But what’s more important—to make sure your reader understands why you are telling this story? Or to get that reader engaged so they'll keep reading?
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Looking Back: When Backstory Helps and When It Hinders Your Writing
When we begin writing our books, we feel an urgency to catch the reader up, bring them over the hurdles of history in our story. We have a lot of past to pass along. We think this past is essential: If the reader doesn’t know Jane was traumatized as a child, how will she understand why Jane is so careful with her adult relationships? If the reader doesn’t know the entire history of the Scout troop, will he get why the boys are intensely loyal to each other?
Friday, June 25, 2010
Feedback and Critique--Finding Safety as Well as Good Growth
Writers need other writers. I'm seeing this in action today, as my weekly book-writing class pairs off to exchange feedback on their storyboards. The group is engrossed, the noise level in our classroom is high, and I'm listening carefully for enthusiasm and ah-ha moments.
When I eavesdrop on some of the conversations, I am impressed. The feedback is s accurate, helpful, and kind. This class has been together for months and they respect each other. A very necessary aspect of helpful feedback that opens doors for writers, rather than shutting them down.
In this corner of the room, I hear
When I eavesdrop on some of the conversations, I am impressed. The feedback is s accurate, helpful, and kind. This class has been together for months and they respect each other. A very necessary aspect of helpful feedback that opens doors for writers, rather than shutting them down.
In this corner of the room, I hear
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Following a Different Path: Is an MFA Right for You and Your Book?
Scan any writers' magazine, browse any writers' website, and you read about Master of Fine Arts programs. Are MFA programs all they're cracked up to be? Is it worth the time, the money, the sheer effort? I changed my life to get my MFA. But I could also say my MFA changed my life. I'm forever grateful I decided to get it, despite the cost, the profound shifts it demanded of my routine.
Yet some writers go down this path and find it's not the be-all, end-all it's advertised. How can you evaluate such a huge step, especially if you are aiming to get a book published in this lifetime?
Yet some writers go down this path and find it's not the be-all, end-all it's advertised. How can you evaluate such a huge step, especially if you are aiming to get a book published in this lifetime?
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Emotional Arc of Your Story--How Act 1 and Act 2 Create Rhythm a Reader Will Follow
I've been reading Amy Bloom's new book, Where the God of Love Hangs Out, a collection of interrelated short stories that form a sort of novel. Although a few stories were published in earlier collections, this grouping takes the characters another step.
I like practically everything I've read of Bloom's work. I appreciate the intricate weavings she manages, and I often recommend her to students struggling with character and pacing.
There's a trend in publishing right now of such collections, sometimes called story cycles. Olive Kitteridge won much attention last year; it's a group of stories about a small town in Maine and a fierce retired schoolteacher. It's tricky to create a story cycle that keeps the reader engaged as well as a novel, leaving us wanting to dive into the next chapter without hesitation once we finish one story. Short stories by their nature are complete in themselves. But a story cycle must release some of that finished feel and create a whole-book rhythm.
In Olive Kitteridge, author Elizabeth Strout stays with the traditional rules--a group of characters, a single place--which gives sense to the collection. Olive builds a strong emotional arc and can be looked at as a three-act structure without much difficulty. Act 1 sets the stage for
I like practically everything I've read of Bloom's work. I appreciate the intricate weavings she manages, and I often recommend her to students struggling with character and pacing.
There's a trend in publishing right now of such collections, sometimes called story cycles. Olive Kitteridge won much attention last year; it's a group of stories about a small town in Maine and a fierce retired schoolteacher. It's tricky to create a story cycle that keeps the reader engaged as well as a novel, leaving us wanting to dive into the next chapter without hesitation once we finish one story. Short stories by their nature are complete in themselves. But a story cycle must release some of that finished feel and create a whole-book rhythm.
In Olive Kitteridge, author Elizabeth Strout stays with the traditional rules--a group of characters, a single place--which gives sense to the collection. Olive builds a strong emotional arc and can be looked at as a three-act structure without much difficulty. Act 1 sets the stage for
Sunday, June 6, 2010
When Bad Things Happen to Us or to Others--Dealing with Deep Emotion in Your Writing
I was in my forties when I experienced my first up-close-and-personal death. Elderly relatives passed away when I was younger, but I was young, and although I missed them, often terribly, the deaths didn't have the same impact as when a close contemporary died.
Jan was not a close friend, but she was a person I admired. She was intensely creative, a quilter and artist, and I liked how her creativity seeped onto everything she touched. I felt privileged to know her.
She and I had lunch about six months before she died, quite suddenly, of cancer. She survived treatments for breast cancer, was dealing with bone cancer, and carried a cane. We met for lunch in a restaurant called the Good Earth, and each of us ordered a big salad. I remember how Jan's cane hung across the back of her chair; I remember how its silver tip caught the overhead lights.
Jan was not a close friend, but she was a person I admired. She was intensely creative, a quilter and artist, and I liked how her creativity seeped onto everything she touched. I felt privileged to know her.
She and I had lunch about six months before she died, quite suddenly, of cancer. She survived treatments for breast cancer, was dealing with bone cancer, and carried a cane. We met for lunch in a restaurant called the Good Earth, and each of us ordered a big salad. I remember how Jan's cane hung across the back of her chair; I remember how its silver tip caught the overhead lights.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Writing Outside Your Story: Using Short Self-Assignments When You Don't Have Anything to Write About
I first learned about short self-assignments from Natalie Goldberg's well-known Writing Down the Bones. Goldberg introduced the concept of "freewriting" to us with that book, and many writers discovered new energy to sail past writing stall-outs by giving themselves freedom to write small, short, and random.
