I WANT MEANINGFUL QUESTIONS, NOT JUST ANSWERS

By Raegan Teller

If you’ve read my previous blog posts, you know I’ve refocused my attention on writing and studying short fiction for the next year or so. Making the transition from writing five novels to penning short fiction has been nearly as challenging as it was to move from business writing to murder mysteries nearly eight years ago.

Part of my developmental plan is to read a short story a day. I’ll admit, I sometimes miss my goal. I’m also trying to read as much variety as possible: Hemingway, Stephen King, Alice Munro, the New Yorker’s contemporary stories—and everything in between. Some of the stories have been enjoyable but not memorable. Conversely, some stories some I didn’t particularly like have stayed on my mind. What makes a story memorable for me isn’t whether I like it but whether I engage with it. For example, I’ve read hundreds of well-written novels I enjoyed but then soon forgot. In a novel, loose ends are generally tied up at the end and because it’s typically spread over 300 or so pages, the impact is diluted. My conclusion: short fiction’s magic lies in what’s not said and its concentration of meaning.

When I read a story, I want to use my imagination. Since every word counts in short fiction, the writer must ration each word and sentence, which leaves a lot for readers to create for themselves. I believe this co-creation between writer and reader is critical. What is this story really about? How does it make me look at the world differently? And I love stories with ambiguous endings that engage my imagination. Of course, I’ve read some stories where too much is left unsaid, causing confusion. But when this delicate balance is achieved, I engage with the story at a deeper level—and it stays with me a long time.

Two examples of engaging stories different in length, structure, and tone are “The Caxton Private Lending Library & Book Depository” by John Connolly and “Sticks” by George Saunders. Both are award-winning stories I encourage you to read if you haven’t already. Connolly’s delightful short tale created so many enticing questions for me. I wanted to know more about these odd characters who came to the bookstore, so my imagination worked full tilt and continued long after I finished. On the other hand, Saunders’ flash fiction is a paradox because it tells us so much, and yet so little, about this father and his family.

At this point, I would be remiss if I didn’t state the obvious: not everyone reacts to short fiction in the same way. A friend of mind read “Sticks” and felt it lacked a tidy ending. Yes, of course it did. That’s why it was memorable. If it had been tied up neatly with a bow, I would have forgotten it long ago instead of reading it several times a year. You see, as a reader, I want meaningful questions, not just answers.

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE: WRITING TOOL OR THREAT?

By Raegan Teller

My introduction to artificial intelligence (AI) was the 1968 movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. In the story, HAL is an AI computer that controls the systems of the Discovery One spacecraft and interacts with the ship's astronauts. At the time, it was mere science fiction.

Fast forward to 2021: AI is now a reality. Some applaud its evolution; others warn us. The late theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking said in 2014, "The development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race." Strong words.

But I want to discuss the more immediate effect of AI on writers and editors. In 2019, the first AI-written textbook was published, Lithium-Ion Batteries, a machine-generated summary of current research. And in 2020, approximately 50 freelance news editors at MSN were dismissed and replaced by AI-driven robots that optimize content by rewriting headlines or adding better photographs or slide shows. Dan Kennedy, a journalism professor at Northeastern University, believes AI-generated writing represents “a real threat” to writers.

Since AI runs on algorithms, it can effectively produce non-fiction writing, especially formulaic news reporting or other data-driven content. But what about fiction writing? Or poetry and other creative writing?

Creative writers are driven by curiosity and imagination. We draw on our human traits—empathy, anger, love, and determination, to name a few. We look for deeper meaning and express ourselves through writing. A computer can’t do that . . . can it?

Experiments using AI to write novels and poetry demonstrate that AI pulls from existing text and expands on it. Most of these experiments begin by feeding a first line or first paragraph to AI and then it completes the writing using an algorithm. For example, AI can be programmed to associate love and joy, or death and sorrow. For now, at least, AI can’t start with a blank page and produce original, inspiring prose or poetry (a problem some human writers share).

In a 2021 New Yorker article, novelist and essayist Stephen Marche said, “Whatever field you are in, if it uses language, it is about to be transformed.” Also in that article, Amit Gupta, a former science fiction writer and co-founder of Sudowrite, an AI writing app, predicts writers will use AI to produce copy and then edit it to provide deeper meaning where needed.

