Work in Progress: How Much Do You Share?

I’ve read the writing advice that one should not “talk about” one’s writing project before the first draft is complete. The idea is that, by talking about it, you’ll dispel some of the urgency, you’ll work through in speech what you would’ve worked out on paper, and that your idea will lose a little bit of its magic.

I try not to be one of those writers who is always yapping about my writing projects to anyone who breathes (luckily, I have a writers group at which we can all mutually yap about writing), but I have to admit that when an interested party presents her or himself, I have a hard time resisting diving right into the details. Last weekend, my fiance asked me how my Rumplestiltskin story was coming along. The seed that became the story came from something he said to me on Skype one night, so he has a bit of a vested interest in this particular tale. So I told him what I’d written already, as well as what I foresaw coming soon. I talked about it a lot, but I didn’t give away the ending.

When I got back home, it felt like it had been the right thing to do. His enthusiasm for what I told him about the story rekindled my enthusiasm for it, and my motivation to work on it. Yet, after I sat down to write a few scenes, I wondered if talking about it had taken away a bit of the crackle of mystery and secrecy that might have propelled me forward even more.

Ultimately, I think that anything that gets you back in your seat to write is a good thing, and this conversation did that for me even if it did dispel a bit of the dramatic tension I felt within myself. I can see where the advice not to talk about your work-in-progress comes from–I think we all know a writer or two who loves to talk about the books they “plan” to write, but who never actually gets anything written–but I also don’t think it applies in every situation, all the time (honestly, what kind of advice does?)

What about you? Do you share details about your work in progress? If so, with whom? And if not, why not?

NaNo Congrats, Writing Advice from a 12-year-old, And Poem #3

I’m pleased to announce that all the friends I’m spying — er, cheering — on at NaNoWriMo now have words to their names. Yay!! The public guilting shall abate for a time.

This morning I programmed this article to run on the homepage of NewMoon.com. Check it out — this 12-year-old will cut through all your wimpy excuses for not writing (I don’t have time, I’m not a good speller, my grammar sucks, etc.)!

And, here’s my poetry attempt from last night, using the help of my picto-journal:

Religious though he is, even he can see the

hyporcrisy of praying to the Lord Almighty

when no one has a prayer

left anyway. They mostly all

turned away the summer the

war tanks rolled over the

many fields so pains-takingly planted that spring,

taking away the one thing that had

always made them trust in the

Goodness of the Lord,

from whom came the soil, the rain, the growth.

“Too much sin,” proclaimed the preacher.

“God has his reasons,” the old women’s voices murmur

as they rock on front porches

just as they’d said when Baby Dawn was born

with her parts all in the wrong places

when Mary’s husband left for groceries

and never came back

when Nyla’s son got so drunk

that he didn’t think to check for the train.

This is bigger, perhaps, but no different

makes no more sense,

so they clack rosary beads between their fingers

which tremble from palsy

or explosions.

The image was from some religious publication — a pic of an old preacher in a black robe with a massive cross spreading his arms in prayer while a tank rolled over a field in the background and with an explosion in the distance. The caption said, “Religious hypocrisy has turned many away from God.” I used the words from the caption as the original “spine” of the poem, although I think the poem would be better off without them in later drafts.

Writing for the Web

Over the weekend, I talked to a friend who was stressed out about some web content she was writing. Since most of the writing I do for a “real audience” these days is web writing, I thought I might pass on some of what I’ve learned to her–and to you.

