HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED USING INTERESTING WORDS TO MAKE YOUR CHARACTERS SOUND MORE INTELLIGENT?

By El Ochiis

I was studying abroad when an opportunity to intern at a publishing house, presented itself in the form of a requirement from a professor who had a reputation for his dislike of foreign students – his position was that they suffered from an ignorance of intelligent language above common words. Shifting his cigarette from the right side of his mouth to the left, with a flick of his tongue, he would emphatically state that American writers wrote so relentlessly about themselves, it exhausted him. Rumor was if he liked your writing you got a letter from his spouse, a noted editor – a shoo-in for that internship. 

“I take offense to Professor Brodeur’s opinion. I need to pen an essay filled with such uncommonly smart words that it will greatly annoy him,” I announced to Julien, a former student who has gone on to achieve some writing success, offering him my first draft.

 “This is brilliant. He WILL send you to his wife – she is more torturous than he, but in fewer words,” Julien announced, making edits with a pencil he kept behind his right ear. “But, you can raise it to the height of greater intelligence with a few more unusual words."

I took the points Julien made, incorporated them, and, submitted the piece.

One week and a day later, I was summoned for an interview lunch at the Centre Pompidou by Madame Lilou-Arlette Brodeur.  

I arrived half an hour early; I was nervously anxious. Then, I saw her; she flitted through the passageway on black-tipped Chanel sling-backs, moving with the aloofness of a pedigree feline. Laying a leather-bound diary on my backpack, she summoned a waiter. The Centre Pompidou, at that time, was frequented by artist and writers who could barely afford a cup of coffee, wait staff would be a stretch.

My black, torn jeans with the Janis Joplin and John Coltrane patches, topped off with an even blacker Harley Davison tee-shirt and worn cowboy boots were in stark contrast to her couture.  

She placed some crisp francs into the hands of a man walking by, instructing him to purchase a café au lait, fixating her eyes over my head, at something more interesting, finally resting a momentary gaze on me:

“An agelast, apropos,” she spewed, with a French accent, scanning my essay, taking the steaming cup from the gentleman, pushing it towards me.

I thought I recognized some of the terms she was using as the ones Julien had added, but she spoke them with such a precise French accent; I wasn’t sure – this was interesting and scary.  

“I Conspuer a bioviate.” she reasoned, flicking her cigarette in the saucer of the still warm café, opening her book in a manner that let me know I was either being dismissed or she was departing. 

I tried to give the impression that I wasn’t completely dumbfounded by smiling and nodding – I wrote stuff down in the pretense of astute notetaking. Her faint smile told me she wasn’t displeased. But, were those interview questions or stark criticism of my writing?  

 “Hiraeth, logophilic, n'est-ce pas?” she affirmed, rising, checking her watch before retrieving a piece of paper from her diary, scribbling an address and phone number, pushing it at me. Then, she sauntered off. 

I ran all the way to Julien. I breathlessly retold him everything that happened.   

“I think I got the internship, but I couldn’t understand how she was using some of the words you added – the woman is odd.” I exclaimed, holding out the notes I’d taken.

 Julien perused my badly scribbled handwriting. 

“She was saying that you’re a person who rarely laughs (agelast) - she suspects it’s because you only wear black (atrate). She spits in contempt (conspeur) at people who are long-winded with little to say (biovate) – she feels that the essence of your piece was about the homesickness of a place that you can never return to, or never really existed (hiraeth) - you have a gift for words (logophile),” Julien surmised with the confidence of a cryptographer. 

“How do you know this?” I asked, incredulously. 

“I read one of her favorite books – the words I added to your piece were from a book she edited entitled Interesting Words You Should Slip Into Your Writing To Make Your Characters Sound Much More Intelligent – it’s great that she didn’t quiz you,” Julien chortle. 

Can you, as a writer, write a scene for a novel, short story or an essay using words that have no English translation, or interesting words that would help your characters sound smarter in any conversation? Here is a place to start: https://www.dictionary.com/e/keep-classy-fancy-words-listicle/

 

 

 

 

 

 

AT the CROSSROADS of COVID and WRITING

By Shaun McCoy

Perhaps the single most fabulous piece of advice, and simultaneously the worst advice, I’ve ever gotten about writing is that “a good short story exists at the crossroads between two other stories.”

What makes this advice so dang good is that it is absolutely a fabulous way to rescue that initial inspiration you get for a short story, but which just falls a step short. But, one has to admit, what makes this advice so friggin’ bad is just how vague it is.

