Your Ideal Reader--Advice from Kurt Vonnegut

My ideal reader is a confused teenage girl; she feels like an outcast because her best friend just moved to Montana and nobody understands her at school or at home.

My ideal reader is crazy about fixing old cars. He's got three in his backyard, if you could call it a backyard.

My ideal reader is forty-two, a discouraged mother and homemaker who is looking for the spark in her life that disappeared too many years ago.

My ideal reader manages an art gallery; she's fascinated with Renaissance art. She wants a new system for managing exhibits.

My ideal reader is gay, single, and loves helping others. He volunteers at hospice and soup kitchens. He really wants to learn how to balance his life, though. It's too crazy...so he thinks my book will help him.

Readers wait for your story, like a group of beautiful still life objects in an artist's studio. They wait for your attention, your interest in their particular shape and size and need. When you start thinking about them, your art changes. In a good way.

As I write this, my class of twenty-seven book writers at the Loft Literary Center is exploring this question. They are busy researching this aspect of book-writing, one they may not have ever thought about. As they ask about their readers, the answers will shape their book journey--how the chapters are structured, what is added or omitted, what benefit (take-away) they present. Why would anyone read this book? Who is this "anyone" anyway?

Write to Please One Person
Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.” When I heard this writing advice as a beginning writer, I couldn’t imagine what it meant. He’s a funny guy, but I didn’t see what was funny in this. Now that I’m an experienced book author, Vonnegut’s advice makes all the sense in the world.

Many professional writers talk about this idea. Some visualize their ideal reader—maybe modeling her or him after someone they know. As they work on their book idea, they imagine asking that reader, What would you need here—more time to digest the idea or more information? More character or more plot? It’s not so far-fetched to begin this kind of dialogue. It’s, again, another guidance system to keep your book on track as it develops. You can also watch your reader’s profile change, as you discover more about what you really want to write.

Vonnegut also said (both of these quotes are from his book, Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1999), “Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.”

This is another reason to consider a reader from the get-go. It’s unreasonable and a bit self-absorbed to think that a total stranger would take time to read your book, even if it’s fascinating to you, without being invested in its story.

This week, think about your reader. Who will read your book, who will get the most from it? Spend ten minutes describing your ideal reader--what you know about him or her, what you'd like to know.

Being Stuck--Ideas on How to Work with Your Inner Critic

A reader wrote: "I'm sure you hear this often--I'm stuck! I am great at first drafts, in fact I'm submerged in them. They never get anywhere. I found your site online and performed the "Ophra" asks exercise and it helped. I would love to attend your classes however geography does not permit. The internet may. Please let me know your thoughts. Thanks so far--it worked."

Being stuck. How familiar that feeling is. Like trying to pass through a high-walled canyon. No way to travel easily.

It happens to most of us, no matter how many books we write. I've published 13, and I still run into the frustration of writer's block with every new project. The difference is: I know it's happening. I prepare for it. I have a bag of tricks.

Inner Critic
In each stage of writing your book, you’ll meet a most unsavory part of yourself: the Inner Critic. Single-handedly, the Inner Critic causes more cases of "I'm stuck!" than anything else.

Some find themselves stuck in too much structuring, too tight a focus, and the book journey loses freedom. Others are stuck in the opposite arena--too much writing and no way to organize it. As you explore and plan your book, the Critic can even help you worry that you don’t have a good enough idea--so your writing never even gets started. Later on, it will hint you are seriously lacking in the skills to pull it into a book.

And here's another one: As you write your book and form the chapters, it will convince you the draft is definitely good enough to show your best friend—right now, today! (This, of course, is a not-so-subtle sabotage attempt, made real when your friend asks about missing parts and you crumble with the realization that you have omitted half your story.)

Even as you revise, the Critic will get bored with your book's inner story, theme, pacing--those essential fine-tuning steps each book writer must implement. It will begin to say things like, "Edit out this part; all your friends and relations will shun you when they read them."

I'm at the final stages of the book journey with my novel which will be published in August. I'm still facing this Inner Critic. Now the message is: Everyone will know what your life is like, what you are! Hide now!

Writers beware. Get to know your own particular Inner Critic and how it delivers its sabotaging self-talk. Learn to feel the fear and write anyway.

Here's a first step. Write a letter to the Inner Critic. Get to know it, what guise the Critic takes, how it stops you. Name it, describe it. Make a sketch of it. We'll tackle more Inner Critic tools in future posts. But let me know how this one worked for you.