Before you dismiss all of this as mere science fiction, consider this: commercial fiction is written using a story structure similar to an algorithm. Certain things must happen in the first act of the story, other things in the middle, and so forth. And if you’ve ever studied a story arc or a character arc, it’s basically an algorithm. Even the rhythm and patterns of freeform poetry can be learned and emulated by AI. The New Yorker article referenced above has an interesting example of an AI written poem.

So, is AI a threat or a tool for writers? It depends on whether we decide to jump on board, or in front of, this seemingly unstoppable train.                                                         

IN PURSUIT of SHORT FICTION PERFECTION

By Raegan Teller

\In a blog post I wrote nearly three years ago, “In Praise of Short Fiction,” I committed to honing my short fiction skills. While also publishing two more books in my Enid Blackwell series during this period, I diligently began studying this short form of writing. As a result, I’ve learned a lot and have been exposed to some wonderful short fiction writers and their stories.

Recently, I attended a virtual event hosted in Cork County, Ireland, “In Praise of the Short Story.” Three renowned Irish writers discussed the difference between writing novels and short fiction. I took pages of notes, but one nugget stuck with me: novels expand meaning; short stories concentrate meaning. But how does one achieve concentrated meaning? I wanted to learn more.

As a result, I began studying George Saunders. His story “Sticks” is the epitome of concentrated meaning. Last year, I read a collection of his stories, but the most valuable information on short fiction is in his latest book, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. Saunders is a professor at Syracuse University, and reading this book is like sitting in his classroom. He uses translated Russian short stories by Leo Tolstoy, Anton Chekhov, and others to teach short fiction. Saunders instructs the reader on what makes each story work and how it’s done. All the stories have universal, timeless themes. But it is Saunders’ analysis of each story that makes this book worth reading.

One of the best chapters in his book is “The Heart of the Story,” which contains this quote by Saunders: “To write a story that works, that moves the reader, is difficult, and most of us can’t do it.” Later in the chapter, he goes on to discuss some of his earlier stories. “I had chosen what to write, but I couldn’t seem to make it live.” These comments reflect on his earlier struggles with the form and how he eventually found his short fiction voice. His comments were both sobering and inspiring.

In his chapter “The Wisdom of Omission,” Saunders quotes Anton Chevkov: “The secret in boring people lies in telling them everything.” Saunders reiterates that learning what not to include in your story is just as important as what you do include. It’s a lesson I revisit again each time I write short fiction.

Saunders’ book is not an easy read. In fact, I’ve read portions of it dozens of times to understand his teachings. Of one story, “Alyosha the Pot,” Saunders proclaims it “perfect.” Ironically, Tolstoy himself didn’t like the story, calling it unfinished. I can’t claim to know a perfect story when I read one, but I do know this: some stories stay with me long after reading them. Like all good short stories, this one brims with concentrated meaning, forcing the reader to keep processing it. If that means “perfect,” then I agree with Saunders.

As for me, I’ll likely never reach Saunders’ level of perfection. But I’ll keep trying.

MY STORY FOUND a HOME

 

By Raegan Teller

If you write short fiction for publication, you know that sometimes placing your story is as challenging, if not more so, than writing it. My editor told me she wrote a story she tried to place for more than eight years before it was published. Her point in telling me was to say every story has a home—you just have to keep searching for it. Of course, it goes without saying the story must be well written, but many great stories go unpublished because they are homeless.

My editor’s words stayed with me during the past year. Like many writers, I found it difficult to stay focused during the pandemic. At times, I couldn’t work on my fifth book, and I even had trouble reading a full novel. Determined to keep going, I turned to reading and writing short fiction. Perhaps, I thought, these stories would be a better fit for my shortened attention span.

During that time, I wrote a story that came to me in a dream. The following morning, I quickly scribbled the outline so I wouldn’t forget it. Later, I sat down and wrote it, and then edited and polished it over a couple of months.

Not to digress, but another problem I’ve found publishing short stories is that if you write on speculation without a specific publication in mind, finding a home for your story is even harder. One successful short story writer advised to write only stories specifically requested by publishers. Typically, these calls for stories focus on a theme for a publication or an anthology. Her advice was to treat stories as an assignment for which you’re writing. Her sage advice made sense, but just the thought of an “assignment” gave me chilling memories of schoolwork. So, I do the opposite: I write a story and then look for its home.

