Tag Archives: editing

All My World’s A Stage

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ImageIt’s time for another peek into my work-in-progress. Last week, I introduced you to the members of the Barnes family, the folks at the center of my new novel. You may have noticed their names are a bit unusual. Just as with my cover, there’s a story behind that, too:

Their mother, Ellie, had been convinced that within her children lay the seeds of greatness. This belief had manifested itself in her choice of names, and so, each child bore the name of a great and powerful leader: Elizabeth, Hannibal, and Alexander.

Portentous though they may have been, the boys’ names were decidedly difficult for young Miss Elizabeth Barnes to pronounce properly (immediately upon learning to babble, she’d shortened her own name). Bibi formally christened her brothers early on: “Dis Nibble,” she’d proclaimed, ruthlessly jabbing the sleeping Hannibal in the head, “an’ dis Lex,” giving little Alexander an equally enthusiastic thumb to the eye. Much to Ellie’s enduring chagrin, Bibi’s names for her brothers stuck fast.

Less than fond of the twins’ tiresome company to begin with, Bibi crowed with glee upon later discovering more fitting (in her mind, anyway) namesakes for her brothers: Superman’s evil arch nemesis Lex Luthor and the fictional mass murderer Hannibal Lecter. (Bibi’s prodigious appetite for books led her more toward the macabre and violent than to the fluffy and pink.)

A friend asked me last week what, if any, feedback I was desiring as I share these bits and pieces. I guess I’m not really looking for any–yet. You see, this stage of writing a book is magical. It is the stage where anything can happen: characters can live or die, be heroes or villains; voyages can be made or forgotten; plots can drive themselves right off a cliff or reach right into my chest and grab hold of my pounding heart. It’s the moment of anything-is-possible.

At this stage, I’m not worrying about feedback; I’m reveling. Feel free to lay your comments on me, but as far as formal feedback goes, I’ll wait and ask for that when I hit the editing stage and feel less like I’m flying and more like I’m drowning.

Keeping Your Work Safe

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When I was a little girl, my younger sister often tagged along behind me. It seemed as though she copied everything I did, which was a source of constant irritation to me. My mother often responded by saying, “Oh, honey, it’s okay; imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Yeah, that didn’t float with me either, back then–I still wanted to beat her up. [If you’re reading this, baby sis, you know I love ya.]

I think there’s some truth to that saying though–don’t you feel good when you see somebody want to borrow your special recipe, or ask where you bought your very tasteful drapes, or where you get your awesomely stylish haircut? It feels good to have people acknowledge the worth of your decisions by emulating them.

For writers, however, too much imitation is a bad thing. After all, who wants to keep reading the same tired plots and story lines over and over again? It gets dull. (And who wants to write them, for that matter?)

Yes, originality is critical, but for some writers, The New can often be hard to come by and they resort to a little bit more imitation than they should (i.e., plagiarism.) There’ve been some big cases of plagiarism in the news in recent years, and by some pretty big names, too. That’s got some writers feeling queasy about sharing even rough excerpts (as I did last week).

But here’s the thing (in case you didn’t know):

The U.S. Copyright Office basically states that your work is protected [for the most part] from the moment you create it and “fix it in a tangible form,” whether it is published or unpublished, although it still recommends that you register your copyright with them, anyway, due to differences in copyright laws abroad. That way, if someone does “imitate” any of your work too closely, you have the right to bring a suit of infringement, something the unregistered copyrights or “poor man’s copyrights” (sending a copy to yourself and dating it) don’t provide.

It’s certainly something to ponder when you’re trying to build your platform by sharing works in progress, but I guess my take on sharing excerpts is that it’s more important for me to get the word out there about what I’m doing, knowing that I’m mostly protected, than to hide my progress under a rock of fear of imitators. I think I’d be flattered someone thought my work good enough to imitate.

On the other hand, maybe those thinking about “borrowing” my stuff too liberally might want to talk with my little sister first to find out what other kinds of things I like to do with rocks…

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Just something I was thinking about on this slow Monday. Look for more excerpts to come.

One Step At A Time

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196716_filesLast time I checked (five minutes ago), my email inbox had 5,299 messages in it. I confess: I’m a virtual hoarder. Maybe that should be one of my 2013 resolutions: cleaning out my inbox.