Why Books Aren't Just about Shooting in the Dark--And a Writing Exercise to Prove It

Five weekends each year, I travel from my home in Connecticut to Minnesota, to teach book-writing structure at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis (http://www.loft.org/). I gather thirty-five would-be book writers who want some light in the darkness. We spend two days together in a classroom and come out with our personal book-writing plans, a workable structure and step-by-step method to creating and crafting a novel, memoir, or nonfiction book.

I love teaching at the Loft. The Loft is unique. I've taught at university and college, art center and private school, but nothing is like the Loft. It's the largest nonprofit writing school in the U.S., offering hundreds of classes and writerly events each year. I've been proud to be part of the Loft's teaching artists staff for nine years.

Two of my own books have gotten healthy beginnings from Loft classes. My novel, Qualities of Light, which will be published this August, was launched via a class with Loft instructor Alison McGhee (author of Shadow Baby and other novels).

I'm packing today for my workshops at the Loft this coming weekend, April 24-26. Friday and Saturday, I'm teaching the most popular of my Loft workshops, a two-day intensive on "How to Plan, Write, and Develop a Book." I wish I'd had this workshop when I began writing and publishing books in the 1980s. I didn't have much back then, just hopes, fears, and book ideas. Somehow I published, but it wasn't easy. It's still not easy but at least now I have a method, a strategy. It's not just shooting in the dark.

I want to make book writing simpler for any writer. In my Loft workshop, this group of 35 book writers will be mixed, in skill and achievement. Some have manuscripts drafted, some only have an idea. During the two days, we create the structure of our books via tested writing exercises. We start with tag lines, move to writing segments that develop the inner and outer story, then craft linear and nonlinear storyboards.

By day 2 of the workshop, writers are jazzed. That's when their books become real. They are really going to happen.

Maybe you'll be joining me this coming weekend. If you'd like to, call the Loft at 612-379-8999 and get your name on the list. There are 9 places left, as of this writing. You'll be among the greatest book writers in one of the greatest writing schools. It's fun, inspiring, and creative.

Mostly, it's a wake-up call about how books are really written. Writing a book is not just about hoping for the best--although hope does factor in. There's a real formula, a real strategy. I've seen very beginning writers follow this strategy and come out with a good, solid book. One just published last month. She is not alone. My favorite experience is when a writer appears at my workshop, someone who took the class a year or two ago, and hands me a copy of their published book. I love the look of pride on their face.

Books take hard work, of course, and dedication. But having a strategy makes it possible. Otherwise, you're just shooting in the dark.

Writing a Focus Statement

Here's the opening exercise from the workshop. It's easiest if I am there to coach you through it, but try it on your own if you can't join us this weekend at the Loft. Set a kitchen timer for 20 minutes and write three paragraphs about your book--everything you think it's about. Then read it outloud to yourself. Find the sentence that is most interesting to you, that speaks to you, that maybe surprises you. Underline it.

Using this sentence, craft a statement about your book. This is your focus statement, elevator speech, tag line. Your answer to Oprah's question, "What's your book really about?" Make sure you create a statement that contains the book's outer story (event or method) as well as its inner story (answer to a quest or question).

Post it where you can see it. Let it be your light during the book-writing journey. It will be simpler to navigate the trip.

The Beauty of Regular Writing Practice--Watching Your Book Grow

Writing practice is like walking a path and not knowing exactly where you're going, but enjoying the journey. To paraphrase my yoga teacher, writing practice is not writing perfect.

Perfect means you have it all under control. Practice means you're willing to make mistakes to get to a goal. Practice is about sitting in the chair, putting words on the page, letting mistakes happen. Letting miracles happen too.

In Thunder and Lightning, Natalie Goldberg wrote of a time when she and a friend were in the dumps. They first tried a long hike to cure it. That didn’t work. They sat zazen (meditating), but both women still felt bad. Finally, Natalie suggested writing practice. “We wrote for half an hour, read to each other, wrote another half hour, read aloud,” she said. “By the end we were both beaming. Writing practice had done it again—digested our sorrows, dissolved and integrated our inner rigidity, and let us move on.”

Goldberg adds “Writing practice lets out all your wild horses. Everything you never dared to utter—didn’t even know you thought—comes galloping and whinnying across the page. This is good. You become connected with a much larger force field, one where you’re not in control.”

