York 2013 Book Doctor One-On-Ones

by Andrew | 2 Comments

LeGuinSteering

I read thirty samples and met thirty writers during book doctor sessions at the weekend’s Festival of Writing in York. Some people were at the start of their adventures in writing, and some writing was further along and ready for some shaping, or at least focused and encouraging direction. Certain pieces just needed a few tweaks before testing out on agents or editors and finding someone who likes – loves – their work. And one submission was raring to go, and in fact came from an author who already had an agent by the time of the festival (yay! and I could see why).

Everyone was enthusiastic, and everyone was open to the idea of improvement (even the one with an agent already). It was great to meet and greet and discuss various ways forward.

Some of the most common ‘areas of improvement’ (or if we are calling spades spades, ‘weaknesses’), plus other observations:

* Overwriting: overdescription, overcooked prose, clutter, too much explanation that was not really needed – sometimes just pruning one word makes a hell of a difference.

* Pacing: see overwriting above, but also, above the level of the sentence, the ordering and timing of aspects of content.

* A lack of mood or atmosphere, or a lack of personality within the voice and narration. Maybe it is a bit too overwritten, or flat …

* Or too linear: And then … And then … And then … Every little detail is not usually necessary. Single out what’s important, and make sure it’s not drowned out.

* Info dumps, aka expository lumps, which can feel stilted or clunky.

* An unpersuasive voice or point of view, or more changes in POV than a few pages can easily handle. Let us rest in the world of that character, and really experience it.

* An over-reliance on foreground action. Of course we prefer Showing over Telling (usually), but do invite some depth and perspective into your work as well. A novel is not a film, and sometimes you can pull back the focus and use a bit of narration, i.e., Tell Me A Story. Voice helps too.

* A lack of storytelling craft and technique in general. A story concept might be fine, but the telling lacks an edge. Gone Girl is a super, fast-paced novel; its concept is simple and even unexceptional (a missing spouse), but what’s important is its telling: compelling characters, clever use of point of view, well-crafted sentences that help in building tension.

* I sometimes wanted more of an emotional connection with a character.

* I sometimes wanted more texture in the writing, e.g., specific and concrete details of setting or character, maybe delivered in specific and concrete verbs and nouns, or through action rather than description, or done with greater authority.

* A number of books opened with people waking up, sometimes from dreams. Which is fine, because sometimes books need to. But when maybe a quarter of the writing samples opened with a scene of this sort, I’m thinking this might be a bit of a cliché. Is there something fresh and unique from your world that you can give us?

* Quite often, when I was discussing some lack, I was told it was ‘coming in the next chapter’. Hmm. Maybe think about starting with the next chapter. Or at the very least foreshadowing it somehow. Just think about it (yes, go on, really open your heart to the idea).

* If more than a couple of readers are halted by the same thing, really think about some sort of change (again, just thinking – you might decide not to act on the thinking in the end).

* If a couple of readers have contradictory responses to something, rejoice! For this might be a real crux in the work. Pause a while with/at that point, and consider what else might need doing here; there’s clearly something happening there – can you do more with it, go deeper?!

* Page numbers lacking. I had to count and pencil in page numbers on some scripts in order to have page numbers to refer to on the feedback form. I’d not have done this if the scripts had been longer. Make life (work) easy for your readers. Nag nag (that really is a nag – and if you don’t know how to use autopagination, check it out).

* Take time to integrate feedback. And if it ain’t broke after all, don’t fix it.

* Don’t run before you can walk. A very wise writing teacher once had a conversation with me about the idea of ‘pride’. It was done in the most abstract of ways, but the P word was mentioned, and by the time I got home and licked my wounds I knew exactly what she meant, and exactly where my overextensions weren’t working.

* But going back to walking and running: have faith that with the right approach you too can be Mo Farah. Or maybe a good marathon-finisher. Or even just have the skill and energy you need to make it to Waitrose to buy lunch.

Before I go: sometimes I hear people say during or afterwards that they do not ‘agree’ with things I was saying in my feedback, and then I wonder 1. if I’d been too heavy-handed in my feedback, or 2. if they were really listening.

Points made are rarely matters of agreement or disagreement (unless I’m talking about the spelling of my name – and even then I’m usually forgiving, as it’s a funny name with a funny spelling, and hey, none of us are perfect). Points made by myself are not usually solutions, but surfacing issues in the writing, and often there might be something there that needs a bit more mulling.