With a little creative plotting, one can describe about ANY story, no matter how singular in focus, to be at the locus point between two narratives. So, this crossroads idea is like a Schrodinger’s cat. It’s both alive and dead, in a state of literary superposition, until one of us tries to use the dang thing. At that point, we end up with either a fabulously adorable kitten mewling with all the delight of a cutesy internet meme, or find ourselves in dire need of both a shovel and a good plot of land safely away from the prying eyes of whatever darling child owned that feline.

I couldn’t help but think of this crossroads advice as, during my recent Covid scare. I started scrolling through the symptoms. Some of them weren’t very story-worthy at all.

· Dry cough

· Diarrhea

· Fever

I mean, they’re certainly were story-worthy to me. I’m me. If I’m walking down a tunnel toward the light, I want to hear about it. But it wouldn’t really be a good story to you. In that way it is directly analogous to my last piece of failed writing. It’s my baby, so I love it. To you, though, it’s probably about as bland as watching snail race. (Okay, terrible analogy. That would be pretty riveting.)

But then this bad boy of a symptom came up.

· New confusion

Now that’s a story. It leaps out of you with all the exciting context of the now infamous warning label on curling irons: “don’t put in contact with eye.” Of course I shouldn’t put it on my eye, but the very existence of the label means that someone, at some point, did. Or at least, we think they did. Maybe they were murdering a hitchhiker, and that’s how they got their eye wound, and this whole curling iron thing was only the best excuse they could come up with during their police interrogation.

New confusion. What was the old confusion? When struck with this plague, how am I supposed to tell the old confusion from the new? How can the reader? Can the reader know before I do?

But fortunately this won’t ever be a story. The test came back negative. For me, there will only ever be the old confusion—caught right there, smack dab in the middle of the crossroads between covid and writing.

 

 

 

HOW “REAL” SHOULD FICTION BE?

By Raegan Teller

A conversation circulating among writers lately is whether to mention the pandemic in their stories set in current times. Since Covid-19 has unquestionably altered our lives, should writers ignore it by creating a fictitious, alternate universe where it does not exist? Or should we be “real” about it, even in fiction?

Recently, I watched a virtual panel of writers, and the question was posed as to whether they would include the pandemic in their current era works. One writer responded that we have no idea what 2021 will look like. For example, will the vaccine return us to something close to normal next year? Will people even take the vaccine? Will the vaccine be only a speed bump and not a stop sign? Of course, no one knows the answer to these questions until we get there. This writer also pointed out that fiction is “escapism.” Making our stories too real might be a turn-off to readers. On the other hand, another writer said he would adhere to “the truth” even in fiction and include references to the pandemic in his novel coming out in 2021.

Another author on the panel mentioned he was writing a book that would be edited next year, so he would adjust his story then, depending on the state of the pandemic at that time. Another writer suggested setting stories in 2019: perhaps our last remembrance of “normalcy.”

What everyone agrees on is that while 9/11, earthquakes and major storms have had a profound effect on many people, nothing has altered our everyday lives like Covid-19. So, what’s a writer to do?

My protagonist is a newspaper reporter and often meets with people in restaurants while pursuing a story. If I acknowledged the existence of the pandemic, would she be considered irresponsible if I failed to say she had a mask on?

And, of course, forget writing phrases like, “She recognized him immediately by his smile. It was what she remembered most about him.” Who can tell if anyone is smiling with a mask on? Although, for mystery writers like me, perhaps that added mystique of a hidden face might come in handy. And while we’re being totally honest, our fictious characters would occasionally have to turn around and drive back home for a forgotten mask, perhaps encountering a person or event that alters the story line completely.

But then how you handle the pandemic in your writing also depends on the age bracket of your target readers. Younger readers would be more likely to expect characters to go about their business as usual, whereas older readers may react differently.

I’ve asked several of my readers their thoughts on including the pandemic in my fifth novel, which will be set in 2021. Surprisingly, most said, “don’t mention it” or “I don’t want to be reminded of the pandemic.” I think I’ll take their advice. As one of my reader’s said, “It is fiction, after all. Don’t be too real.”

WRITING the NEXT LINE

By Sharon May 

Imagine me with one joint recovering from surgery and another one prepping for surgery. My right arm braced in Velcro and Neoprene from fingers to pert nigh the elbow after breaking my arm just above the wrist. Left foot in a funky pair of shoes made of more Velcro and Neoprene, rendered even more attractive by a yellow caution sock given as a thanks by the hospital. “Might come in handy,” my frugal wife said as we packed. I am a poster child for orthopedics. 

While laid up, I, like a Nathaniel Hawthorne character, mulled over my life to determine what I had done wrong to require so many surgeries. Then I considered the lessons from these experiences. I decided the gods are determined I become left handed and master speech recognition software. My introduction to Dragon occurred a couple of years ago when I first had my dominant wrist fused. I learned the basics and managed to put a few pages out, but abandoned it as soon as I healed. It will be useful in emergencies, I thought, not imagining having further damage to my hand. 