Working on a book project often brings me a sense of being so overwhelmed, I can't think of anything to write about. I make brainstorming lists of topics, and this helps. But sometimes I have to write outside my story, just to get the momentum going again.
Short self-assignments help tremendously.
In her book, Thunder and Lightning, Goldberg told the story of a time when she and a friend were stuck, unhappy, and unable to think of how to move forward creatively. They tried talking. They tried taking a hike. But nothing worked until they both sat down and did a timed writing session. As I remember the anecdote, they picked a topic outside their current writing projects, something that had less importance or weight, and this freed up the stuckness.
Working on a book project often brings me a sense of being so overwhelmed, I can't think of anything to write about. I make brainstorming lists of topics, and this helps. But sometimes I have to write outside my story, just to get the momentum going again.
Short self-assignments help tremendously.
In her book, Thunder and Lightning, Goldberg told the story of a time when she and a friend were stuck, unhappy, and unable to think of how to move forward creatively. They tried talking. They tried taking a hike. But nothing worked until they both sat down and did a timed writing session. As I remember the anecdote, they picked a topic outside their current writing projects, something that had less importance or weight, and this freed up the stuckness.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A Sneaky Way to Bring Joy Back to Your Writing
Albert Camus said a wonderful thing about why we write or paint or dance or make music: "A person's life purpose is nothing more than to rediscover, through the detours of art, or love, or passionate work, those one or two images in the presence of which his heart first opened."
Many readers emailed or posted their reactions to the balance of practice and love in the writing life. One, a creative buddy, shared her efforts with a writing project that has flatlined.
Many readers emailed or posted their reactions to the balance of practice and love in the writing life. One, a creative buddy, shared her efforts with a writing project that has flatlined.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Does Practice Make Perfect--Or Even Contribute Significantly to Your Writing Goals?
It's gardening time in New England--despite the 20 degree weather we had last week that left my kale seedlings gasping--and I'm spending a lot of time out there. Soon my weekly teaching schedule will pick up again, leaving me little time to sit in the sun, so I'm getting my fingernails filthy now.
Gardening for me is a lot like writing. Both take tons of practice, trial and error, failure and misery. Both have some magnificent moments. If you're not into gardening, forgive this analogy, but for me plants and soil have taught me a lot about the practice of writing. The patience I need, the forgiveness of my own big bloopers, the times when I want to chuck it all and go work at McDonalds (not really).
I began gardening because three of my grandparents had the bug. My grandfather lived in Nyack, NY, right on the Hudson and he grew raspberry bushes and roses in a boxwood maze and flowers I could never hope to identify. We were both early risers. When I would visit, I could peer out my dormer window from bed and see him walking in the garden, so I'd get dressed fast and go out to join him. The raspberries were his precious spot. He pondered them like I ponder a chapter, scene, character.
My grandfather taught me to go slow with creating. It worked well to put in time, both fingernail filthy time (digging into the soil, feeling it, working it with your hands) and pondering time.
So that leads us to this week's topic: practice. Does it really make writing perfect? How does it contribute to real writing goals?
Gardening for me is a lot like writing. Both take tons of practice, trial and error, failure and misery. Both have some magnificent moments. If you're not into gardening, forgive this analogy, but for me plants and soil have taught me a lot about the practice of writing. The patience I need, the forgiveness of my own big bloopers, the times when I want to chuck it all and go work at McDonalds (not really).
I began gardening because three of my grandparents had the bug. My grandfather lived in Nyack, NY, right on the Hudson and he grew raspberry bushes and roses in a boxwood maze and flowers I could never hope to identify. We were both early risers. When I would visit, I could peer out my dormer window from bed and see him walking in the garden, so I'd get dressed fast and go out to join him. The raspberries were his precious spot. He pondered them like I ponder a chapter, scene, character.
My grandfather taught me to go slow with creating. It worked well to put in time, both fingernail filthy time (digging into the soil, feeling it, working it with your hands) and pondering time.
So that leads us to this week's topic: practice. Does it really make writing perfect? How does it contribute to real writing goals?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Small Steps for Continual Improvement--Work on Your Book-in-Progress
In my attempt to understand the balances and imbalances of the creative life, I've signed up for some e-newsletters. One of my favorites is The Introvert Energizer, written by coach Nancy Okerlund.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Cracking Open the Heart--The Triad of Healing through Writing
How recently have you cracked open your heart?One of my favorite--and riskiest--writing classes to teach is called "Writing through Healing, Healing through Writing." It's all about cracking open the heart to reveal the inner story of our lives to ourselves and others. Not an easy process, but oh, so rewarding. I teach this class a couple of times a year at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis.
This past weekend I spent a day on the subject of writing through healing with a group of 22 amazing beings, all doing their best to move through life with consciousness. Via a series of writing exercises, we experienced the cracking of the heart and began to explore what possible gifts and learning our particular traumas held.
Not everyone was ready for this. I'm very aware, from my own experiences of cancer and loss of family members, moving and divorce and business failure, how hard it is to write when you're in the midst of BIG STUFF. Deep grief, and the resulting numbness, is not often a great jumping off place for writing. Especially when the transition is not expected or welcome, not something you initiated. But in each of my big changes, the writing has helped me heal.
Why Does Writing Heal?
Fifteen years ago people scoffed at the idea of writing being medically effective. Now we have documented medical studies that show it.
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