Not being in control: that's what practice is all about.

In my writing class today, we practiced practice. We did three 10-minute freewriting exercises. I asked the writers to pick a line from their homework that stood out in some way, write it at the top of their page, then write for 10 minutes--nondirected practice. They tried it again. The third 10-minute freewriting session, writing got looser, more interesting. Discoveries were made.

Writing practice has worked for me more times than I can count—and I certainly often can’t remember what I wrote about during these freewriting sessions. Although they have produced many books, stories, and articles, that wasn’t the point of the practice. The practice itself was the point, the rhythm it gave to my writing life.

This non-directed practice is called automatic writing by Peter Elbow (author of Writing without Teachers) and Lynn Lauber (author of Listen to Me), freewriting by Natalie Goldberg and others. Try it yourself this week. Pick a "prompt" (starting phrase or sentence) from your favorite piece of writing. Set a kitchen timer for 10 minutes, and go for it.

Why Book Writers Need to Hang Out Together

I teach weekly writing classes for book writers at the Hudson Valley Writers' Center in Westchester County near New York City. The beginning class, meeting each Monday afternoon for six weeks, draws a range of skill and experience levels. Some writers come in with a good idea, encouragement from friends and family ("You should write a book!"), expertise in a topic, or a group of characters who won't leave them alone. I take the group through a series of writing exercises to determine where their real story lies.

It's the tools in the class that start the process of discovery. But it's the gathering of other writers, those specifically working on books, which lends clarity and inspiration. The class discussions, the helping of each other, bring very interesting results which reveal to the writer (and me, the teacher) where the real stall-out is.

One woman in my class, a brilliant ex-journalist (and I've changed details here to protect her privacy), was writing about an entertainment world legend. She had put together ten chapters then stopped for some reason. Nothing moved the book forward, so she came to my class to figure out why. Over the six weeks, she discovered that she was deeply afraid of ridicule from fellow reporters and of making some monumental mistake in reporting accuracy. Her award-winning newspaper and magazine were pieces of cake compared to a book. How could she ever create copy that was interesting enough to hold a reader for 300 pages? More importantly, how would she keep all those piles of research accurate?

Navigating this writer's block came about through discussion with thirteen other struggling book writers and ended her procrastination on her manuscript.

I've taught this weekly class for many years. I'm fascinated, at the beginning of each session, how varied the group of writers is. We are usually between twelve and fifteen people. We meet for three hours once a week for six weeks. By the end of the session, we are often changed inside. The books we write reveal ourselves, our deepest fears and longings, whether they are fiction, nonfiction, or memoir. Good books put the writer on the page. They can't help it--they have to.

I'm starting a new session in May. Already writers are signing up, coming from around the East Coast. Some drive in for an overnight to attend the class, and when I am amazed at this, the writer tells me, "There aren't very many classes like these. My friend took it last year and raved about it. And her book is actually finished now." I hear many stories like this, because we, as a group, are unique. We specifically address the strange and wonderful needs of the book writer.

I know these classes keep me writing! I have two books coming out this summer, and I am thanking my classes for the inspiration and momentum to keep going on them over the past few years.

If you want to join us for the next session of "How to Plan, Write, and Develop a Book," here are the specifics: 6 Mondays, 1:30-4:30 p.m., May 4-June 22 (skips May 18 & 25), $355, at the Hudson Valley Writers' Center in Sleepy Hollow, NY (near Tarrytown). Visit http://www.writerscenter.org/, email info@writerscenter.org, or call 914-332-5953 to register. Class size is limited, and this one usually sells out. So call soon. Maybe you'll find the missing key to finishing your book, as you are supported and encouraged by this wonderful group of fellow writers.

If you're too distant to join us, try an exercise from the class. Consider the writerly support in your life. Write for ten minutes about how you are encouraged, motivated, and appropriately mirrored in your efforts to write your book. Where does your support come from--and where might it be missing?

Writers, especially book writers, need each other. It's essential to hang out together so we realize (1) we're not going crazy in this book-writing process, (2) it actually demands more of us than we might first believe and there are specific tools to get stronger, and (3) we can keep going when the going gets tough.

If You Dream It, They Will Publish It? An Exercise in Dreaming Your Book Cover

A couple of years ago, I dreamed up a book cover for my novel. I spent an hour with some colored pencils and nice paper, drew and wrote and typed and pasted. I drew a lake shore, since the story is about a lake in late summer when the birches are just turning yellow. It was great fun. I even made up "blurbs," those bright one- or two-liners full of nice comments from famous writers about the story.