When really bored or avoiding writing, I will pick up my copy of “Dragon for Dummies” to explore what I don’t know. Facing the computer, all that reading proves useless as learning anything related to computers requires hands-on experiences for me. So I muddle through. 

Speaking to the computer is not the same as typing. The brain, at least my brain, functions differently with the two tasks. 

I think faster when typing. Part of the problem is that the program and I don’t yet communicate well. My wife has complained for years I mumble, and now I have a computer agreeing with her. At this point, about 80% of my words are transcribed correctly on paper. Dialect drives the Dragon to produce words nowhere near what I said.   

Now I’m so paranoid that I’m not enunciating correctly, I concentrate on the screen more than about what comes next. So, I correct at least a fifth of the page in the process. Who knows how many thoughts I’ve lost during that time? 

Oddly, after hours of putting words on paper by speaking, I don’t feel like I’ve written anything. There’s no energy nor renewal that I usually get while typing my words. Used to be the fingers were tired, cramped up, and needing a break. Now I’m just thirsty. 

Usually, I can play with language and sentence patterns. Now, my mind becomes sluggish. I end up frustrated, which further interferes with writing. Time may solve this, or I may have to become a one-handed typist. I hope the brain is soon free again to explore words and create worlds as if on a space ship speeding through time and space. 

 

A GOOD PLACE to BE FROM

By Kasie Whitener

 

Hello, again, from my November madness. I’ve been NaNoWriMo-ing since the start of the month when I wrote this cheerful, optimistic blog about what a wonderful waste of time and effort this month will be. 

National Novel Writing Month or the bold attempt to write a full 50,000-word manuscript in 30 days is that delightful annual insanity that, like a military academy, is not a good place to be, but a good place to be from. 

“Follow me on this metaphor, will ya?” she asked, her voice muffled by the closed door. 

In the beginning, you’re thrilled at the possibilities. New characters! New settings! New drama and details! Hooray! 

As the novel swells and the crushing requirement of discipline is realized, you begin to doubt the merits of the idea. Not just the NaNo experience, but the novel itself. Is the premise strong enough to make it 50,000 words? Will people grow tired of my protagonist? Where is this plot even going? 

Toward the end, that period of systemically induced fatigue when you just want it to be over, when graduation is within view, but the pillowcases stained with tears and callused-over blisters hardly seem worth it, you bear down harder. 

“You’re the only one here,” she whispered. “You must help us escape.” 

Stephen King said to write the first draft behind closed doors and maybe that’s why I love NaNoWriMo. It’s the perfect excuse to lock myself in the asylum… er… institute. 

For over a year, I have struggled with writing my second novel, Before Pittsburgh, because I brought each scene as it was written to my writing group. Loving, supportive people though they are, the full novel was not envisioned let alone finished. Today, I’m ninety days from publication and Before Pittsburgh still feels broken and in need of serious repair. 

But the NaNo projects, all six of them, feel like five-dollar bills stuffed in the pockets of winter coats. They are all drafts and the beauty of a draft is that it can wait forever for its turn at revision. 

I love the frenzy of NaNo specifically because I know what I’m building doesn’t have to make any sense, or ever even see the light of day. My fingers fly over the keyboard crafting smallish scenes – 1200 to 2000 words at the time, meeting a daily word count goal and moving characters like strategic troop alignments. 

At the end of November, I’m a different kind of writer. One that perseveres. That that revels in creation but is scientific about revision. And revision comes later. Much later if my NaNo history is to be believed. 

In these last few days, when I’ve fallen so far behind in my wordcount as to need a serious effort (or a miracle) to complete the challenge, I know NaNoWriMo isn’t a great place to be, but it’s a great place to be from. Having generated, in that uncalculated frenzy, the first draft. Another winner. 

“And the fifth-in-line for revision,” she says, peeking out of her padded cell. “Queue ‘Taps’.”

  

THE LATEST ADDITION

Meet a New Columbia II Writer

SHARON A EWING

Sharon A. Ewing is a retired teacher with 30 years of experience, mostly in the elementary and middle school grades. Also she’s taught Language Arts skills at the high school level, as well as technical and junior college and worked as a library assistant in both public and college libraries.

In 2015, she wrote the text for The Historical Stained Glass Windows of St. Peter’s Catholic Church. In 2017, she contributed an article to The Word Among Us. She is currently working on her first historical novel based on her great-great grandmother’s experience of immigrating to America.

Sharon’s  family includes a son, a daughter and 5 beautiful grandchildren. She and her husband love to travel. Her other passions include sewing, gardening, refinishing furniture and, reading, especially anything to do with history.

Sharon's first post on this page follows.

