short story "I Sing the Body Electric" we meet Bradbury's robotic grandmother. She was purchased by a father for his three motherless children. Each child has their own needs, their own perspectives and after describing the care giver each wanted -- three different colors of eyes, three different styles of hair, three different everything -- they receive their perfect grandmother.

          "And the golden mask face of the woman carved on the sarcophagus lid looked

     back at us with just the merest smile which hinted at our own joy, which accepted the
     overwhelming upsurge of a love we thought had drowned forever but now surfaced
     into the sun.
          Not only did she have a sun-metal face stamped and beaten out of purest gold,
     with delicate nostrils and a mouth that was both firm and gentle, but her eyes, fixed
     into their sockets, were cerulean or amethystine or lapus lazuli, or all three, minted
     and fused together."

          "The sarcophagus spelled winters ahead, springs to squander, autumns to spend

     with all the golden and rusty and copper leaves like coins, and over all her bright
     sun symbol, daughter-of-Ra eternal face, forever above our horizon, forever an
     illumination to tilt our shadows to better ends."

A grandmother that we would all wish to have raised us and to raise our children.

Now, if only we all wrote as well as Kingsolver and Bradbury, none of us would need to "kill our darlings." 

Do I have darlings? Yes, and they have been torn from my writings with me screaming and kicking for every one. (This is why we need editors!)

They are all safely ensconced in a folder marked "Cut Stuff That Might Be Good Somewhere."

Red Ink -- Passive Verbs

image from bloodstainsandinkdrops.wordpress.com

William Bernhardt started me on the path to writing as craft. (He also ruined my enjoyment of using the exclamation point -- only one per novel -- which also restricts my ability to comment on Facebook posts.)

Bill admonishes us to "show, don't tell" and eschew the passive verb. Ernest Hemingway advised against adverbs, championing the mot juste, meaning the right verb needs no adverb.

Passive verbs and adverbs weaken a sentence and distance the reader from the vision we create. Let me show you. This is the opening from John Lescroart's first Dismas Hardy crime thriller Dead Irish.

     From his aisle seat, Dismas Hardy had a clear view of the stewardess as her feet lifted from the floor. She immediately let go of the tray -- the one that held Hardy's Coke -- although strangely it didn't drop, but hung there in the air, floating, the liquid coming out of the glass like a stain spreading in a blotter.

To rewrite this using active verbs and removing adverbs, it would look like this:

     From his aisle seat, Dismas Hardy saw the stewardess's feet lift from the floor. She let go of the tray -- the one that held Hardy's Coke. The drink didn't drop but hung there in the air, floating, the liquid coming out of the glass like a stain spreading in a blotter.

Nothing is lost from the meaning. The word 'strangely' is unnecessary because the Coke that Lescroart shows us floating is strange enough. We don't need to be told that it is strange with an adverb. (I also replaced the imprecise pronoun. And being an old poet, I enjoy the alliterative d's which are by their nature sudden, strong sounds, even if we read without moving our lips.)

In the heat of writing, it's hard to keep all the good advice in mind. My flash fiction blog Danger from earlier this week contains the following:

   Rain and wind were being sucked into the storm. Once outside the false harbor of my car, I could feel the storm's pull. It was too close.

Open plea to editors and beta readers: Please help us writers to avoid passive verbs. You don't have to figure out what we should say instead, just point out the problem. It may take a while, but we'll figure it out.

One final example from John Lescroart's Dead Irish:

   Moses had raised his younger sister from the time he was sixteen and she was four. When he'd gone to Vietnam, which was where Moses and Hardy had met, she had just been starting high school and Moses was paying to have her board at Dominican up in Marin County.

There you go. Something to be chewed upon. Blech!

Think I'll park my editor's cap and read the rest of John Lescroart's very good book. Good enough that this is my second time through. Alas, we always read faster than our favorite writers can write.