1. Think short. This is probably the most important thing to remember when writing web copy. Most people don’t have the time or the inclination to scroll down a LONG document or to page through many screens to read. They’re reading quickly before they go to work, or between projects at their desks, or on a cell phone screen in the airport. If you can’t keep what you’ve written below 600 words–and even if you can–consider breaking your piece up into subheads, with each section reading about 150 words apiece.
2. Web users don’t read; they scan. Understanding how readers use the web is crucial to web writing. Most folks online have found your writing by entering keywords into a search engine; they’re looking for that one bit of information that applies to them. If it’s buried in a treatise, they’re likely to get frustrated and go someplace else.
3. Search is key. I’m not yet the expert on SEO (search engine optimization) that I’d like to be, but I do know that a lot rides on whether your writing contains words or phrases people are searching. As such, you can throw out that old “print” rule of varying things up by using synonyms, unique phrasing, and SAT-words. Instead, use the words people are likely to be searching–and sneak them in more than once.
4. Be conversational and clear. Folks aren’t looking for the latest literary masterpiece when they’re reading online. They’re looking for interesting, quick information. They’re also coming from diverse educational and occupational backgrounds. That old rule about writing to a “sixth-grade reading level,” definitely applies to the web.
5. Be direct. In other words, avoid passive sentence construction. Passive sentences generally add length to your work, and they make the writing lethargic. The New Moon editors’ manual said passive sentences were like, “sentences that lay around in their pajamas and refuse to do any actual work.” You can think of your readers in the same way; while you don’t want lazy sentences, accept that you’ll have lazy readers. Make your writing do all the work so they don’t have to.

Tips for Writing Every Day

When I was thirteen, I attended a writers’ conference in which an instructor said that, if you wanted to be a “real writer,” you had to write every day. I wanted to be a real writer.

Since then, I’ve done pretty well at keeping up a writing routine. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t write something, even if it’s just a journal entry (or blog post). These are a few of the methods I’ve tried to keep me going.

1. Set an “end product” goal. This is what I did in April, when my goal was one poem a day. Your goal could be one blog post a day, one journal entry a day, one page a day on your novel (or one complete scene), or one short story a week. One year, I committed to writing in my journal every day. Some of the entries were so short that I thought it was pointless to even bother, but my friend said, “It’s still something to remember the day by.” She was right. At the end of the year, I was glad I’d done it.
2. Set a “word count” goal. I only do this during NaNoWriMo, when Word Count Reigns Supreme. I found that applying it to other writing projects just frustrated me, because sometimes 1,000 words takes me 20 minutes, while other times it takes me three hours. I never knew how much time to carve out with this goal.
3. Set a timer. This works best for me because it’s adaptable; back when I wrote before going to work, I’d set the timer for 30 minutes. Now that I’m conscientiously devoting more time to writing, I set it for 60. And then I don’t look at the clock, I don’t count my words, I just write. I know that I’ll get out of it as soon as the bell rings, and there’s no reason to think of it a moment before. Most days, I actually find myself disappointed when the timer goes off.
4. Write first thing in the morning, even if it’s just your dream from the night before. Because trust me, something more important will always come up once the day begins.
5. Use a calendar. This is how I first started holding myself accountable. I gave myself one day a week “off” from writing, and when I took that day, I’d write “no writing” on that day on the calendar. Any other day I didn’t write, I also wrote, “no writing” on the calendar. When your calendar becomes dreadfully cluttered with days proclaiming, “no writing,”  you should be good and guilted into reforming your ways. Or giving up on the whole writing thing, which is always a fair option.

Not a single method above is immune to procrastination, however. My blog will always be here for you when you feel the need to procrastinate.

8 alternatives to head-hopping

OK, now that you’ve all indulged me in my head-hopping rant, it’s time to explore some skillful alternatives to head-hopping. I also want to make clear that when I write about head-hopping, I’m talking specifically about point of view shifts within the same scene. I have no bone to pick with books having multiple points of view; that’s as good a way to tell a story as any. So, how DO you reveal all necessary information without resorting to head-hopping?

