May 2014 | Page 2 | Busybird Publishing

Archives

Watch Your Language

May 13, 2014

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: my favourite word in the English language.

Some people might think it’s me or I. They’re wrong. Those are my second and third favourite words respectively, because they’re about me. (Mine is fourth.)

But my most beloved word is actually apricity.

It’s an old, practically obsolete word – Macquarie Online doesn’t even recognise it – but it refers specifically to the warmth of the sun in winter. (Incidentally, the verb for this sentiment is apparently apricate.)

Where did I first read or hear this word? Heck if I can remember, it’s just there in my consciousness. Have I ever used this word in an everyday conversation? Nope. Have I even used this word in any of my writing? Likely not. But I still treasure it because it’s a fresh way of saying something – a word that sums up so many things at once.

My point here is that our language is a vast ocean, and that taking the plunge into the light-starved depths every once in a while can be an enriching experience. I’m not saying that every writer reading this should cram apricity into their page seventeen submission just to please me. I’m not even saying it’s a word that should be brought back into the modern lexicon. But I’m glad it exists, and that words like this are around as an opportunity to expand the way sentiments, experiences and thoughts are expressed.

Now, lesson time. Because this focus on obscure and even ostentatious language clashes with another common idea: economic and plain writing. This is the idea that often the simplest way to say something is the most effective, even in fiction. It’s the prevailing philosophy passed down to emerging writers and for good reason. When attributing dialogue, ‘He/she said’ is often a hell of a lot better than ‘He/she cajoled/exclaimed/ejaculated’. Said is non-intrusive whereas its numerous synonyms are often counter-productive.

At this point we find ourselves between the exoticism of apricity and the efficacy of said. On the one hand we have the slippery slope to overwritten ‘purple prose’ where these exotic words may be used without care or restraint, and on the other hand we have the risk of repetition where plain words are overused.

Despite going on about how great obscure words can be, I’m still of the school of thought where the simpler statements are usually the preferred choice; it’s a mode of writing that keeps a strong pace and allows readers to focus on the content rather than the language. (Note that I’m speaking from a prose standpoint – poetry is a different discussion altogether.)

So why have I brought up a word as shockingly out of vogue as apricity if I’m never likely to use it, or other flowery words of its ilk? It’s because to me, the movement to simplify language is often very narrow-minded, and treats the exotic fringes of the English language with contempt. Sure, language should evolve to suit the times, but let’s not suck all the life out of it in the process. Let’s continue to celebrate how broad and beautiful our language can be.

Everyday writing and communication should be clear and simple, to fulfil the primary function of language: conveying information. But storytelling is making up information. Poetry is often not even concerned with information at all. Language has evolved to become much more than ‘there’s danger behind that bush’ or ‘we’ve run out of milk’, and the development of fiction and storytelling has elevated the use of language to artistry.

Celebrate language. The Merriam-Webster ‘Word of the Day’ is a nice little novelty to receive in your inbox every day. Read something out of your comfort zone and expand your vocabulary a little at the same time. Even if you never have a suitable opportunity to use certain words – much like how I’ll probably never use apricity in a sentence – it fosters an appreciation for just how diverse our options are for expressing ourselves. And one day, an opportunity may arise where that word just fits, without it feeling obstructive or pompous.

But if you ever attribute a piece of dialogue with ‘he/she ejaculated’ – yes, it’s been done before – I will hunt you down and hurt you. Some things just shouldn’t be allowed.

Beau Hillier | Editor, page seventeen

Writing a Synopsis

May 8, 2014

Something many people struggle to write is a synopsis. Writers cringe at the prospect of writing them – and with good reason: how do you sum up your book in a page or so?

I’m not one for formulas in writing. I think they’re dangerous and stupid, forcing writers to templates that are inorganic (at least to themselves). When it comes to a synopsis, however, well, I don’t want to say there’s a formula, but there are tricks.

Firstly, there’s no definitive length for a synopsis. Usually, a page suffices. Some publishers, though, will specify exactly what they want. The magic numbers usually are 200 words, 300 words, 500 words, and 1,000 words. Rarely will anybody ask for a synopsis longer than 1,000 words.

Also, don’t feel you can substantially run over these limits, or that the publisher will be so wowed by your brilliance that they won’t care. They will. Hitting a word limit shows professionalism. It shows you can tell your story within the parameters they’ve defined. If you’re going to go over, don’t go over by more than 1%. If you’re going to run under, don’t run under by more than ten words.

Another question is what should you reveal in the synopsis. Some publishers don’t mind a tease, a build up of the story left open-ended – like an extended blurb. Others want everything. They want to see you can tell your story succinctly. This does seem self-defeating in some cases, e.g. your story might hinge on a twist that if you gave it up, it would undermine whatever dramatic tension your story is trying to build. However, there’s ways to get around this that shouldn’t antagonise the publishers – at least not too much.