EDITED!!!

image from rsanews.com

So -- (Don't you hate it when someone starts an explanation with that innocent little single-syllable, two-letter word? It's like "like." Remember when everyone said "like" and "ya know" every time they meant "uh" or "er" to announce that they were trying to think of a real word to say. A second of silence would have given them the same amount of time to think even though it wouldn't have done them any good anyway. And while we're at it, how about everybody doing "up-speak" so they all sound like ditsy Valley Girls? Even guys? Nurses! Financial advisers! The most excellent young man who bags your groceries.) But I digress. Sorry.

So, I was looking for an image to top this blog post and it occurred to me that being edited was, like, ya know, getting busted. And there among all those images were these guys from Myth Busters, the Discovery Channel's show. They enjoy their job way too much. Explosions, high speed car chases, trashing an area. What's not to enjoy? Sometimes I wonder who's gonna clean that mess up. Anyway, they make me smile and once I saw them I couldn't see any of the other options.

  

See this page? This is what my short story looked like when I got it back from my editor. I'm used to my work looking like an ax murder victim, but come on. All the colors of the rainbow, too? Who's gonna clean up this mess?

My editor learned this in class. May the saints preserve us from exercise instructors who go to workshops and editors who take classes.

She did provide a Legend to go with the colors.

She said good writing is a mix of these categories. The following examples are all from my new short story "Jane's Way."

     Narration (Green):

            action, choreography
                    Gretzky motioned Simon to follow him.

            attributions for dialogue

                    ," she said.

            and often used in lieu of attributions for dialogue. 

                   ?" He jabbed the gun at the dead man.

     Exposition (Orange):  tells backstory or explains something

                    She was there when Rita's dad died. Two years ago from cancer, too.

     Description (Purple):  just like it sounds. It describes something or someone.

                    Blue-grays filtered into the reds eddying around him.

     Dialogue (Yellow):  anything between quotes
                    "You, girl. Don't go in there!"

     Interiority -- I know, it ain't in my dictionary either, but she's the editor and that's what it was
     called in her class and she likes it -- (Pink): This is what's going on inside the Point of View
     character's head.
                    What was the fool going to do? Simon wanted to shout, to rage.

I had one page that only had green and yellow on it. "This is more like a script than prose," my editor said. "You only have dialogue and stage direction on this page."

But I'm really good at dialogue.

Ah, yes. I am good at dialogue, but she was right. Don't you hate it when you pay people to help you and then they do?!

There was plenty of red ink on that edited manuscript, as well. Being a serious writer means cleaning up your messes. So I did. 

"Jane's Way" now passes muster and will soon be submitted -- somewhere. Wish me luck.

There Are Days -- another Essay on Editors

Yep, it was a day just like Alexander had. And I'd been looking forward to it -- nay, anticipating it. It was going to be wonderful. I would win the lottery. I would be the teacher's pet. My editor would congratulate me and tell me I had done it. I had written the most perfect YA short story.

If your mother did not read Judith Viorst's Alexander stories to you when you were little or you did not read them to your children when you were big, I must tell you you must. They are wonderful and true and, without a doubt, they are your stories, too. That morning I did not wake up with chewing gum in my hair. I have only one brother and his name is neither Nick nor Anthony. And he hasn't pushed me down in the mud in many years. But that day I understood Alexander's pain.

My daughter, who is also my editor, has been trying to get me to write something YA for a number of years. For those of you out there who are not writers (bless your hearts) YA stands for Young Adult, probably the most salable genre in fiction today.

Because YA fiction needs to be focused on something and someone young adults can relate to, the most obvious element is a young adult protagonist. The Young Adult Library Services Association defines young adults as being between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Wikipedia states that authors and readers of YA literature more generally accept the age parameters as sixteen to twenty-five. 

This year has been the year for me to expand beyond my comfort zone into nonfiction and now YA fiction. I never thought I'd like nonfiction because it's so limiting. I mean the story has to be, you know, true. And I'm here to tell you I have a long history of embellishing true stories, adding a flourish here or there, maybe a bit of embroidery around the cuff. I mean, with a little imagination you can always make a good story better. But I did it a while back.

On to YA fiction. I've always read what is now called YA fiction -- Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders, Louise Rennison's Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging, etc. But I write in a somewhat understated way. I have to trust my readers to bring their own intensity to my work. I guess I have never trusted young people to have enough life experience to have their own intensity.