I put the book cover above my desk. I think I was struggling with my fifth draft then and seeing the cover made me hopeful it would someday be published.

Fast forward, book travels the rounds of agents and publishers for over a year, despair sets in, but book finally gets accepted. Editor is great, loves it, edits it, sends her suggestions. I am impressed: my novel's better than ever.
We exchange a happy flurry of emails, like people do when a baby's coming. Excitement, anticipation, overwhelm.

The book goes into production, gets typeset. Release date is planned. We ask famous writers for blurbs. We talk cover art, jacket copy. I imagine what it'll be like to hold this book in my hand in August.

Each time, this process of birthing a book is both terrifying and lovely. Each publisher is different; some communicate a lot with the writer, some don't. My editor is sending emails, telling me in the same week, "I just love this book. What a superb writer you are," and "Do you have any ideas around cover art?"

Relief. She's been microscopically involved for months and she still loves it. Gulp. Cover art?

Then I remember my book cover exercise. I dig it out of some file. It gives me ideas. I open files of photos and images, go on line for free stock images, dream my cover again. Send her some ideas, which she likes. The cover is born.

But it make me wonder: Which comes first, the dream or the published book? Does dreaming your book (and its cover) create an open door for it to be published? Some people believe that what you imagine, you bring into manifestation, good or bad. Maybe you don't buy this, but in my experience, positive imaging certainly doesn't hurt.

So, try it this week. Design your book cover. See what happens.

Exercise: Set aside an hour, grab a piece of paper or open up your desktop graphics program, and play. Make up blurbs (those two-liners from famous people) for your cover, write your jacket copy, imagine your book published.

What's the "Me" in Memoir?--Avoiding Overwriting When You're Writing about Your Life

Memoirs--sometimes they feel to us writers like we're talking to ourselves, not seeing the forest for the trees. But isn't that what memoir is? Or is it?

What exactly is a memoir? And how does a writer become "the writer" and not "The Writer" (see last week's post, below, on the dangers of The Writer's presence in books)?

A reader from Louisiana wrote this about last week's post and writing exercise: "I don't really know what a memoir is supposed to be. Am I not suppose to write about my experiences, what I saw, felt, and thought? Have I been writing all this too much as an ego trip? Should I tell the story as if it is someone else, using the word she rather than I? Should I just forget thinking of it as a book, write it simply for a possible interested family member after I'm gone?"

Excellent question. It was triggered by this writer's concern that she was supposed to absent herself from her own story, and how was that possible? I wrote last week's post (see below) about writers who are way too present in their stories, who take on two roles: (1) they sit the center-stage to tell their story AND (2) they stand on the sidelines to interpret the story for us readers.

In memoir, you are the main character (makes sense, doesn't it?). You fill the center-stage role. But if you are nervous about whether readers will "get" the message of your story, you might be tempted to be the stage manager as well. This is the mistake.

Alison Smith, author of the wonderful Name All the Animals, wrote about becoming aware of her role in this memoir. Her original drafts were more about her brother's sudden death than about her own life, but she soon realized she was leaving herself out of her own story. The death was the memoir's "triggering event" (in book-writing language, what started the story). How the death affected Alison and her family was the story itself. She had to assume the center-stage role. Memoir is about me.

But it's not about me plus ME (center stage plus stage manager). The writer is important, but not The Writer.

Alison never tries to put herself between the reader and her story. She isn't constantly interpreting what's happening, making sure the reader gets it. Some writing instructors call this "overwriting"--you are writing, then you are making sure we get it by repeating what you just wrote, saying it in another way--overwriting your words. "Betty ran her finger down the wall and checked for dust." What does that tell you? She's neat, fastidious even, obsessive maybe. The writer doesn't need to add "Betty was obsessed with cleanliness."

Yes, in a memoir you feel, think, say, do. But instead of adding more about why you are feeling, thinking, saying, and doing the thing, you just let the story show it. You don't need to interpret if the actions are strong. We get it.

Another way to look at this: Actions, events, and dialogue shows us. No need to tell us, as well.

Keep yourself in your memoir, by all means. But take out The Writer who is on the sidelines, stage managing, telling us what it all means. Confusing and unnecessary at best; obnoxious at worst.