Yes, sometimes things are misread, or misunderstood – and sometimes the reason for that is lurking, and needs addressing. Feedback I offer is usually a matter of impressions and suggestions, and things to think about or try out. And sometimes we need a little pushing … Don’t be afraid to push back, either – the process of pushing often gets you where you need to be.

I Remember York (2013)

by Andrew | 24 Comments

GratefulWhippet

I remember the Writers’ Workshop Festival of Writing 2013.

I remember it was Friday the 13th.

I remember the quiet carriage.

I remember people crowding on to the train before most of us had got off.

I remember sun, and rain, and going back for an umbrella.

I remember bunting, and a loving balloon. Well, I think it was a balloon.

I remember little chunks of coffee cake. I had one with Saturday’s lunch, but two on Sunday.

I remember using Windows again. It looked different, and improved. I actually felt a little bit jealous.

I remember losing my voice.

I remember a very kind glass of water.

I remember a very nice glass of champagne.

I remember my English teacher Mrs Blakemore used to mark us down if we used the word ‘nice’ in a sentence. Yes, we have to be concrete and specific in our word choices, but sometimes an often-used word is just right.

I remember Harry (in sunglasses), and Beth and Tom (not in sunglasses). Ah!

I remember being called a recovering publisher.

I remember channelling my inner Sharon Osbourne. ‘You go, girl!’ (I wish I’d had the balls actually to say that.)

I remember, the next morning, discovering I’d left the label on the sleeve of my new jacket as I sat on a stage in front of hundreds of people. And they were writers, so they could read, and what they could read was Marks and Spencer Sartorial. (And who knew I’d end up in Marks and Spencer Blue Harbour so soon.)

I remember not remembering if I’d worn these boxer shorts before :/ Sniff, sniff.

I remember my opinion of literary agents rising.

I remember saying that ‘Opinion is the death of thinking’ is a very elegant sentence, illustrating, for any number of good reasons, how to balance noun and verb forms in your writing.

I remember saying how ‘Opinion is the death of thinking’ is an important sentiment for a divided world.

I remember being very opinionated.

I remember saying The Slap is a book that must be read; you must overcome your prejudices against its (apparent) prejudices, because the prejudices are critiquing prejudice, not prejudices in themselves. And if you can’t see that, maybe you should stick to reading the Farrow & Ball colour chart.

I remember telling any number of writers it might be best not to open their novels with that cliché of someone waking (especially from a dream).

I then remember remembering that The Slap opens with someone waking up. But at least its very first page has a fart under the sheets and some very spicy language.

I remember realising I was ranting when I was rattling on about the deficiencies of the learning and teaching of writing in British schools and universities. Oops!

I remember thinking that sometimes people’s written stories only really come to life when they are talking about them (and by that I mean talking conversationally, not delivering some worried-about pitch).

I remember repeating that mantra that you should trust your natural speaking voice. Sometimes those sentences that you speak aloud are the ones that need to go down on the page. ‘I used to work in Jarrow, and my office looked down on the street where Catherine Cookson used to live.’

I remember telling people to write I remembers.

I remember widely recommending Steering the Craft by Ursula Le Guin and Sin and Syntax by Constance Hale.

I remember telling people that their writing is an act of giving to a reader. When do you give, when do you hold back?

I remember needing extra chairs and handouts.

I remember not having time to get to the tightening and brightening exercise. One to finish at home. (No Right Answers, just variations on a theme.)

I remember knowing I must have been snoring, and hoping my neighbours never noticed. Halls of residences have very thin walls.

I remember thinking that York University students must be very thin, because their showerheads are very close to the walls (like, two inches away).

I remember porridge, and prunes.

I remember a robot, mothers, teachers, detectives, an engineer, a creepy neighbour, and an abbot who bangs his fist on the table.

I remember the Weimar Republic, Ireland, Africa, the Lebanon, the 70s, rings, sewers, a tsunami, a prison.

I remember listening with mother, great-grandchildren, dogs, teachers, divorces, a doctor, a New Zealander, the Olympic stadium in Berlin.

I remember Yorkshirewomen, more dogs, four cats and a doctor, a lorry driver, a costume shop, Australians, self-publishers, and a Black Country accent stronger than my own.