So, back to my dream story. It could be classified as paranormal or sci-fi, or as one of the many sub-genres, which made the search for its home even more confounding. (Amazon has more than 16,000 genres!) Luckily, I found an online publisher calling for themed stories for an anthology. From their description, my story seemed to be a perfect fit. I eagerly submitted it and waited for the publisher to agree with me.

Obviously, I wouldn’t be writing about this story if it had been accepted. It was rejected, and I was dejected. So, I put the story aside for a while. Then this week, I was meeting with a friend who recently lost her granddaughter in a horrific accident. Since my story’s theme is life-after-death, I took a copy to her in hopes she would find comfort in it.

As she read it, tears streamed down her face. When she finished, she looked at me and said, “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I can’t wait for my family to read this.” At that moment, I knew my story had found a home.

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.”

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.

 

FINDING YOUR MUSE

By Raegan Teller

Creative types talk about having a muse, and I used to wonder what they meant. Is a muse an actual person? In Greek mythology, nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, were muses who presided over the arts and sciences. In more recent history, muses were typically women who inspired male artists or writers and were often their lovers or spouses. For example, F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of The Great Gatsby, credits his wife Zelda Sayre as being his muse.

But not all muses are women, and in fact, not all muses are people—at least not living, breathing beings. In fact, the Oxford dictionary defines a muse as a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative person. If you happen to have a real person as your muse, congratulations. I often get inspiration from friends and family, but what I want to discuss here is the “personified force.”

The muse lives in the right side of the brain—the creative side. Our critic lives in the left hemisphere—the analytical side. Most of us can easily tap into our critic, but how can we access our creative side where the muse lives? For some, their muse can be invoked through a ritual, like lighting a candle, playing a certain type of music, practicing meditation, or through right-brain-sparking exercises like freewriting.

I found my muse, whom I named Daphne, through an exercise called subdominant handwriting, recommended by a creative life coach. Since I’m right-handed, my left is subdominant. My process was to write a question I wanted to have answered (e.g., a troublesome plot point) with my dominant hand. Then I switched the pen to my subdominant hand to respond. According to some neurological research, this process allows you to access the lesser-used region of your brain. I can validate the research by saying that when I tap into my subdominant side, I manifest creative, expressive, and insightful thoughts.

The more I practiced subdominant handwriting, the more the ideas came to me, and the clearer the messages became. My creative juices flowed from a much deeper place. Eventually, this inspirational force became a personified presence, and I could shut my eyes and see my muse’s face (“hello, Daphne”).

To be clear, I don’t write an entire story or book with my left hand. This exercise just helps me tap into my right brain more easily than simply writing, which is a linear, left-brain process. If you want to know more about subdominant handwriting , I recommend The Power of Your Other Hand.

You can access your own personified force through freewriting or other right-brain exercises. Or you might try adding a ritual that signals your brain you’re ready to connect with your muse. I encourage you experiment and find whatever works best for you. When you make contact, then nurture and treasure your new friend.  

Do you have a muse? I’d love to hear from you.

STANDALONE OR SERIES?

By Raegan Teller

At some point, every author must decide if their book is going to be a standalone book or the beginning of a series. Either option has long-term consequences and rewards. You might be tempted to ask, “What do my readers want?” Some readers prefer a standalone book because they don’t want to commit to a series, and they like to explore various authors. But there are also readers who prefer a series and are extremely loyal to those writers. These readers become attached to the characters and anxiously await the next volume.

However, the standalone vs. series decision is more about the characters themselves than trying to anticipate reading habits. At the end of the first book, do the characters have more stories to tell? Are they interesting enough that readers want to know more about them? Is the main story, or any of the subplots, left unresolved at the end? If so, perhaps a series is the best choice.

Let’s say you decide to write a series that tells a “sweeping story” across multiple volumes. In doing so, you’re asking readers to commit to the entire series to learn the whole story. Not all readers want to read every book. And some readers may be upset when they realize the main plot isn’t resolved at the end. Another way to handle a series is to have the protagonist and some or all of the minor characters continue across multiple books, as Sue Grafton did in her twenty-five-volume alphabet series. With this approach, each book resolves its main plot, although some of the subplots may carry forward to the next volume. You must then decide how much backstory to give readers who may start in the middle or at the end of the series. What will readers need to know to understand what’s going on? How much information from the previous volumes are you willing to disclose? Whether you decide to write one big story across a series or a series of discrete stories with repeat characters, it’s wise to do your research and be aware of the pitfalls and rewards of each approach.