Read some examples if you want. A few great memoirs that feature a strong main character (the writer) but no interpretation (The Writer) for the story are:

Alison Smith's Name All the Animals

Vivian Gornick's Fierce Attachments

Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes

Dani Shapiro's Slow Motion

Nuala O'Faolain's Almost There

Closely read a chapter. Notice if you feel the author's presence interpreting the actions and being too present in the story--taking away from your engagement with the book.

Freelance Writer Trying to Thrive? Read This!

I finished a big freelance editing project today so I treated myself to a bowl of popcorn, a movie, and a good read: the altogether quirky My So-Called Freelance Life by anti 9-5er and freelance writer, Michelle Goodman. Lots of great advice, and Michelle's entertaining style takes a potentially boring subject to new heights.

I loved her frank assessment of freelancing--you can't live in la-la land, hoping for the creative gold all the time, so grab some bread-and-butter work while you're working toward your dream.

Are you struggling to thrive as a freelancer in this economy? Visit her online at http://www.anti9to5guide.com/ and let me know what you think.

Building a Solid Story--Moving to a Reader-Centric Viewpoint in Your Writing

Today in my class at the Hudson Valley Writers' Center in Westchester Co., NY,we talked about moving from a writer-centric viewpoint to a reader-centric one. It's a natural part of a writer's evolution. A maturing, where we begin to see why someone else would read our book (besides our mother, best friend, and partner/spouse). In other words, we begin to write for a reader.

This isn't about compromising your ideals. It isn't about not telling your truth. It's about becoming less self-focused.

An odd idea, for us writers. Aren't writers supposed to be self-focused? After all, that's where we get the juice--from our lives and our imaginations.

When I got my novel manuscript back from my editor (see my overwhelmed post below), I realized the book was a stranger to me. I was no longer on center stage, as The Writer. The story had now become my reader's. I almost didn't remember writing certain parts. These, of course, were the parts my editor liked best.

What happened? In the editing and revising stages, I'd moved out of the "room" and all that remained was my story--and an open door, welcoming my reader.

I hate books--and wonder how they ever got published--where the writer is The Writer, on his or her soapbox, telling us what to think about every moment in the story. Don't you? But how do you, the writer, get out of the room where your story lives? How do you convince yourself that it doesn't need you there, acting as interpretor for your own story?

Know what I'm talking about? It's insidious...our need to interpret our stuff for our readers.

This week, pick a piece of your writing that's at least a month old. Read a page out loud. See if you can be surprised by something in there, maybe not remember writing it. Like it, even. Are you The Writer or the writer?

My New Novel Is Coming Out--And I'm Trying to Breathe Deeply!

I just got the big packet every writer waits for--edited pages of my soon-to-be released novel, Qualities of Light. My super-duper editor, Katherine Forrest, sent them to me for a look over and corrections. Katherine is so good at what she does and I value editors highly, but still there's a bit of a catch in the breath when I open the package and see what needs changing. She tells me over and over in the cover note, "This is a really fine novel," and then makes her suggestions.

I'm used to this. I've been a professional editor since 1986. It's part of the job. An editor only hopes for a cooperative writer, who can hold her original vision for the book--and release it for a better one.

So I took a big breath, undid the tape, shook out the contents.

She loved it! Wow...

And she had great (great!) suggestions. Tiny places to tweak, small moments to clarify, little adjustments here and there. It is making the novel really sing.

After I read through everything, accepting 99.9 % of Katherine's suggestions, I looked back in my writing notebook at my présumé exercise. I wrote it three weeks ago, on one of those snowbound days of deep writerly despair, when I didn't really believe my novel would be published, ever, ever. The présumé said this:

"April 15, 2009: Everything is moving along beautifully with my novel and publication. Katherine's edits are amazing, I'm grateful for all her insights and suggestions, and we're in good communication."

April 15, huh? Guess I was behind the timetable of the universe. Not a surprise. Présumés often happen early, in more delightful ways than we can imagine. They work because they let us let go. Once we let go the stranglehold on our creative project, lots of amazing "coincidences" occur.

You don't have to believe me. For this week's exercise, just try the présumé you didn't do last month (see post below) and make it short, sweet, and focused on something you really want to happen in your writing. Just a couple of sentences, written in present tense, as if you are looking back from a future date and feeling great about what's happened. You can post your présumé here, so we can cheer you on!