Actually, this summer has been busier than I expected workwise. But I did have very lovely breaks in Stockholm, Berlin, and the Isle of Wight, and I did get some good reading done, and also adored Orange Is The New Black. And yay, we had sun! Decent summer weather was gratefully received.
Going back to my last post, my reading highlight must have been Donna Tartt’s new novel The Goldfinch, which is FANTASTIC. Maybe I’ll say something about its many wondrous wonders anon, but it’s one of those books where (probably) nothing should be known in advance, so duck the reviews and just get hold of a copy (coming to a bookstore near you in October, and yes, I’m very grateful for friends in high – and lowly – places in publishers, especially when they have access to very desirable advance reading copies). The Goldfinch was for me one of those (increasingly rare) experiences that was really all about the pleasure of reading. I cleared the decks of work and television and friends, and really made time for this great fat book (771 pages), and I finished it in the garden one sunny Friday morning, and the ending made me cry. That pretty little bird, that sweet little bird. I just got teary looking at the end again.
Tomorrow I’m off to the Writers’ Workshop’s Festival of Writing in York. I’m finally catching my breath after typing up notes for thirty one-on-one book doctor sessions, and I’m just here procrastinating before I finish handouts for the workshops on Editing For Writers and How To Write A Sentence. I’m also running a mini-course on the Four Elements of Creativity (woo woo, a bit hippie there, bring on the patchouli) and taking part in a panel on fantasy and science fiction.
And if you’re reading this while thinking about getting feedback from myself or anyone else at York (or most anywhere else, for that matter), don’t be anxious! (Not that you are, of course. But some people can be, especially if they’ve not attended such an event before.) The point of giving and getting feedback in such contexts is finding ways to improve the writing. Some people get nice strokes to the ego too, and sometimes even agents and book deals. But for most people such rewards are further down the line. Usually we’ll be having discussions like: This has a lot of this, but maybe not much of that. Or: This works well, so why don’t you do more of it, or let it stand out more clearly. Or: Have you maybe thought of trying this? Or: Why did you do that? Or: Concrete and specific details, please. Or: Don’t forget to paginate your manuscript. Or: Publishers might HATE this, but do it anyway, because much of the time they don’t know what the hell they’re doing (only kidding – maybe …). So: it’s a dialogue, and it’s pretty relaxed, and intended most of all to be helpful.
And beyond your book doctor sessions and the workshops and keynote speeches and literary competitions that are intended to give you professional insights and fire you with inspiration, you’ll be enjoying the company of writers and readers – and after all, good editors and agents are simply good readers, so they are included there too. It’s likely that there’ll be more work to do, after the weekend, but something that can come immediately is the forming of new friendships with like-minded booklovers, and they will be there in droves.
I’ll report back next week, when regular blog service will resume. Not sure I’ll be doing Friday Writing Experiments, or even posting weekly, but I’ll make regular-ish posts of some sort or other.
More information and booking details are available from the good people of the Writers’ Workshop. They really know how to put together and organise a first-rate programme of events, and in attendance will be lots of writers, agents, editors, and publishers from whom you can glean good advice.
I was at the Writers’ Workshop Getting Published day as a book doctor on Saturday. I met a number of writers to give them feedback on sample material for their proposed submissions to agents, and I also led a workshop on voice, in which I talked about the value of the natural speaking voice. It was a lot of fun, as it always is when you get to meet writers directly. And as ever the Writers’ Workshop people were fun and well organised and direct in addressing the needs of writers: thanks to Harry, Laura, Nikki, Deborah, Lydia, John, and everyone else involved, and it was great to meet the other book doctors again or for the first time.
Here are a few notes to follow up, including some of the resources mentioned during the day.
The workshop * To start, we discussed the idea of trusting the natural speaking VOICE as a vehicle for your writing, and considered how TONE in writing particularly concerns itself with introducing an emotional quality.