Consider also that while each book has a story arc, a series must also arc. J.K. Rowling plotted and wrote the entire seven-book Harry Potter series before she published the first book. I didn’t appreciate her wisdom until I was writing the second volume of my series and had to step back and plan the overall series.

Should you decide to write a series, I respectfully offer a word of caution. Don’t allow yourself to get lazy due to familiarity with the characters or to assume your readers will continue to be loyal no matter what. It’s inevitable that within a series, some volumes will be better than others. However, we’ve all read series that started out good but fizzled and should have ended earlier—or never been a series at all. But a well-done series is brilliant.  

EYES WIDE OPEN

By Raegan Teller

At book signings, people often tell me they aspire to do what I do: publish a book and see their name on the cover. That’s understandable. For many of us; writing is in our DNA. We journal, we write a few stories or poems here and there—all worthy efforts and good for our creative psyche. So it’s only natural to consider taking our writing to the next level and becoming a published author.

I always encourage people to pursue their dreams and to keep writing no matter what. But for the writers who aspire to publish and sell their work, I offer some humble advice: know what you’re getting into. As a former management consultant and executive coach, I worked across many industries and non-profit organizations, and publishing is one of the craziest fields I’ve ever seen. Just ask any professional author and they’ll likely agree.

You see, when you jump over that chasm from writer to published author, you have to be both an introverted person who can hole up for months, or even years, to write a project and be an extroverted person who reaches out and markets tirelessly. Additionally, you take on a whole set of responsibilities you might not have bargained for. You’re required to have a polar-opposite set of skills that cover the spectrum from tedious left-brain tasks to big-picture, right-brain planning.

Here are a few tasks that are consistently on my to-do list: plan, outline, and write the next book, story or project; edit/rewrite work that’s already written to prepare for publication; explore and visit book signing locations; attend signings; maintain and track a personal inventory of books; create marketing plans; manage my online presence at Amazon, other sites, and on social media; update my blog and website; look for new story ideas; attend workshops for continuous learning; enter contests, network . . . I could go on and on. Oh, and did I mention things like spend time with friends and family, manage a household, plan meals, go to the gym, and carve out some quality “me” time? And just know that publishing more books doesn’t always make it easier (actually, it’s more challenging—more of everything). But you do learn a lot along the way, especially about how to protect your sanity. You must be organized, learn to say “no,” and set boundaries with people who ask for too much of your time. No college guidance counselor would ever recommend that someone pursue such a crazy career. Yet, as writers we do just that.

My purpose in saying all this is not to overwhelm aspiring writers or to wallow in self-pity—and certainly not to discourage anyone. On the contrary, I have fulfilled my dream of being an author and wouldn’t change that for anything. And for those you who want to do the same, I wish you well. But if you choose to take the next step of this fabulous journey, just do so with eyes wide open.

WHAT'S OLD IS NEW AGAIN

By Raegan Teller

Increasingly at book signings, I am asked if my books are available in audio format. I’ve said, “No, I’m sorry” so many times that I’ve been thinking about the recent resurgence in audiobooks. While this format still sells less than print or ebooks, audiobooks are the fastest growing segment of book sales according to multiple reader surveys.

Marketing experts will tell you this rise is due to one thing: multitasking. A reader can listen to a book while driving, doing the laundry, cooking, or just relaxing. Smart phones and tablets are all the equipment needed to listen anywhere. Audiobooks are especially popular with readers ages 25 to 34, a group known for its short attention span and proclivity to perform simultaneous tasks. While it’s hard to argue with market results, I’d like to respectfully challenge the notion that it’s all about multitasking.

As I’ve said in previous blog posts, storytelling is in our DNA. That assertion is backed by science and historians. And it all began with oral storytelling around 15,000 BCE. Stories were a way to entertain and to pass information along to others. For brevity, let’s fast forward from there to the 1930’s golden age of radio in the US. Listeners tuned in to hear soap operas, like The Guiding Light, crime dramas, like The Shadow, and science fiction, like The War of the Worlds, which was so realistic a panic was set off because listeners thought Martians had actually invaded earth.