 

 

 

A NEWBIE in HISTORICAL FICTION TERRITORY

By Sharon Ewing

My retirement goal was to write a historical fiction novel. In my naivete, I couldn’t imagine the path from essay writing to historical fiction being a difficult one. After all, I’d been complimented often on my writing skills. However, not long into the process my ego became as deflated as the unused blow-up mattress in my attic.  

Although the main character was based on my great-great grandmother, I had no idea what she looked like. Also, I knew precious little about daily life in the 1860s. The lure of writing this story was initially driven by the excitement of digging into mid-19th century history. Faced with fleshing out my characters, I realized I had downplayed the need for imagination and creativity. That observation sent me back to analyze characters in the novels I’d read and enjoyed.

Learning about the 19th century proved intriguing, but the facts in my head were nonfiction. To transform this information into a story with all the minute details of daily life required a change of writing style and a new mindset, another setback. I began imagining my characters in a movie. This helped me make the necessary transition.

Research, research, became my mantra. The more I wrote, the more I realized I needed to know. I composed on my lap-top, while my i-pad became my research assistant. I’d hit roadblocks and take hours reading about the election of a president in the 1800s. How did presidential candidates campaign at this time? What was the mood of the city? What issues concerned various ethnic groups? How did they resolve the tensions that arose? What did an ordinary day look like? I began to envy writers of science fiction and stories in present day. Maybe it would be easier if I quit and just wrote a fairy tale!

Antagonist? Oh yeah, I needed at least one to create tension and interest. I couldn’t forget story arc and those other story elements I preached about in writing class, along with grammar, punctuation, and word choice. I remembered reading once how a famous author edited his work 35 times before submitting it for publication. Although nowhere near that number, some days I felt I was on the grammar merry-go-round, praying for the music to stop so I could get off. I developed more sympathy for my past students than they would ever believe.  

My growth in literary skills and perseverance can only be attributed to perseverance and the writers who willingly encourage me along the way. While some days the process is painfully difficult, I know the end result will be worthwhile. I also know I will never again downplay the amount of sweat, tears, and research needed for producing a well-written piece of work. Nor, I hope, will I every overestimate my own skills and need to eat another piece of humble pie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CREATING STORIES OR ARTICLES THAT PULL READERS IN. WOW, HOW CATCHY.

By J Dean Pate

One of my favorite writers, Columbia’s Bill Fox – Southern Fried — would bore-in and magnify and magnify again, peculiar traits of his characters. Then he would stretch them through misguided desires or conflict into hilarious episodes that kept readers turning the page.

For me, it is a struggle to bring my characters and story to life because of being stuck in exposition mode from my days as a broadcast news writer. This leads to results at times that read like I’m writing for speed readers because I want to get the story over with, because TV copy is short.  

“Once upon a time flip … everything was good flip … (oh my god, I must fix this so I’ll add in) . . .  and as she held him tightly Angelica knew in that moment she and Raoul would spend eternity …  sigh/throb…together.”  — Yay, Yahoo!!!

My writing group has been helpful with suggestions. And I have found several books to help me find my way. 

Mystery writer Jane Cleland recommends plot twists to keep readers wondering, “What happens next?”

Whether they be mysteries, a memoir or literary nonfiction, she says the story needs to pivot and turn to avoid boring readers. She says plot twists, reversals and dangers should be counterintuitive, grounded on emotion while utterly unexpected. The goal is to create intrigue and credibility by presenting evidence. Readers need to trust you are revealing emotional truths through believable incidents.

She offers the following questions as guides for developing effective TRDs:

· What does the reader expect to happen next?

· What else could logically happen? (Twist)

· What is the opposite of the readers’ expectation? (Reversal)

· Could something emotionally, physically, or spiritually frightening or dangerous occur (Danger)

· Does the TRD surprise the reader?

· Will it add tension or intrigue?

· Is it credible?

Plot Twists, Reversals and Dangers from Mastering Plot Twists, Jane K. Cleland, Writers Digest 2018 ISBN-13:978-1-4403-52331

A WRITER in QUARANTINE

By Jodie Cain Smith

 

Ah, writing in the time of Covid. Working in the time of Covid. Doing anything in the time of Covid. I won’t lie to you. Over the last 545 months (That’s how long the virus has been here, right?) I’ve been rather unpretty at times. Puddles of tears, not enough sleep, loads of rage and restlessness have wrecked my skin, my waistline, and yes, my writing life. 

Then, I remembered a couple of months ago that I am an optimist. What? Yes! In my opinion, writers are optimists. Who else would willingly throw themselves on the breaches of criticism, trial-and-error, publishers, agents, and self-publishing software designed with the singular goal of forcing the writer to smash her laptop with a sledgehammer? Only a cock-eyed optimist, that’s who. 