1. Dialogue. Of course, there are MANY cases in which it’s inappropriate or unbelievable for one of your characters to say exactly what he’s thinking. But I’m amazed at how many times I’ve read a manuscript where head-hopping is involved to convey information that the characters could have just as easily said out loud–or at least, eluded to out loud. This is an especially viable option if you find yourself head-hopping for only one paragraph or two in a scene that is otherwise shown from the perspective of a singular character.
2. Body Language. Writers often use head-hopping to convey the emotions of more than one character in a scene. But no matter how hard we try to hide it, our bodies often put our emotions on display. If your non-viewpoint character is getting angrier and angrier the longer your viewpoint character talks, describe that in a way that’s observable to your viewpoint character and that, therefore, allows you to stay with one point of view while still conveying the perspective of the other point of view. For example: Jack noticed that as he continued to describe the situation, Jill’s fingers had slowly curled into fists. (Even an effort to conceal emotions comes with its own set of body language.)
3. Your viewpoint character’s knowledge of your non-viewpoint characters. If your viewpoint character knows the others in a scene well, she can often correctly and believably interpret their emotions or thoughts without the need to head-hop. For example: Jill knew Jack would be unresponsive to her proposal to go bungee-jumping; he’d hated anything that had to do with heights since he’d fallen down the hill.
4. Scene breaks. This one is pretty basic, but it works wonders. If you’ve been writing from one character’s point of view and want to switch, leave a couple blank spaces or another visual cue to your reader that there’s going to be a transition. This method can be employed even when the scene “technically” stays the same. For example, if you’re writing about a dinner party and you wrote the first two pages from Jack’s perspective, but want to finish the party off with Jill’s, leave a couple blank spaces to signal to your reader that there’s a shift before picking up with Jill. AND cue your reader immediately that the new section is coming from a different character’s viewpoint, so your reader doesn’t scratch her head about why those blank lines just showed up in the scene. (Of course, if you’re employing this technique every couple paragraphs throughout the whole story, you really ought to reexamine the story’s structure.)
5. Flashbacks. If you want to examine two characters’ perspective on the same scene, you don’t have to head-hop within the scene to do it. Instead, write the scene first in one character’s point of view, and then have your second character flashback to the scene at a later time to convey Character Two’s perception of events.
6. Reflection. Similar to #5, a reflection is like a “flashback lite.” Usually when head-hopping occurs, it’s because you want to convey just a bit of information from your second character. This bit of information is easy to slip into the story elsewhere, when you’re in the second character’s point of view. For example: As Jack did the dishes, his mind drifted back to his conversation with Jill. He couldn’t believe she had the gall to suggest they go bungee jumping!
7. Eaves-dropping. I’m not above eaves-dropping, and your characters shouldn’t be, either. Just because a secondary character might not say something to your viewpoint character doesn’t mean she won’t say it to someone else or write it in her diary. Just make sure you don’t overuse this one; you want a protagonist who participates in the action at least as much as she spies on it.
8. Head-flowing. Use this one with caution, as there’s a fine line between head-hopping and head-flowing. In this case, your scene has provided a justifiable bridge from your viewpoint character to another character. For example, maybe your viewpoint character has passed out, or left the scene, and rather than follow her into dreams or the next room, you’ve decided to keep your camera trained on the current setting. In this case, you’ll need to find another viewpoint character to pick up the slack when your primary one has left. Especially skilled authors can also get away with flowing between character perspectives in a way that isn’t jarring or disorienting, as though their moving their camera gently from one character to the next.  But the majority of the point of view shifts I read in unpublished work are not this kind of skillful, masterful command of all characters and point of views in a scene.

Sometimes head-hopping happens so unintentionally that you might not notice it until a reader points it out (that’s why writers’ groups are so handy). If you have a tendency to head-hop, read over a scene (or rewrite a scene, if it helps) as if your viewpoint character in that scene were telling it first person. You don’t have to change the “She’s” to “I’s”, but at least imagining this will clue you in to the specific limitations of your viewpoint character’s perspective, and therefore what pieces you may have to pick up from another perspective later in the story.

Further Reading on Head-hopping

An Executive Editor’s Take on Head-hopping

Headhopping, Authorial Intrustion, and Shocked Expressions

PoV Mechanics

Pick a head and stay there

If you’re in my writers group, or if you’ve ever received a critique from me, you can skip this post, because you’ve heard me harp on head-hopping before. This is definitely one of my hang-ups as an editor, and it’s also probably the mistake most often made by new writers; I’ve only read one or two unpublished, third-person manuscripts in which head-hopping wasn’t an issue.