Fast forward again to 2014: the podcast Serial was an investigative journalism story told over multiple episodes. Suddenly, everyone was talking about Adnan Syed. Was he guilty—or not? Serial podcasts helped rekindle the pleasure of having someone tell us a story. About a year later, audiobook sales began to surge. Coincidence?

Which brings me to another point: oral storytelling creates more of an emotional impact than reading. Research by the esteemed University College London summarized it this way: “The statistical evidence was very strong that audiobooks produced a stronger emotional and physiological response than visual storytelling mediums. This finding is consistent across different stories, and different participant ages and demographics.” Audible’s CEO and Founder, Don Katz proclaimed, “Audible was founded because we believe deeply in the impact that powerful listening experiences can have on hearts and minds.” In other words, the oldest storytelling format is new again.

But what does all this mean for writers? Some authors are now writing specifically for audio format, skipping print and ebooks altogether. Audiobook publishers like ACX and Findaway Voices are making entry into this field more accessible. However, hiring a good voice actor is not cheap. Acting a story, with different character voices and effective voice inflection, is an art unto itself. While most experts argue against authors reading their own material, I remember a few years back when they said, “don’t self-publish.” Since then there has been an explosion of successful, independently published books, so stay tuned and watch the audiobook trend. I know I will.

Coach Your Characters to Self-Discovery

By Raegan Teller

In a past work life, I was an executive coach. A coach facilitates discussions with others to help them gain self-awareness, clarify goals, achieve their objectives, and unlock their potential. Rarely does a coach “tell” someone what to do or offer direct advice. Instead, she asks insightful questions that lead to self-discovery. While professional coaching requires many hours of training, any writer can employ simple coaching techniques to develop characters.

I can’t take credit for creating this writing technique, but I have used it for years and can say it’s truly magical. My readers have said things like “your characters literally jump off the page” or “I feel like I know these characters personally.”

What I discovered was that the typical character profile is the equivalent of “telling” characters who they are, what they believe, and how they are supposed to behave. If you have flat characters, it may be because you don’t have enough insight into what drives them to act or react when faced with your plot. Through a coaching-type process, you can gain a deeper understanding of characters than you can with typical writing techniques.

Here’s how it works. If you are further developing an existing character, or creating a new one, as I was this week for the fourth book of my Enid Blackwell series, simply coach that character to self-discover who he or she is. You do so by asking the character a series of questions. For example, ask your character to respond in first person to the questions below. You simply answer as though you are that character. Write stream-of-consciousness style for a full five minutes. If you run out of steam, simply reply, “I don’t know what else to say,” over and over until you can resume. Set a timer on your phone or computer and don’t cheat by stopping early. Some of the most revealing character revelations come near the end of the five-minute session.  

Here are some examples of character-coaching questions:

· How would you finish this sentence: Everything will make sense when . . .?

· What do you see when you look in the mirror?

· What was the most defining moment of your life?

· Who was the most influential person in your life—why?

· What are five things you want to do before you die?

Note that these are “deep” questions, not superficial ones like, “What’s your favorite color?” There’s nothing wrong with asking easy questions, but you won’t learn much from them.

Remember that when you are writing in first person as your character, you must resist the urge to force the answers. You are merely the conduit—the reply should come from your character. While it may seem weird at first, close your eyes and try to hear your characters talking to you. If you can push your preconceived notions about them aside for five minutes and just let them talk, you’ll be amazed at what they have to say. 

I HOPE I’M WRONG

By Raegan Teller

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about bookstores. As a child, I believed they were magical spaces. I could spend hours walking up and down the aisles, running my hand reverently across the spines of beloved books. It never occurred to me that one day I would doubt bookstores are relevant.

Over the past year, reports have enthusiastically proclaimed headlines like “Independent Bookstores Are Thriving” or “Independent Bookstores Grow for the Second Year After a 20-Year Decline.” After reading many of these articles and hoping they are right, I’m not convinced. While many of the independent bookstores have survived, and even grown, they have drastically changed their business models. Many are in smaller towns, and they host a wide variety of events, not just the typical author signings. These stores have rebranded themselves as entertainment and social hangouts. I applaud their vision. However, it’s likely many of the other, less visionary, indie bookstores won’t fare as well. And, the future of big book stores, like Barnes & Noble and Books-A-Million, is definitely not good.