So, what does my optimism have to do with writing during a pandemic? Everything. And, to keep a tired cliché going, let’s see what hindsight 2020 has given me. 

1. I can’t squeeze blood from a stone. From March to July, I squeezed my then current project so hard, blood should have shot out in true horror gore style. I was stuck. Forcing words, plot points, and character development when the story just wasn’t in my head and heart proved to be an exercise in lunacy. Especially when I had an unedited dystopian manuscript saved on my hard drive and in the Cloud and in Google docs. And. And. And. 

2. Time and distance have their benefits. Staying away from friends and family has gone on too long. The physical distance of all these months, socially or otherwise, has resulted in unrequited urges to hug every person I see. However, time and distance in writing is helpful. When I pulled that old manuscript from its digital drawer, having sworn it off like this plague, I found a potential novel, a way forward, and a sense of urgency to write I’ve never felt before. In fact, I’d distanced myself so much from this story, revisions spewed out at break-neck speed. But, but, but… 

3. I had to stop pretending. This pandemic has taught me to write the story, not what I thought the story should be, what I had forced unsuccessfully in its previous iteration. Kitschy scenes? Cut. Plot points better addressed in a therapist’s office than in my novel? Cut. (And schedule an appointment with Mary.) Too many characters? Kill off a couple. Leading lady being polite in the middle of the apocalypse so my mother won’t take offense at vocabulary? Sorry, Mama, I’ve unleashed my protagonist. She doesn’t have time for sweet talk. (And, I’m not all that sorry.) So, all this honesty led me to my most valuable pandemic lesson… 

4. Allow for change. Once I dove into these brutal revisions, I opened this story for transformation. This space allowed for truth in storytelling and growth as a writer to one that can see now how her characters need to change and which scenes, old or new, best tell this story. 

How has this pandemic affected your writing life? Tell us in the comments, and who knows? Someone else may have the cure to what ails you.

GET BACK in the GAME: NaNoWriMo STARTS TODAY

By Kasie Whitener 

It’s that time of year again! November is National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for those of us in the know, and all over the country writers of every stripe are preparing to dedicate 30 days to generating 50,000 words. 

Of mostly unusable garbage. 

In repeated conversations on our radio show, Write On SC, Rex Hurst and I have discussed the merits and risks of NaNoWriMo. Specifically, that it’s a great habit-building exercise. Every year when November rolls around, I look forward to getting back to the habit of writing every day. But NaNo is such a frenzy and the goal of getting to 50,000 words is so difficult, that a lot of what I write will probably not be any good. 

I’ve completed five NaNoWriMo projects, getting to the 50k mark with four of them, and so far, none have become viable. 

I did take my original project, a vampire novel called “Seduction of an Innocent” – yeah, I know, terrible title – and use it as base stock to cook up Being Blue. This novel should have been my first one. I queried it, approached agents with it, even considered self-publishing it. But it’s still not ready. That was 2012. 

Last year, I tried my hand at romance. Listeners of the show know I binge read romance novels, sometimes as many as five per week, and yet that’s the only NaNo project I failed to finish in November. When I did finally stretch the pitiful work I’d done to its conclusion and gave it to a few beta readers in April, I swiftly tucked the 60,000-words-of-wishful-thinking into the proverbial drawer. Where it shall remain. I heard crickets from the betas which should tell you something about the merits of that work. 

In any case, I plan to try my hand at NaNo again this year and I’m excited (again!) at the prospect of playing the game. I’m a “pantser” in that I write by the seat of my pants beginning only with a general idea of where I want to end up. It’s usually a scene in my head, a concept, that I’ll chase all month, attacking it with a variety of word weapons. 

Instead of NaNo being a productive time for me, it’s more like an extended freewrite. An unscripted game in which I play, 2000-words at a time, scenes that are swirling around in my head. The dull scenes. The breakfast scenes. The ones that a writer needs to know but that never make it to the reader’s view. 

From those scenes, I’ll plan the novel. I’ll ask what I really want the book to be about. What story am I really trying to tell? I’ll decide what research I need and what books I should read to get me ready to really write that story. Then I’ll write it. 

NaNoWriMo is, for me, about two things: 1) getting back to practicing every day, and 2) establishing rules for the new literary project. Game on!