Silly me. It's because they don't have enough life experience that they have not lost their intensity. At my age, I know the sun will rise tomorrow. That having survived the dangers of today and yesterday and the day before that that I will be able to meet the challenges of tomorrow. They don't. Every moment is make or break. Every challenge is world-changing either as the greatest victory or the most abject failure. Intensity is what they do best.

Realizing that does not help. How do I write a fitting intensity? Can I do it in my normal low-key style or must I morph into a slam-bang Marvel Comic Book writer?

Then there's the question of topic. High school dating? No. Werewolves and vampires? Impossible! Super powers? Not likely.

Wait a minute. Super powers. Why not?! My character wouldn't have to be faster than a speeding bullet or able to start fires with her mind or foretell the future. I figured out a super power that I could accept as plausible. Well, not really. But close enough. And Grace liked it when I pitched it to her.

Then a situation that a YA reader could relate to. Yep, got that, too. And I could relate to it. Else how could I write it?

And I wrote it. It was great. Intense. Suspenseful. Engaged all the senses. (Not smell, but teens don't seem to have an effective sense of smell anyway. Think about the gallons of scent teen boys slather themselves with. And it doesn't seem to dissuade teen girls from hanging out with them.)

I was so pleased with myself. I emailed it to my editor and waited for her response. Of course she has a life, so she couldn't read it fast enough. I mean she did it when she could which was not fast enough. But she did. Finally. And called.

"It's not YA," she said. 

Nobody loves me.

Then she added, "It's a good story. Well written. Clean. Flows well."

Everybody hates me.

"If you were reading this story, who would you say was the main character?" she asked.

I didn't have to guess. It was the father.

Think I'll go eat worms.

"The daughter should be the main character," she said.

Editors! Who needs 'em?! 

Obviously I do. Not just to check my spelling and punctuation. Not just identifying continuity problems or pointing out the use of the same action verb too many times. Or passive verbs that should be action verbs. Or eliminating expository writing. Or avoiding non sequiturs. Etc., etc., etc.

I needed her to point out the most painfully obvious error. The daughter should be the main character in a YA short story.

Okay.

I don't like worms.

I am a writer. I can do this. Rewrite!

Edit, Edit, Edit -- an essay

image from simon-read.com

Editing -- this is my soap box and I’m gonna climb on.

You’ve got a great plot with an exciting opening line. Your characters are well-developed and recognizable. They are real. They elicit either admiration or scorn. Your setting is so natural and essential that the story seems to have grown there from roots to crown.

The sun is shining, your cat is happy, and your book is finished.

Well, no it’s not. Now you need a really good editor, or several reasonably good editors. And a whole raft of beta readers. Why? Because none of us is infallible. There’s grammar to check, spelling, and words, words, and more words.

Word processing programs mark questionable spellings and grammar. Don’t just ignore those markings. Consider them. If you don’t agree, look it up or ask someone who knows. Be sure you have a sound reason for choosing not to “correct” them.

If you use any kind of esoteric language at all, chances are your spell check will respond with alarm. That’s okay. Look it up. Be sure you’re right and add it to your dictionary. Then the next time that word shows up, it won’t be marked. Unless it’s misspelled. Then you’ll be glad you added it to your dictionary.

Then there’s continuity -- names, places, times, and who-what. Maddie Jenkins, who has eight children and lives in Farmerville which is northwest of Monroe, should never suddenly become Millie Janson who is driving north to Monroe with her ninth, red-haired child. Facts should be consistent even if they’re fiction.

And heaven forbid Miss Maddie’s husband should die in the war in the third chapter then in the seventh chapter she’s found dining at a posh restaurant with him. Unless, of course, you’ve established that she only thought he’d died and they were joyfully reunited in the fifth chapter. Or there's something paranormal going on.

Little facts often make as much difference as big ones to the believability of a work of fiction. How do you load a muzzle-loading gun? Do the pupils of a poisonous North American snake's eyes differ from those of a nonpoisonous North American snake? Does a woman’s blouse close right over left or the other way round?