What does this all mean for writers? Where do we sell our work? As one author recently said to me, “You can’t think out of the box, because there is no box.” She’s right. I suspect if you looked at all the places, physical and online, where writers have an opportunity to sell their work, you’d see that there are more places than ever. Short fiction is on the rise again, and people are reading on their phones, listening to audio books or to serialized books on podcasts. Despite the current decline, I think ebooks will rebound, because it’s just too darn convenient to carry hundreds of books in the palm of your hand. The bulk of today’s readers are middle-aged, and as they grow older, many of them may turn to e-readers, like Kindle and Nook, because they can enlarge the print. Young people today use digital textbooks, so it’s highly likely that if they read a book, it will be an ebook. Having said all this, my point is not to make a pitch for digital or audio books. In fact, I sell far more print copies of my books that I do ebooks. I want bookstores and print books to go on forever. But I’m also a realist.

The point I am trying to make is that writers should not assume the decline of physical bookstores necessarily signals a further decline in reading. As my statistics professor pounded into me, “correlation is not causation.” These two issues are related but separate. As writers, we must seek out alternative venues for book signings, explore audio and digital options, develop online sales opportunities, and keep the faith. I believe humans crave stories and will continue to seek them out in some form. But I also believe that bookstores will become irrelevant.

Just know that I hope I’m wrong.

WHAT'S in YOUR VISION?

By Raegan Teller

This week when I went to spin class at the gym, it was packed. The “regulars” were far outnumbered by the “resolutioners”—people who resolve each January to exercise and get fit. While I applaud these new folks for making the effort, I know many of them will fade away after a month or two and abandon their resolutions. It happens every year.

Sadly, the same thing happens to writers. Starting off the new year, we commit to writing every day or to other goals “they” tell us we must do to be a successful writer. And then, we drift away from those goals because we’re too busy, or other priorities present themselves. Success stories of writers who make lofty goals and achieve great results inspire and excite us. At least, in the short run. We ask, “Why do they succeed, but we can’t?”

I am not at all suggesting that you give up on writing, or losing weight, or exercising, or whatever your intentions may be. But, if you haven’t achieved what you wanted to by now, instead of setting the same goals, year after year, step back and ask yourself some key questions. For example:

·         Why do I write?

·         What does success look like for me?

·         How can I incorporate writing into my life in a way that will bring me joy?

·         How much of my life do I realistically want to devote to writing and related activities?

·         Am I focused on the right things for me?

·         If I haven’t achieved what I wanted to by now, what’s holding me back?

For years, I struggled to make myself sit down and write regularly. I told myself I was too busy, didn’t have the “right” idea for a book, and so forth. While some of those excuses were partially true, I knew they weren’t really holding me back. Then one day, I decided to visualize what success would look like for me as a writer.

At first, letting go of my preconceived notions of writing success was hard. Bong! Then it hit me. I realized I was holding onto someone else’s definition of a successful writer, and it was hindering me. That lofty goal of becoming a NYT best-selling author that I had held onto for years was turning me off. That wasn’t the life I wanted. Every time I thought of traveling around the country, living in a suitcase, I cringed. While the odds of my becoming a national best-selling author were remote, just the thought (or threat) of it held me back. When I replaced that vision with me being a successful Southern writer, talking to local book clubs, do signings at regional events and festivals—doing all the things l love—I was then able to write the first book, then the second, and now a third. Never underestimate the power of visualization. It can work for or against you.

What’s in your vision?

LEARNING to BE the “OTHER” PERSON

By Raegan Teller

At a recent signing event, another author said to me, “Selling books is hard.” When he walked away, I felt a bit overwhelmed. Would I ever master the marketing skills I need? And then I remembered saying to myself about five years ago, “Will I ever master the skills I need to write a book?”

If you are writer, you know there’s a long list of skills you must have, whether you’re producing a book, short story, or poem. Even if you know how to write a decent sentence, you must learn structure, pacing, and storytelling, to name a few. The list of required writing skills is long, but that isn’t all.