Head-hopping is when you takes your reader inside more than one person’s head in a single scene. A scene can be written from a distance, in which everything described is something that a third party could observe. But the minute you get inside someone’s head–by revealing his direct thoughts, motivation, or perception of events–you really ought to stay there. Here’s why:

• Head-hopping makes your reader dizzy–or it gives her a head-hopping headache. She’s reading along, seeing the world approximately the way your character Tom sees it. But then, wait a minute, now she’s seeing the world the way Jamie sees it. But not for long, because now she’s seeing it the way Tom sees it again. Imagine if you were actually inside your characters’ bodies, and you literally jumped out of their body every time point of view shifted. It’s jarring and exhausting. Worst of all, it makes your reader have to work harder than you want her to. You may have put great effort into writing your story, but you  want it to be effortless to read.
• Head-hopping decreases your reader’s intimacy with your characters. We read fiction because we identify with at least one character and want to see that character succeed. But if you’re only giving readers short peeks into different characters’ points of view, the intimacy you want your reader to feel with your characters quickly disintegrates. You want your reader to feel “right there” with your character, as if she is your character. And jumping out of your viewpoint character’s perspective shreds that sense of intimacy.
• Head-hopping decreases dramatic tension. The constant question on your reader’s mind should be, “What happens next?” By revealing the inner workings of more than one character in the same scene, you’ve robbed your reader of the thrill of wondering. Your reader should wonder, “Wow, why is Jamie acting that way?” By hopping into Jamie’s point of view mid-scene, you burst the bubble of dramatic tension that’s key to the success of your story.

Now, I know every writer likes to think her story is the exception to the rule. Here are some common justifications writers give for head-hopping.

• “Such-and-such published writer head hops all the time!” For every rule in the book, you’ll find a published writer who breaks it. But until you’ve mastered the craft enough to consciously rule break, or until you have an editor with a publishing house who is giving her blessing to your rule-breaking, make your story as easy to read as possible. And that means, nix the head-hopping.
• “My story is told third-person, not first-person! I can get into as many heads as I want in a third-person narrative.” Technically, this is true. But it’s still not a good idea. Third-person narratives still have protagonists, and you still need your reader to identify with at least one character. Just because it’s not an “I” narrative doesn’t mean your reader shouldn’t still feel like she’s the “I” of every scene.
• “I need to use multiple perspectives in the same scene to convey all the information necessary in that scene!” To this, I say, Stop being lazy. There are a lot of ways to convey the information you need to convey; utilizing every character’s point of view in key moments is just the easiest way (after all, if all your characters have a piece of the puzzle, jumping into everyone’s head is a sure way to allow the reader access to all those pieces). But the easiest way is not necessarily the best way.

I’m quite passionate about this topic, but as this post is getting quite long, I’m going to wrap it up here. Tomorrow I’ll follow up with viable alternatives to head-hopping, especially as it relates to the “conveying necessary information” excuse.

Pay Attention to Your Dreams

Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid it made you question reality for a bit? Or one that lodged so deeply in your gut that you felt sure it was telling you SOMETHING, that maybe, just maybe, it might even be prophetic? And have you ever noticed that no one else seems to get what a big deal this dream was when you relate it?

I hate to break it to you, but most people only find their own dreams interesting. And why shouldn’t we? Not only are they all about us, but they can sometimes give us insight into things we didn’t know we knew. But I do advise refraining from relating your long, crazy dreams to your friends and coworkers; I think we’ve all had the experience of feeling our mind glaze over when someone begins a sentence with,  “Once I had this dream that . . .” (Exception to this rule: people like hearing about themselves. If you had a dream that your best friend shaved her head and moved to Madagascar, by all means, let her know!)

The funny thing is, the things people often find dull or boring in conversation can be endlessly fascinating on the page. So while you shouldn’t tell everyone your every dream, don’t let them go to waste, either.

I’m a strong proponent of writing vivid dreams down first thing in the morning; usually they’ve lost their impact by lunchtime. Writing them down not only allows you to hold onto that otherwordly experience, but it also helps you untangle the delightfully twisted symbolism of your psyche. AND writing down your dreams makes you more likely to remember your future dreams, and believe me, you want to keep those dreams coming. It’s not just that it’s darn interesting to be the star of your own art film every night — dreaming, even nightmares, are healthy for you. One study conducted on people who suffered from depression discovered that those who dreamed vividly and remembered those dreams were more likely to recover from depression, even without the help of therapy or medication. Some mental health professionals even believe that we would go crazy without the nightly unraveling of our unconscious.