* We looked at some examples of professional writing for the structures and patterns we often use in business or academic contexts (e.g., an objective tone; lots of subordinating clauses). Such voices often lack personality, and intentionally. But in fiction or more creative forms, a neutral voice can feel colourless, and fiction can start to feel cluttered by certain forms of syntax that let us pack in or even bury information when we need it. Yet very often, these have become the ways we write – our natural way of writing.
* By contrast, thinking about the NATURAL SPEAKING VOICE (and thinking and remembering voice), we read a selection from Joe Brainard’s ‘I Remember’, and wrote our own versions and then read them aloud. This form is natural and easy to use, and it is notable how it relies on simple sentence structures (okay, we’re going to introduce sentence variety later). It also has the strength of instinctively focusing our writing on concrete and specific words, especially nouns and verbs (adjectives and adverbs are so rarely needed, even if they do add a certain something).
* I read aloud the opening from Zoe Heller’s Notes on a Scandal, and noted not only its gossipy quality, but how every sentence in that first paragraph is directed towards the idea of STORYTELLING or NARRATION. (And what is gossip, if not storytelling?!) We also noted that the voice and tone here belong to a specific PERSONA (in this case, judgemental and even bitchy), and this can enrich the CHARACTERISATION in our work (this being the persona, not the bitchiness – though maybe that too!).
* We also looked at and listened to Jamaica Kincaid’s ‘Girl’ as an example of writing that takes a particular tone, again a judgemental one. I wish I’d had a bit more time to discuss tone, so I’ll mention it briefly here: there are specific ways we can vary the tone in terms of not only form (e.g., word choices, using different parts of speech, sentence lengths, modes of address), but also content (the narrative ingredients selected for observation and inclusion).
Something I did not mention in the workshop was this great statement on simplicity in writing from William Zinsser’s On Writing Well:
the secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that’s already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what—these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence.
That might sound a bit extreme, especially if you’re working in a more literary mode. But this emphasis on simplicity – the simplicity found in the natural speaking voice – is perhaps one of the best foundations for most good writing.
Book doctoring It was interesting that the writer whose voice I thought most striking and fresh from her submission turned out not to be a native speaker of English. Which perhaps accounted for the number of slips in spelling! But even those sorts of slips just go to show that a good voice shines through anyway. And also that there are differing definitions of perfection – after all, we need to keep some work for the copyeditors. Anyway, I’d never have guessed she was not a native English speaker; a particular name, in fact, made me think she was an English woman of a certain age, and that was what I was expecting. Wow. To do that in a language you weren’t born into; puts most of us native English speakers to shame.
In addition, this writer comes from a part of the world that might bring a fresh perspective to an established genre, and I encouraged her to think about introducing more of that into the writing too. Good luck to her!
Some of the things that came up in other samples: writing that packs too much in too soon; various other issues of pacing; developing a narrative focus, and letting unfolding action tell the story; overwriting, especially overexplaining (fiction can suggest, be allusive); using point of view to give a story an edge; prose style needing more life, texture, and colour (specific and concrete imagery often add a spike of energy, as do well-selected verbs and nouns).
It’s also a good idea to know your genre, and what might be expected of it – everything from conventions you can use, to trends, to word lengths. This knowledge can grow your own instinct in writing. It’s worth paying a visit to a larger or specialist bookshop, maybe during the morning when you might be able to chat with a bookseller about trends and popular writers. Pick up some recommended books, if you have not read them already, and sample them for what you can bring to your own work.
And beyond the writing, writers often need to think about the profile and platform that might help an agent or publisher promote your work. Even in fiction. In fact, personal experience can often inform the writing in good, instinctive ways, lending it depth and authority. Though of course we must always allow for flights of fancy and imagination, too.
Finally, don’t forget that publishing is something of a lottery. I tend to think that the best books eventually find a home, though whether they sell once published is another matter. And of course some not so great books get published and become roaring successes – but that is usually because they connect with something or other among a readership. What is that thing in your writing that might connect?
Recommended reading Regardless of the genre you’re working in, these are some of the most useful books on writing. And yes, you probably can gain from doing a bit of studying of this sort, either on your own or in a creative writing class. Understanding techniques in writing will just add depth to your work.