Sometime after my first book was published, I realized that I’m expected to be two, totally different people: an accomplished writer and a marketing genius. On top of that, the skills and behaviors needed to master each role are opposites in many ways. Yen and Yang. How could I become proficient at both?

To confront my being-two-people dilemma, I recalled Martin Broadwell’s four stages of learning I had used often in my consulting practice. When I began writing my first novel, I was at the level of “unconscious incompetence”: I didn’t know what I didn’t know. After writing that book for the next three years, I reached the next level of learning: “conscious incompetence.” I was beginning to realize what I didn’t know—and it was scary. As they say, “Ignorance is bliss.”

While writing the next two books, I honed my writing skills through continuous studying and feedback. Now, I’m able to write at the level of “conscious competence.” But while I have the skills, writing is still hard work and requires a lot of mental energy.

But what about becoming the “other” person I mentioned earlier? Could I also become a marketing genius? Even now, I’m still at the lowest level of learning for those skills: unconscious incompetence. Every day, I learn something I didn’t even realize I was supposed to know. Things like learning how to navigate through the behemoth Amazon maze seems like learning to fly a fighter jet. Slowly, I’m beginning to figure out what I don’t know when it comes to marketing books. While I might be approaching conscious incompetence, I’m nowhere near the final level: unconscious competence. Malcolm Gladwell says it takes approximately 10,000 hours of practice to achieve that level of mastery. I may not live long enough to see that day, but one can hope . . . and keep learning.

All of this is to say, yes, you can be two different people with different skills and behaviors. One role may be easier and more natural than the other. You’ll learn those skills quicker. But on a parallel learning track, it may take you a bit longer to acquire the skills and assume the behaviors you need to become the “other” person. That’s okay. Just remember, the learning process is the same: one level at a time.

IN PRAISE OF SHORT FICTION

By Raegan Teller

Let me begin with a confession. Until recently, I turned my nose up at short fiction. I admit it. I was a novel snob. The late actor Cary Grant once said, “Ah, beware of snobbery; it is the unwelcome recognition of one's own past failings.”

My failure to appreciate the value of short fiction was founded in a misbelief that it takes a lot of words to tell a good story. Even though I had studied stories by Eudora Welty, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain and others in various college classes, I wasn’t sold on the unique value of short fiction. I still longed to be immersed in longer works.

Well, that was then. Now, my life is crazy and over-scheduled at times. I love to read, but I simply don’t have time to enjoy novels as much as I used to. So, I have re-introduced short fiction into my reading.

To address this no-time-to-read issue many of us have, the Richland Library and dozens of other places across the country have installed short-story kiosks. You press 1, 3, or 5 minutes to choose how much time you want to spend reading a story, and out spews a story, printed on a strip of eco-friendly paper about four inches wide. These kiosks are showing up in airports and other places all over the world in effort to encourage all of us to read more with less time.

As a writer, I have another confession: short stories are harder for me to write than a novel. It took me years to figure out my novel-writing process so I could arc appropriately, manage subplots, plant red herrings, develop characters, construct scenes, and then pull all those pieces together into a coherent mystery novel. Erroneously, I thought writing a short story would be a piece of cake.

What I’ve learned is that short fiction is truly an art form unto itself, not just a shorter, easier version of something else. On the bulletin board above my desk I’ve posted Hemingway’s famous six-word story: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” It’s a reminder of how powerful a few words can be and how difficult it is to wield that power artfully.

As another reminder of the significance of short stories, I recently read an article about the large number of movie scripts adapted from short stories. Here’s just a few: 2001: a space odyssey, Brokeback Mountain, The Shawshank Redemption, 3:10 to Yuma, and Minority Report. There are many more.

Now that I’ve had this epiphany about short fiction, what does that mean for me as a writer? For one thing, I’ll give as much attention to developing my short-story writing skills as I do to novel writing. That means I need to write more short fiction, seek critiques, and keep learning. And I’ll re-read some of the great stories and learn from the masters. Most importantly, I won’t ever turn my nose up at short fiction again.  Promise.

UNLOCK YOUR BRAIN WITH A MIND MAP

By Raegan Teller

About twenty years ago, I received an offer to try out MindJet, a mind mapping software. I downloaded the free trial and was hooked within minutes. Decades and many upgrades later, it is still my go-to writing tool for outlining, story plotting, and many other uses. Since Mindjet is now over $300, I’d recommend Scapple ($14.99) or some other free or inexpensive mind mapping applications you can find online. Or, you can simply draw your mind maps the old-fashioned way with paper and pen.