THE DETAILS ARE IN THE DIALOGUE

By El Ochiis

When critics read my writing, they comment that it reads like a television or movie script.  Both genres use dialogue judiciously. What’s most interesting is that I didn’t have a television growing up – I did have an imagination that produced a lot of imaginary characters.  Though conversations between people appear to be a natural to me, I still rely on some key tools to write good dialogue:

1. Keep characters completely unenlightened

One book that every writer of fiction should read is Michael Shurtleff’s Audition. His advice equally applies to actors and writers.  Shurtleff observed that actors often play a scene as if they know the scene’s ending beforehand. For example, at the climax of one particular scene of a Tennessee Williams’ play, an insane person puts out a cigarette in the palm of the hand of the nurse who’s trying to help her.  But the nurse, according to Shurtleff, wrongly played the whole scene as if she didn’t like the patient.  Shurtleff told the actress: “If you treat the patient really nicely and kindly throughout the scene, and you show the audience you like her, and you’re trying to help her, it’s a thousand times more powerful if she then turns around and puts that cigarette out in your palm.”  That makes a lot of sense.  If you know the how the scene will end before you start to write it, don’t let your character act and speak as if they know where it’s going.  Preserve surprise and the scene will be much more efficacious.

         2. Become the Character

Amy Tan stated that her when she wrote dialogue, her technique was to stare at her shoes until she suddenly became the character.  I use a version of this; I pretend to be each of my characters whilst I drive – this is tricky because I wouldn’t want to be in the character of my villain when I order tea at Starbucks.

         3. Leave Transcripts for Court Reporters

Superb dialogue sometimes just happens, but most often, we have to sit there for a long time until we get exactly the right words we want.   At an audition, a director told me he’d deduct a hundred dollars from actors’ pay for each word they uttered that was not in the script.  As a writer, you aren’t in charge of getting down every single word the characters might say – you just have to report the dialogue that’s most important to the story.

         4. Make Every Word Count – Like You’re Being Charged for Them

Here’s the dialogue on the first page of Amy Tan’s Joy Luck Club:

[Mother:] “Auntie Lin cooked red bean soup for Joy Luck. I’m going to cook black bean sesame soup.”

[Daughter:] “Don’t show off.”

The daughter’s three little words tell us a lot about both characters:  1) the mother was trying to one-up Auntie Lin; 2) the relationship between mother and daughter is combative; and, 3) the nature of the daughter who’s hard - she isn’t always nice.  So, when the mother comes back with this retort: “It’s not showoff.”  We know the mother is hurt, we also know that the spelling means the speaker’s first language is not English – “showoff” instead of “show off”.  Use dialogue to provide the evidence of who your characters are and let the reader draw the conclusion.

         5. Read Your Dialogue Aloud, into a Tape Recorder

When you speak your own dialogue, you suddenly know which lines need attention and which lines are fine.

 

BREAKING WRITER’S BLOCK

By Sharon May

Writer’s block is one’s inability to move to the next phase of the process. The writer is stuck. Is it a mental or emotional problem? Really doesn’t matter unless we believe deep analysis will fix it. By the way, it may help but it won’t cure us. Actions help us break though the block. 

Remember that job you hated? Did you ever get blocked while at work and unable to perform the next action regardless of what was going on in your mind? Probably not. We turn on auto-pilot and do our best. 

Auto-pilot and acting as a writer break a block. If you have a writing routine, you need to follow it, and if not, create one, at least temporarily. Routines are important because they train us to respond in a certain way. In this case, we start to write despite ourselves. 

Whether I produce words or not on a given day, I follow my routine. Hygiene, breakfast, set goals over a glass of unsweetened tea, go to the office, sit at the computer, and type. Something. It really doesn’t matter what during the first few attempts to break through to good writing. Just keep writing. If you can’t write at that moment, maybe it’s time to organize your pens. Any mindless task will help prepare for writing. 

Most writers try to avoid writing when they are blocked. That’s like trying to learn how to play the drums without ever touching the drums. Others wait on the muse to provide them with magical writing that doesn’t require revision, editing, or the hard work required for good writing. We all need and have a writer’s toolbox to rely on when the muse isn’t cooperating. The tools writers use include everything from reading to writing exercises to brainstorming with other writers. 

The longer writer’s block goes the more writers doubt their talent. This is when we need to separate skill from talent, and focus on practicing skills as you draft. Apply your talent in revision and editing. 

When stuck, writers want it to be a linear process. At times we have to think in other geometric forms – circles and spirals are good. Draft a character study. Plot out the end though you are miles away from it. Such plans are not set in stone. They are goals. Sometimes they get replaced by better plans along the way to the end. 

A key to overcoming a block is accepting what words do come. Maybe it’s an idea for a new story, not the novel you have been working on for years. Don’t fear, taking a respite from a project is good, giving the mind time to incubate and resolve issues. You will be re-energized to come back to the earlier project. 

The worst idea for curing writer’s block is to stop writing. Sometimes you have to spew garbage to purge the system. A block can lead to renewal if you don’t let it destroy you.  