These particular facts will be of no importance to your story, but your story will be salted with facts that do make a difference. And somewhere in your vast readership will be someone and, more likely, lots of someones who know if your facts are right or wrong. It’s important to get them right.

It’s always nice to have editors and beta readers who think you’re wonderful. It’s even nice if they happen to love you. But “nice” ain’t what makes you a good writer. Your editors need to either have broad enough knowledge bases to cover your weaknesses or they should be secure enough to recognize when they don’t know a subject well enough to confirm your description’s accuracy. They should look it up or call someone with expertise in the field. Or they should tell you that you need to look it up or call someone. Be friends with a research librarian.

Most importantly, your editors and beta readers need to be tough. They should believe that you want them to find your errors. Find where the story goes awry. Find that missing Oxford comma and the noun cum verb. They should bleed all over your manuscript, so you can fix it.

If you grew up wearing homemade clothes instead of the fashionable brand names, you’ll know how important it is that your book not look homemade.

Errors, inconsistencies, and confusion are not hallmarks of top quality. Original, handmade, and attention to detail are. 

Your name is going to be on your book.You may never wear a suit by William Fioravanti or drive a Maserati Ghibli, but people who do and everyone else should know that a book with your branding is top quality.

A is for Antepenultimate

A to Z Blog Challenge -- Day 1 A is for Antepenultimate

 Into the Tunnel

by DragonWolfACe 

My Antepenultimate Re-Write

 

     I thought I was done. I sent my manuscript to my editor. I knew I'd have a re-write when she finished with it. There'd be grammatical errors, errors of continuity, conceptual errors, and errors I didn't even imagine. But I am a writer. I can fix them.

     This was to be my final re-write before sending it to my beta readers. When they finish with it, I might need to polish it a bit, then send it to press. That shouldn't take long. Right? And I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

      At some point I understood that there'd have to be one more re-write before I could send it out. I would read the whole story in its edited form and do whatever re-writing it needs. That light at the end of the tunnel was a bit farther away than I'd thought. But I've been writing it this long, a little longer will make improvements that make it worth doing. So this was my penultimate re-write.

      Penultimate is defined in the American Heritage Dictionary as the next to the last.

     Then my editor dropped a bomb, "but you have to add three more scenes including a completely new final scene." But my final scene is perfect. I love my final scene just as it is. And that light is around the curve in the tunnel. And I can't tell how far away.

      "Kill your darlings," she says.

      That tunnel's floor is rutted and the walls are jagged. My way is not smooth or short. Well, damn.

      Words are my life. So, this is my antepenultimate re-write. Antepenultimate is defined as coming before the next to the last.

      Wish me luck.

Editors! Who Needs 'em?

 

   I do. That's who. Everyone who writes for public consumption does. And we need editors for lots of reasons.

   This is a picture of a page from Murder on Ceres, my science fiction murder mystery. Please note all the red ink. That's from my editor. The green is mine.

   I use Spell Check, Google, The American Heritage Dictionary, and Microsoft's Synonyms. I read Isaac Asimov and John Lescroat. I watch Neil deGrasse Tyson and Masterpiece Mystery! on PBS. I am prepared to write (and rewrite) this book.

   Still my manuscript comes back from the editor with blood all over it.

   I read and watch lots of other things, all of which increase my vocabulary. A large vocabulary, unfortunately, does not guarantee clear communication. The picture above is an excellent example.

   In this scene my protagonist is verbally assaulted by his aunt as she takes him in to talk to his uncle. I wrote, "Unaware of his wife's broadside, Dmitri stood and extended his hand."

   My editor wrote in red,  "of her what? It sounds like you're talking about her butt."

   Obviously my editor was crazy. Where did she get THAT?

   Did I mention that I have a long history of reading naval war books?

   So, enter a twenty-something man. I read to him the passage as I had written it, assuming his reading background was sufficient to make familiar to him the term "broadside." And he blurted, "What did he do to her butt?"

   Definitely a laugh-out-loud moment.

   I think my choices are to change the word or send a copy of Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander to all who buy my book with the requirement that they read it first so they will be properly prepared to read my book.