I remember even more dogs, and lovely dog-lovers, and an apparently grateful whippet (dogs really can communicate, you know – especially with their eyes).

I remember loving dog-people, and realising they’re probably even stranger than cat-people.

I remember thinking that I love the job of working with writers because you meet so many colourful, sweet, funny, crazy-assed people, and hear so many colourful, sweet, funny, crazy-assed and very moving stories.

I thank all those people for sharing so much.

I remember marking dates in my diary for 2014.

 

PS I will remember to post links and other info from the workshops later in the week. (Update: I did remember, eventually, but did forget some things I needed to add later. But here are my notes on York as well as notes on the book doctor one-on-ones, and here also is a Friday Writing Experiment from last year introducing variations on the idea of ‘I Remember’. And all credit to Joe Brainard and his own ‘I Remember’, now in its own very handsome UK edition.)

Back To Work

by Andrew | Leave a comment

The Goldfinch

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. 

Summer Hiatus: R&R (Reading and Refreshment)

by Andrew | Leave a comment

Summer is here. Ah! There’s nothing quite like the feel of warm sun on your face at last.

I’m unplugging a bit for the coming months. The writing experiments are on hiatus until the autumn. But over the summer you might like to do some active reading. Maybe put your writing to one side for now, and use this as the chance to explore your genre. Look out bestsellers in your field, and maybe read some of the classics too. Read far and wide too: read works in other genres, maybe finding examples of things you can bring across to your own work. Read like a writer (Reading Like A Writer by Francine Prose might be helpful for this), and understand what makes the writing tick. Soak up these books, and free yourself of thinking about your own work; you’ll return to it the stronger later on, and it’s likely that good ideas will emerge for you anyway.

Good writing can’t be rushed, but needs to percolate. Slow down. (If you are one of those restless types, just console yourself that summers are quiet in publishing anyway.) Okay, I’m lazy, but trying too hard can make writing feel as if it’s, um, trying too hard, and what’s probably more important is possessing ease: an ease of voice, a natural balance in the writing. Perhaps set a vague long-term goal, if you really have to, but meanwhile rest in the moment and let your sensibility grow through becoming a better reader, a reader more useful to your own writing.

Most of all, have fun. Don’t task yourself too hard: no To Do lists of books you must read, but simply a stack on the bedside table to dip into, or on standby on your ereader. (Yes, relaxing can be the hardest task of all for some people.)

And beyond that, take a break from some of the noise (as well as creating it?). A holiday from Facebook? A little less Twitter? Yes, you know it makes sense. (Do 24% of British women really check their pages at least ten times a day, as I read this morning? I think I used to be a British woman. Maybe two British women, even three.) We don’t need Likes this summer. Just licks of a nice ice lolly, time with friends and family, trips to magical places, and good food and good books.

My own summer reading recommendations include the novel The Round House, by Louise Erdrich. It’s one of those books that really makes me aware of how much I love great American writers writing great American stories. It has a brilliant first chapter that establishes everything we need to know about the characters, setting, and dramatic situation that will lead us into a compelling story. (When you’re ready to submit your own work to an agent or publisher, read that first chapter and ask yourself if you’re close to achieving what’s accomplished there; if you can say yes, you must be in with a chance.)

And if you’ve not yet read George R.R. Martin’s series A Song of Ice and Fire, it’s about time. Perfect summer reading.

Enjoy the summer!

Friday Writing Experiment No. 30: Wardrobe Masters And Mistresses

by Andrew | Leave a comment

FaroeseSweater

A featurette in today’s Guardian talks about the clothes characters wear, especially in crime fiction and thrillers: tweed, pipes, spectacles, trenchcoats, Faroese sweaters. Clothes make the man and woman, and clothes can also be great tools for revealing characters. You can even have some fun with the cliches.

This week, create a wardrobe for a character of your own. You could do this as a complete catalogue of a wardrobe or a dressing room, or it could be a simple pen portrait. Perhaps you can even put this character into some scene with action that somehow involves the clothes they wear. Go to town; think about brands or no-brands and fabrics and colours. Undress. Put on another outfit. Fetishise. Take them shopping. Dress them up for a day at work, or an interview, or a night out. Dress them to impress, or for seduction. (Always impressing the reader, always seducing the reader.)

As always, be concrete and specific.

A variation of this might be to do a makeover for a character you’re already working with. See how a new outfit might bring fresh perspective or adventures for him or her.