 

 

NOT a FLASH in the PAN

By Raegan Teller

The first time I read flash fiction, I immediately thought of my much-older brother, who was a professional photographer. When I was a young child, I watched him take shots with a large camera that used a flash bulb. It would light up the room and capture a brief, but meaningful, moment in time. That’s how I view flash fiction.

In recent years, short-short stories have been called micro fiction, sudden fiction, and other names. James Thomas titled his 1992 anthology, Flash Fiction: 72 Very Short Stories, because his editor said his stories were flash fiction that would fit on two facing pages of a literary magazine. Thomas is thus credited with the term that later became accepted usage. Of course, the form itself existed long before then. Ernest Hemingway’s famous six-word story, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn,” was written in the 1920s on a dare to pen a story using as few words as possible. He insisted that using the minimum number of words was the way to achieve maximum effect.

Today’s flash fiction is typically 1000 words or less, although some say 1500 or even 2000 words is the cap. Flash fiction is having a moment now, so mediocre flash fiction abounds. Excellent flash fiction is scarcer because it’s difficult to write. As in poetry, every word must pull its load. Edgar Allan Poe said, “A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build toward it.” This is particularly true of flash fiction. An English professor once told me that the most important decision you’ll make writing short stories is where to begin. The literature technique “in medias res,” meaning to start in the middle of the action, is particularly relevant to flash fiction. You must also become comfortable with leaving things out. What you don’t say can be more powerful than what you do say. This approach engages readers to use their own imagination to fill in the gaps and is part of the appeal of flash fiction.

The discipline and skill required to write flash fiction is great training for new and experienced writers. George R. R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire series, recommends all writers begin with short fiction rather than jumping into a novel-length project.

Somehow, I missed Martin’s advice and began my fiction career writing mystery novels, although I did write a decent number of short stories in college. However, in the past few years, as a challenge to myself, I’ve been writing short stories and flash fiction to hone my skills. I can attest to the fact that writing in this brief format is a great way to learn or improve your craft.

Another plus for flash fiction is that it sells, although you probably won’t get rich. Keep in mind that your primary goal should be to build your writer’s brand and to showcase your skills with this unique form of storytelling that’s here to stay—not a flash in the pan.

 

CRITICISMS THAT HAVE HELPED ME

 

By Bonnie Stanard

It’s been said that Virginia Wolfe couldn’t write a bad sentence. Good for her, but I’m talking about me and my writing. When I began to write, I eagerly showed up at workshop with expectations of glory. I was so pleased with what I had written that I expected praise. Needless to say, I was in for a rude awakening. Didn’t understand it? Vague? Confusing?

I left the workshop thinking my poem only needed to be understood, not improved. I took criticism as the fault of the critic. After I got to know the work of other writers in the workshop, it became obvious that I was a weed (and a green one at that) in a flower patch.

Not to give workshops all the credit, I’ve learned the importance of interpreting criticisms. Obviously you can’t and shouldn’t take to heart every suggestion in revising your work. At the same time that I listen to criticisms, I filter them. Therein lies the challenge of figuring out if you need to defend or rethink something you’ve written.

A good critique is honest and respectful. I like to think I can take even the most damaging comment as long as I believe the critic is trying to help me and in general has respect for my work.

 HELPFUL CRITICISM

Most importantly, it will address specific passages or words. I listen to these:

— Doesn’t ring true

— Repetitious

— Lacks suspense or lags

— Discrepancy in character or time or plot

— Derivative, unoriginal (been done before)

— Weak construction (passive voice/cliché/wordy)

 

UNHELPFUL CRITICISM

I do not want to provide a guide for responses. That’s why questions to me about the work I’ve submitted are unhelpful. I’m not in workshop to explain what I’ve written. I’m there to get reactions. These comments may be honestly delivered, but how will they help me improve my writing?

— Questions about my motive for writing it

— Generalities like “slow,” or “great!”

— Weak/poor concept

— Suggestions about how to fix it (don’t assume I’m going to)

“Just don’t get it” is unhelpful if referencing a story or poem, but it can be helpful if said about a sentence.

Worse than unhelpful criticism is no criticism. If the room falls silent after I’ve read, I have to think my work has generated so little interest nobody cares enough to find fault with it.

If you go home at the end of workshop thinking your writing needs no improvement, maybe you’re a Virginia Wolfe. Or maybe you weren’t listening. Or maybe the criticisms were weak. Some people think it’s kind to say only good things in workshop without realizing they’re doing their fellow writers a disservice. Some criticisms that have upset me in workshop have turned out to be good advice once I’ve had time to think about them.

I’m not inviting my fellow writers to take shots at my work at the next workshop, but I look forward to being there and to hearing what they have to say about whatever I’ve written.

 

 

I HAVE an IDEA for a STORY!