Let’s begin with a story that we should all know – The Hobbit. Imagine we had to write a 500-word synopsis for this. Where do we begin?

Here’s where the tricks kick in.

Break the story down into three sections: a beginning (introducing the character – or characters – and what triggers them into action), a middle, and the end. We’re not trying to cover the entire book here, although obviously the beginning and end are definitive. But the middle’s not everything else in-between, but literally a covering of the middle of the stotry.

Dedicate a paragraph to each. For example (and I’m going to keep every one of my examples as first drafts):

Beginning
Bilbo Baggins is a Hobbit who lives in the Shire, a Hobbit who is contented with his peaceful life, baking cakes, eating, and, when the occasion takes him (as it does often), sitting on his porch blowing smoke rings. He has never known a harried day in his life and – as is the case with Hobbits – only wants to live peacefully with a full belly and a warm bed. But when the Wizard Gandalf visits and starts talking about adventures, Bilbo’s idyllic little world is shattered.

Okay, that’s a beginning. Let’s look at the middle next – remember, this is just a summation that covers the heart of the story’s journey.

Middle
Bilbo and the Dwarves find allies in unlikely places, and face just as many dangers. When the party confront a trio of Trolls, Bilbo is terrified, and it is Gandalf who comes to the rescue. They journey through the Elf kingdom of Rivendell, where they are advised by the Elford Elrond. Bilbo wishes he could stay and not face the dangers of the adventure, but as they continue, Bilbo begins to discover an inner resolve that is compounded by Bilbo’s discovery of a magical ring – following a trial of riddles with a miserable creature known as Gollum – which grants him invisibility when he wears it.

Again, we’re not trying to capture the entire story. We’re just trying to embody important aspects of it. Here, certainly, we could list everything that happens, but what’s more important is the development of the character, which this paragraph covers. Development is important. Readers want to see that the characters aren’t stagnant, but that there’s an evolution in who they are.

Now for the last paragraph – and here’s where we’ll fudge the truth, by not disclosing everything in the conclusion, thus maintaining a bit of mystery.

The End
Bilbo, wearing his ring of invisibility, banters with the dragon Smaug, in a chamber of immeasurable treasure. Unwittingly, Bilbo gives away a clue that leads the dragon to attacking Laketown. In the aftermath, armies rally against Bilbo and the Dwarves, whilst Thorin uses a Thrush to call for reinforcements. But the two opposing armies must ally when the Goblins attack, and a horrific battle is waged – a battle in which survival becomes more imperative than all the treasure in the world.

So what we have is:

That’s 272 words. A bit short for our needs, but a good start. As an aside, if we needed a 300 word synopsis, we pretty much have it. We’d just need to make some revisions for edification – notably, when Gandalf’s introduced, instead of ‘starts talking about adventures’, we might say, ‘solicits Bilbo’s help to aid a party of Dwarves in a quest to reclaim their treasure from the dragon Smaug.’ There’s a few similiar alterations, but you should get the idea.

For our 500-word synopsis, though, whilst the paragraphs work in isolation, the evolution of the story jars from one paragraph to the next. What we actually need are paragraphs between each as segues. Moreover, we need paragraphs that explain things which have been introduced, e.g. in the final paragraph, we mention ‘Smaug’ and ‘Thorin’ for the first time, figures who’d seem to be integral characters. So let’s now interject a second paragraph:

Second Paragraph
That night, whilst about to have dinner, Bilbo is visited by a procession of thirteen Dwarves, each introducing themselves, the last the most important of all – he is Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Dwarves. When Gandalf arrives, Thorin and Gandalf tell how the dragon Smaug drove the Dwarves from their home of the Lonely Mountain and claimed all their treasures. Gandalf and Thorin want Bilbo to join them in a quest to get the treasure back. Bilbo is reluctant, but come the morning, he finds himself running from his door without even a handkerchief in his pocket to join the Wizard and Dwarves on their quest.

Something else to consider when writing a blurb is which details do you really need to tell? Some little touches (like mentioning the lack of handkerchief) are nice flourishes that personalise the story. But we can’t include everything, and nor should we try. You need to be judicious in working out that something which might be a nice enough detail or event in the book is just going to become padding in the synopsis.

You’ll also notice that the second paragraph flows fine from the first, because it’s been written chronologically, but the way the third paragraph follows from the second jars.

That night, whilst about to have dinner, Bilbo is visited by a procession of thirteen Dwarves, each introducing themselves, the last the most important of all – he is Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Dwarves. When Gandalf arrives, Thorin and Gandalf tell how the dragon Smaug drove the Dwarves from their home of the Lonely Mountain and claimed all their treasures. Gandalf and Thorin want Bilbo to join them in a quest to get the treasure back. Bilbo is reluctant, but come the morning, he finds himself running from his door without even a handkerchief in his pocket to join the Wizard and Dwarves on their quest.