Tony Buzon, the author and education consultant who popularized mind maps, explained them as “a universal key to unlock the potential of the brain.” Remember those word association games? If I say “vacation,” you may think of “beach,” and then your mind jumps to whatever memories you have of your favorite beach trip . . . and so on. Over time, Western civilization has imposed left-brain, linear thinking into our psyches so that we apply logic, organize, and list before we explore and create. (That’s why traditional, linear outlines can kill a good story.) Since our minds don’t naturally function in linear mode, mind maps unlock our brains, as Buzon said.

When you’re starting a book, a short story, or even a scene, your mind may be filled with ideas bouncing around, with your synapses firing away. To tame this “monkey mind” jumble of thoughts, there’s nothing more effective than mind mapping. It allows you to get those thoughts out of your head and onto paper quickly without worrying about sequence or organization. And, if you enjoy brainstorming with yourself, as I do, mind maps can be your best friend.

By the time I sit down to write a book, bits and pieces of it have been bouncing around in my head for months. At that point, I don’t know the whole story, but I can imagine some of the beats: plot events that change the course of the story. They might be in the middle, at the end, or near the beginning. It doesn’t matter at this point, so I start with “Book” in the middle of the map and draw nodes or branches from that central idea for each of the beats. If I can map at least ten key beats, I know I’ve got a potential book.

Once I’ve mapped these beats, I move them around, connecting them in various ways and exploring how they relate to each other. Sometimes, it looks like they’re not related at all, but if I keep mapping, the story emerges. Later, I might map out a specific chapter or scene. Or I might map out a character profile to understand her better. The possibilities are endless.

Given the space limitations of this blog post, I can’t show you visual examples, but I urge you to do an online search (e.g., mind map + writing) and then give mind mapping a try. It could transform the way you write.

LEARNING WHAT NOT TO WRITE

By Raegan Teller

It took me three years to write my first mystery novel, Murder in Madden. During that time, I worked with several wonderful writing instructors. They taught me how to make the shift from business writing to fiction, which wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Much of my previous work focused on instructing readers on how to do something, so step-by-step details were important. But writing fiction was a different animal, as I quickly discovered. I found myself having to unlearn many of my coveted business writing skills. While I knew how to construct a sentence, where to put the commas, and how to apply the grammar rules, I often stumbled, especially during my first attempts. And then, over time, word by word, sentence by sentence, and paragraph by paragraph, I learned how to write fiction.

When I began writing the second book, which only took eight months from the first word to a first draft, I realized I had to learn something else: what not to write. I’m not referring to merely avoiding ornate language or eliminating you-need-a-thesaurus words. Fortunately, my business background had taught me to write at an appropriate comprehension level and to stay within the maximum word count. But, on those occasions when I did get overly descriptive, I followed Elmore Leonard’s 10^th Rule of Writing: Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

My form of overwriting came from something one of my instructors called “temporal linearity.” I tended to instruct the reader on how a character got from one place to another, in a linear fashion, just as I had provided comprehensive details in business writing. Of course, fiction readers need enough information to make logical assumptions, but they don’t need to be led by the hand.

For example, if one scene ends with “Sara” telling her boyfriend she’s going to the library, you can insert a break and begin the next scene in the library. Unless it’s germane to the story, the reader doesn’t need to know how she got in the car, backed out of the driveway, and drove down the street to get to the library where she had to drive around the block three times looking for a parking space. I wasn’t quite that bad, but I did overwrite some scene transitions in my first draft.

Mostly as a reminder to myself, I developed “Raegan’s Rules to Avoid Overwriting.”

1.      Trust your readers to figure out how Sara gets to the library.

2.      Practice writing six-word stories and other forms of micro fiction where you have to tell a story within a strict word limit: writers should spend words like gold.

3.      Read your work aloud. If it sounds boring, it is.

4.      Hire a good editor—listen and learn.

5.      Keep writing and eventually you’ll overcome inexperience.

6.      Continue to overwrite, and you risk arrogance.

Perhaps all I really needed to do was re-read Leonard’s 10^th Rule of Writing.