But what does all this have to do with writing? Dreaming is a lot like reading: it can suck you in so deeply  that you don’t even think of coming up for air. And when it’s over, you can ache to go back or breathe a sigh of relief that you can return to your regularly scheduled life. And in both cases, you’re left with the uncanny feeling that you have definitely experienced something phenomenal and you’ve come away changed–even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand that it happened.

Because of this, your dreams can make an almost seamless transition into your writing. Although people don’t want to hear about your dreams every morning, they’ll be happy to read them disguised as poetry, fiction, or music — because if done right, these venues don’t just “relate” the experience. They make the receiver a participant in the experience.

One of my recent novels was inspired by a dream that later became a scene in it; the queer SF short story that finally began taking root in my mind was also inspired by a dream I had months ago (and I knew I should do SOMETHING with that dream, though I couldn’t imagine what at the time). Stephanie Meyer claims that a dream that later became Chapter 13 of Twilight inspired the whole series (love or hate the books — and I’ll refrain from telling you my stance on them — you can’t deny that she must feel pretty satisfied that she didn’t let that dream go to waste).

Whenever I write something inspired by a dream, I feel as if I’m “cheating,” because I didn’t “really” make that up. But if I didn’t make it up, who did? All art is really a connection to the subconscious anyway, and you might as well take advantage of the movies that play exclusively in your mind. So dream big.

Let’s Get Personal

The essay I wrote for Bi-Women, “Kids Keep me Kloseted,” will be published in the December newsletter and possibly online. The irony that I’m publishing a piece about being closeted is not lost on me. As I was polishing the article earlier this week, I had a quick moment of panic, in which I thought, I can’t submit this, followed by, I WILL submit it, and if it gets accepted, I’ll ask to use a pen name. (It’s not actually as juicy as all that. If it does go up online, I’ll link it here so you can be wildly disappointed).

I got an email yesterday from the editor asking how I’d like my name to appear in the print and online version. The moment of truth.

I just sent my response. I’m using my real name.

But this does bring up an issue that most writers — and I would say ALL writers who write from their deepest truth — face at some point. If your novel is based on your childhood, will you have to edit the characters your family and friends might recognize? If you’re writing a tell-all memoir, can you really tell-all? How “personal” should you get in a personal essay?

My answer? Don’t let anything keep you from your Truth, even if it doesn’t make other people look pretty. Even if it does air some dirty laundry. Even if it does express your opinions and secrets and passions in a way you’d never dare to do out loud.

But what if Aunt Ethel picks it up, and makes the connection that you think she smells like pickle juice, and never sends you a birthday card again?

That, my friends, is a very good problem to have. Because that means you’ve been published.

All writers deal with this a little differently. Annie Dillard shows her memoirs and essays to everyone mentioned before she publishes them (which some of my professors thought made her a “sell out” of sorts; I don’t agree). Some people use pen names. Others probably disguise or cut more than we could ever possibly know; most of what we see, after all, is on the other side of publication.

When you’re writing your first few drafts, don’t let anything interfere with your honesty. What you write doesn’t have to be accurate (did Mom really always favor Sis over you?), but it has to be true (why yes, it certainly felt that way). A writer’s truth is not a scientist’s truth. You know it when you feel it, and as hard as it is to put to paper (or screen), you wouldn’t be a writer if you weren’t willing to be that bold.

Right now, the novel I’m writing for NaNoWriMo (of which I wrote a whole big, fat, 0 words today!) is more heavily based on my own childhood than anything I’ve written before. It’s still fiction. I stretch the truth all over the place. But there are a lot of pieces in there my family and childhood friends would recognize. And letting them read this novel could get a little messy.

And that is a problem for another day. Now, my job is to write, and to write as boldly and truthfully as I can. Eventually, I’ll submit. And if publication ever becomes a real possibility, then I will re-examine the very hard question about whether I can dare to put a piece so heavy with my own truth out there. I am very much looking forward to facing that very hard question again and again. In the meantime, I’ll continue to practice being bold, in preparation.