Sin and Syntax, by Constance Hale Steering the Craft, by Ursula Le Guin The Making of a Story, by Alice LaPlante How to Write, by Harry Bingham On Writing, by Stephen King The Art of Fiction, by John Gardner The Writer’s Journey, by Christopher Vogler 20 Master Plots, by Ronald Tobias
Twelfth Night has not been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It’s not one I’ve read or studied. I saw a flattish production at the Colorado Shakespeare Festival (a shame, after the CSF created a very magical Dream that must rank among the most memorable productions of anything I’ve ever seen – in that open-air theatre, those fairy costumes were electric). And then I was disappointed by the much-lauded Donmar production at Wyndham’s Theatre in 2008; Derek Jacobi as Malvolio (sorry) dominated the show in a way that somehow left little room for the magic.
But I finally got to enjoy this play’s genius last night in the sublime (and sold-out) production of Twelfth Night at the Globe. (We were very very lucky last week to suddenly spot tickets coming free on the Globe’s website; thanks go to a very persistent fangirl niece.)
What struck me here was that this was a production by and for a whole cast (and they were clearly having great fun), and that successful balance within an ensemble lies at the heart of most (all?) comedy. One or two of the performers here could, for external reasons, have stolen the show, but they did not. And still those performers shone, maybe even more brightly than if the production had been focused upon them.
It’s an Original Features all-male version. Apparently there have been grumbles about such productions taking away parts from women. But please! 1. That’s beside the point. And 2. there’s room to do all-female productions too?!
Last night, quite emphatically, the play’s sexual confusion (and something of its play’s original intent?) was brought to the fore through, e.g., the drag of Johnny Flynn, with his reedy little ladyvoice, playing Viola playing Cesario, falling for the Duke and then snapping Olivia out of her self-absorption and resisting her charms. And such charm! Mark Rylance as Olivia has exquisite timing (the ring, the shoe, having greatness thrust upon her on a picnic blanket) and an awesome range of facial mannerisms, even under a black veil (yes, I was that dude with the binoculars …). He inhabits, contains, extends that character, and the gender-bending and campiness are core to that singular magic. Through Olivia’s sexual reawakening, the play’s treatment of self-love – also of course evident in the characters of Malvolio and Orsino – becomes a commentary on privilege and the need for play.
I note here that I’m using the word play twice in that last sentence, which leads me to dwell on the fact that playing is what happens in a theatre. This certainly was a very playful production.
Rylance’s performance will surely go down as one of the great ones. And yes, his Olivia is the central character, but s/he’s a generous one at that, feeding and feeding off the other players. Other exceptional performances in this stellar cast come from Paul Chahidi as Maria (very Hattie Jacques) and Roger Lloyd Pack as Andrew Aguecheek (very physical).
And then Stephen Fry brings real pathos to the part of Malvolio (Jacobi got the pomp, but not the pathos), which helped me experience the play’s darker tinge. Doesn’t all the best comedy have a dark side? And what a treat to see Mr Fry on stage.
And while we are there, let’s note the Colorado Shakespeare Festival’s recent outreach programme Shakespeare and Anti-Bullying: Twelfth Night. That letter = cyberbullying. And seen by over 11,000 kids in Colorado.
But back to the Globe. The dancing was, as always, such revellish fun. And given that my own robin returned to the garden yesterday, the rendition of Jolly Robyn – which I’d not paid attention to before – was special. (He – or she?! – flies towards me when I’m deadheading and repotting, rather than away. Hence my robin.)
If you’re not from London, and visiting, a trip to the Globe is perhaps the one thing you really must do. Or maybe even make this the whole purpose of a visit. The Globe works on so many levels: entertaining, instructive, and a real experience of something uniquely London. Take in its exhibition (I must make an excursion myself sometime). But most of all, see a play. Everyone within this wooden O – audience, players, those ever vigilant volunteers – knows and feels they are taking part in something special.
And now Twelfth Night becomes one of my favourite plays. That’s magic too.