I save everything. I’ve got project files going back five years; photos of my children when they were babies (um, yeah, ten years ago); order confirmations for gifts given to folks with whom I’m no longer even on speaking terms. You name it; I’ve saved it.

Why so many, you might ask? Well, for one thing, you never know when one of those buried messages might turn out to be vitally important. It’s happened to me, that moment when a client or a family member says, “Does anyone still have this?” It’s a matter of twisted pride for me to be able to say, “Yes! Yes! I have it!”

I thought it was bad last year when the number soared to 3,000, but now that it’s over 5,000, I guess it’s time to do something about it. That brings me to the second reason why I have so many: I have so many! How am I ever supposed to tackle such a huge task?

The answer: one step at a time.

I’ve attempted this before, and obviously, I’ve failed. I start by doing searches for some of the mass-mailer culprits  and delete those as a group. That’s the easy part. The good news is that that empties out a lot of messages very quickly. But once I’ve eliminated all those groups, I start looking at the individual messages and the sheer volume of the task overwhelms me. I find myself paralyzed and rationalizing at an unhealthy pace.

“They’re paperless; it’s not like I’m killing trees or anything.”

“I got rid of 2,000; I bet most people have that many in their inboxes right now.”

“A clean inbox is the sign of a sick mind.”

I even have one of my favorite rationalizations on my mouse pad: “Out of clutter, find simplicity; from discord, find harmony…” Yep, that’s right: you may think my inbox looks messy, but I’m actually a paragon of simplicity and harmony. Stop laughing. God, I love Albert Einstein (that quote is his): the ultimate mad genius. I bet if he were alive today, his inbox messages would number five digits or more.

But I digress.

The only thing for me to do, I suppose, is to try again. I’m nothing if not persistent. How to do it?

Well, breaking any task down into smaller, more manageable steps is the best strategy I know for overcoming task-specific paralysis. You can apply it to virtually any problem, too: household clutter; writing a book; managing your finances; improving your health. Those are all obstacles that can seem insurmountable simply because they just seem so big.

Break ‘em down! Maybe today, all I can do is trim 1,000 messages from my inbox via group search. Maybe today, all you can write is 1,000 words. Maybe today, all you can do is take 1,000 extra steps on your walk. Maybe today, all you can do is recycle all your old magazines from 2012.

Maybe after you’re done, you’ll still feel terrified at what a tremendous mountain still remains to be climbed. But if you only focus on the whole problem in all its terrifying entirety, you’ll never even get started.

So break it down, into the smallest steps possible, and then ask yourself: what can I accomplish today?

Go ahead, try it, it works—I’m already down to 4,613 messages! It’s still a ridiculous amount, but at least it’s one tiny step in the right direction.

The Write Before Christmas

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Wouldn’t it be great to have a jolly, old elf pop in and edit your manuscript for you?

A little holiday cheer, for all you writers out there:

664413_letter_to_santa

The Write Before Christmas

[Yes, Virginia, I wrote this myself.]

‘Twas the cusp of the holidays

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even her mouse

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard with care

Desperately seeking a masterpiece there

Her children all finally upstairs in bed,

The Writer tried to set free the dreams in her head

With her coffee grown cold

And a quilt on her lap,

She wrestled in vain

With a writer’s great trap

For from her stilled keyboard

Came no further clatter

Writer’s block, she knew,

Was the heart of the matter

Distraught, to the window she flew like a flash

Tossing another page into the trash

The glow from her monitor lit up the room

Imparting a sheen of frustration and gloom

When what to her wondering eyes should appear

But a miniature sleigh, all laden with gear

With a spry little driver, so lively and quick

Great Heavens, she thought, could this be St. Nick?

Swifter than rejection letters his reindeer they came

And the dapper little man called each one by name

“Now, Character Development! Now, Tone, Voice, and Diction!

On Dialogue, Plot, Word-Choice, and Flash Fiction!

To this stumped writer’s keyboard at the end of the hall!

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

As writing professors with their red pens do fly

When they tear through an essay offending the eye,

So straight to her manuscript the proofers they flew

With their sleigh full of gear and St. Nicholas, too

Nitpicky hooves clattering, Dialogue muttered “Oof,

If I’d written this tripe, I’d throw myself off the roof!”

Nick smiled at the Writer, joined his proofers at work.