By Sharon May 

We hear (or say) that all the time. Just what we’ve been looking for. We savor the moment, and then realize someone else already used it. How can we put a twist on a common plot line and make a story like no other? Don’t want to waste ideas. Some writers say we can run out of ideas.

 Where do they come from? Some writers swear their muse takes care of that task. Others keep scraps of ideas stuck in books and corners of desks. Just in case the muse is on vacation, I like believing there are sources for us to mine.

The perceived world around us is one source. We hear bits of conversations and want the whole story. We see someone whose image sticks with us, and becomes a character. We smell Grandma’s house though it’s long gone. We touch a lover and remember others. We take a bite of an exquisite dessert and taste the individual ingredients.

 The imagination is the mind at work. We dream, create things that may or may not exist in the exterior world. We mull over and examine a thought or image from every angle. We toy with this and that until we can articulate an idea.

 The most amazing source is the soul, where ideas haunt us until they are through with us. The soul’s ideas that must be written and is often a story only we can tell. You know the one – it’s that novel that you spent most of your life writing.

Getting an idea is only the beginning. Ideas have to be expanded into plots, characters, settings, dialogue, conflicts, themes. The story has to be built the same way a house comes out of a design.

What happens when the idea grows away from us and we lose control? I wrote a 4-page story last year on an idea I got from a real-life incident of a package which contained a child’s gift being stolen out of a car and then given to the thief’s son for his birthday. I thought it finished but the idea wouldn’t be quiet.

I began revising it, filling in the gaps and discovering lots about the characters and their relationship. Suddenly the boy’s mom appeared. I had thought her long gone if not dead. At first, she led me to believe she would die from a drug overdose. She had plans of her own. Sixteen pages later, I’m still revising by letting the characters and plot evolve without my interference. The thief still gives the boy the stolen gift as in the original, but that’s the only similarity.

Sometimes when we are stymied, it may well be that we are trying to control the story and characters too much. We may have to give up micro-managing, and let the idea expand into the story it wants to tell.

 

 

FACTS, NONFICTION, and CREATIVE NONFICTION

By Ruth P. Saunders

Creative nonfiction is factually based, and in contrast to other styles of nonfiction, should  engage the reader through description of the setting and use of a literary tone. “Pure” nonfiction, if it exists, presents only facts in a scholarly manner. Both entail research and do not invent, add, or deceive.

To make the distinction more concrete, below is an excerpt from one of my creative nonfiction stories, “Driven to Distraction.” It is about a family driving lesson I had in my teens.

Creative Nonfiction:

On that warm Sunday morning, I sat self-consciously behind the wheel. Daddy was in the passenger seat, and Momma was in the back with my brother and sister. Before the car was in motion, Daddy and Momma braced their bodies as though they were preparing for the impact of an imminent crash. My sister and brother were more relaxed and looking forward to some entertainment at the expense of their older sister on the way to church. I took a deep breath.

…

With rising pitch and sense of annoyance Daddy exclaimed, “Turn if you are going to turn. Get on the road!” A sibling echoed, “Yeah, don’t go so slow!”

I speeded up.

Momma pleaded, “Not so fast. Slow down!” A sibling repeated, “Yeah, slow down!”

I slowed down.

Momma: “Not that slow—you have to drive.” A sibling restated, “Yeah, go faster!”

 

Below the same information is written in an academic nonfiction form for this blog.

Nonfiction:

I sat in the driver’s seat, Daddy sat in the passenger seat, and Momma and my siblings were in the back. My parents, but not my siblings, appeared to be tense at the outset of the journey to church.

…

With obvious emotion in their voices, each member of the family provided often contradictory instructions for how I should drive.

 

The original is told in the tone of a story, includes contextual details revealing the perspective of the writer, and is designed to engage the reader. The second version uses an academic style, removes most contextual information, and is more likely to be described as “objective.” Both versions portray the same event. Facts were recalled from my memory, which is fallible, but were verified with my sister and brother, who shared the experience. So far, the first version follows creative nonfiction “rules.”

 

But what about “do not invent, add, or deceive?” There was no deception, and nothing was added to my recollection of the event, but the story dialog was invented because details of the conversation were lost from memory over time.

 

The standard guiding my writing was “to stay true to my authentic self and experiences.”  I believe this story meets that standard. But, having only fragments of memory to work with, I created the dialogue presented in this story. Does this invention violate a tenet of creative nonfiction? Or it a justifiable use of literary style to enhance readability?

 

 

Sources comparing nonfiction and creative nonfiction:

https://www.donnajanellbowman.com/2010/08/25/nonfiction-vs-creative-nonfiction-vs-historical-fiction/

https://www.creativenonfiction.org/online-reading/line-between-fact-and-fiction

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creative_nonfiction