“Don’t mind Dialogue,” he whispered, “Sometimes he’s a jerk.”

The Writer withdrew to a spot in the back

Watching the reindeers clackety-clack

Nick wore a tweed sportcoat, with natty, patched elbows

Enormous bifocals perched atop his snub nose

His fingers were tarnished with toner and ink

He turned with a smile, gave the Writer a wink

His eyes, how they raced through her work at top speed

His fingers so dexterous, doing their deed

His brow, how it furrowed at each pesky ‘graf

“I’m sorry, “ the Writer said. “It’s just my first draft.”

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread

“All that this manuscript needs, my poor dear,

Is a bit more attention here, here, and here.”

He polished each page, worked the point of view over

While his cloven-hoofed proofers munched on some clover

Nick checked both thesaurus and worn dictionary

When at last he was done, his face looked quite merry

“There, now! Just read the feedback I’ve left.

You’ll find the suggestions I’ve made are quite deft.

You’ve got potential, tho’ I’d watch out for trope

Keep up the good work, and don’t ever lose hope.

Like really good stews, manuscripts need to simmer.

So dump that stale coffee, go heat up your dinner.

The more you stare at it, the harder it is:

Sometimes writer’s block is just part of our biz.”

And handing her the new Chicago Manual of Style,

He chortled and winked and turned with a smile.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle

And they left her small office with the speed of a missile.

But she heard Nick exclaim, ere they drove out of sight

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good write!”

Things That Make You Go Argh!

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Let’s talk about mistakes today. We all make them. No matter how we might try to convince ourselves, or those around us, of the contrary, every single man, woman, and child on this blessed planet has made, is possibly making at this moment, and will continue to make, mistakes. Some are big; some are small. Some are stupid; some are careless. Some arise from haste; some arise from a surplus of trust. But we all make them. The difference in how a mistake affects us, however, is determined largely by how we handle it.

One of my favorite mistake-handling moments comes from The Lion King’s Rafiki, bludgeoning Simba with his staff to illustrate his personal take on mistakes (the clip talks about the past, but you get the point): We can either run from mistakes—wham!—or we can learn from them. Lesson: Get hit hard enough, you learn how to duck.

I’ll repeat that, in case you missed it:

Don’t run from your mistakes; learn from them.

Owning up to making a mistake is a tough thing to do. That’s why so many of us tend to run away instead, try to hide the fact that we goofed up, did something wrong. We blame others—any available scapegoat we can find to avoid shouldering that blame ourselves. All too often, the only thing all that responsibility-dodging does is make matters exponentially worse than they would’ve been if we would’ve just admitted to having screwed up, right from the start.

Don’t believe me? Think about the last five or six political scandals—how much more would you have respected those individuals if they would’ve just come clean at the start, said, “Hey, I really messed up. I don’t know what I was thinking, but whatever it was, it was stupid. I am sorry I did it, and I will take the full consequences of my actions.” Wow, politicians behaving honorably in the face of a jumbo, career-destroying screw-up? Yeah, I know—you can tell I write fiction, can’t you?

Well, I’m not a politician. I’m a human being, just like everybody else on the planet, prone to mistakes and missteps. I do try to learn from them, though, to take setbacks and turn them into learning opportunities. Even if the learning took place too late to help me, at least I can use that knowledge to help other people avoid making the same mistakes.

The roughly two weeks since the launch party for Widow Woman have been full of excitement, revelations, and, to be frank, mistakes. There aren’t many things I feel I would do differently, but there are a few. Publishing a book is a crazy, tough journey, and I know that the days and months ahead are going to bring more revelations and probably uncover more mistakes I made. But I’m only human, I’m learning as I go along, and I will happily share those lessons with others out there hoping for a smoother ride.

In the meantime, let me pass along something my wonderful husband shared with me when I bumped face-to-face into one of those mistakes (Errors in my book; fixes on the horizon, but not there yet. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Mine to catch and I missed them.). Without skipping a beat, he reminded me that one of the identifying features that makes a first edition of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby so priceless is the presence of mistakes that were corrected in subsequent editions.

Yeah, that’s right. Those first editions are valuable because the mistakes are there.

Now, I would never, ever, ever, put myself in the same class as Fitzgerald, but I have to admit, I found the notion that we had first-edition mistakes in common extraordinarily comforting.

After all, we’re all first editions, aren’t we?