Bilbo and the Dwarves find allies in unlikely places, and face just as many dangers …

But this is easily remedied by now rephrasing the beginning of the first sentence of the middle paragraph to provide a transition. E.g.

As the adventures unfolds

, Bilbo and the Dwarves find allies in unlikely places, and face just as many dangers …

There. All better.

Now we need a paragraph to bridge the middle and end, which currently read:

The Middle
Bilbo and the Dwarves find allies in unlikely places, and face just as many dangers. When the party confront a trio of Trolls, Bilbo is terrified, and it is Gandalf who comes to the rescue. They journey through the Elf kingdom of Rivendell, where they are advised by the Elford Elrond. Bilbo wishes he could stay and not face the dangers of the adventure, but as they continue, Bilbo begins to discover an inner resolve that is compounded by Bilbo’s discovery of a magical ring – following a trial of riddles with a miserable creature known as Gollum – which grants him invisibility when he wears it.

So how does Bilbo get from Gollum to Smaug? And what themes are being explored? Again, the action is not as important as the character development. In the middle paragraph, we mention that Bilbo begins to find an inner resolve. So let’s continue to ride that – it’s the evolution of how Bilbo goes from reluctant in the opening paragraph to bantering with a dragon in the last paragraph.

Fourth Paragraph
When the Dwarves encounter hordes of giant spiders, it Bilbo who rescues them, and when the Dwarves are imprisoned by Woodland Elves, it’s Bilbo who frees them, hiding them in barrels they ride down to Laketown, where they are feted as esteemed guests. They march on to the Lonely Mountain, where they find a secret entrance into the inner chambers. Bilbo, wearing his ring, sneaks down into the treasure room, where he behold the dragon Smaug nestled on a hill of treasure.

Again, we’ve introduced some issues – in this case, repetition. In the fourth paragraph we mention that Bilbo is ‘wearing his ring’, and then in the fifth, we mention that Bilbo is ‘wearing his ring of invisibility.’ Also, how does he actually meet the dragon? Again we just need to smooth out the continuity:

When the Dwarves encounter hordes of giant spiders, it Bilbo who rescues them, and when the Dwarves are imprisoned by Woodland Elves, it’s Bilbo who frees them, hiding them in barrels they ride down to Laketown, where they are feted as esteemed guests. They march on to the Lonely Mountain and find a secret entrance into the inner chambers. Bilbo, wearing his ring, sneaks down into the treasure room, and beholds the dragon Smaug nestled on a hill of treasure.

Smaug smells Bilbo, and the two begin to banter. Bilbo is quite pleased with his own cleverness until, unwittingly, he gives away a clue that leads the dragon to attacking Laketown. In the aftermath, armies rally against Bilbo and the Dwarves, whilst Thorin uses a Thrush to call for reinforcements. But the two opposing armies must ally when the Goblins attack, and a horrific battle is waged – a battle in which survival becomes more imperative than all the treasure in the world.

Note that as I’ve reread it, I’ve found a couple of issues in the fourth paragraph (the repetition of ‘where’ to introduce new information). I’ll give it a thorough edit (or nine) later, but it never hurts to fix things on the fly when the opportunity is there.

Now The End paragraph isn’t actually the final paragraph. The final paragraph should close the synopsis and sum up the sort of book it is. E.g.

The Hobbit is a fun-filled adventure, a tale of reluctant heroism that’s sure to delight and entertain readers of all ages.

Altogether, what we have is:

Bilbo Baggins is a Hobbit who lives in the Shire, a Hobbit who is contented with his peaceful life, baking cakes, eating, and, when the occasion takes him (as it does often), sitting on his porch blowing smoke rings. He has never known a harried day in his life and – as is the case with Hobbits – only wants to live peacefully with a full belly and a warm bed. But when the Wizard Gandalf visits and starts talking about adventures, Bilbo’s idyllic little world is shattered.

As the adventures unfolds, Bilbo and the Dwarves find allies in unlikely places, and face just as many dangers. When the party confront a trio of Trolls, Bilbo is terrified, and it is Gandalf who comes to the rescue. They journey through the Elf kingdom of Rivendell, where they are advised by the Elford Elrond. Bilbo wishes he could stay and not face the dangers of the adventure, but as they continue, Bilbo begins to discover an inner resolve that is compounded by Bilbo’s discovery of a magical ring – following a trial of riddles with a miserable creature known as Gollum – which grants him invisibility when he wears it.

Smaug smells Bilbo, and the two begin to banter. Bilbo is quite pleased with his own cleverness until, unwittingly, he gives away a clue that leads the dragon to fleeing and attacking Laketown. In the aftermath, armies rally against Bilbo and the Dwarves, whilst Thorin uses a Thrush to call for reinforcements. But the two opposing armies must ally when the Goblins attack, and a horrific battle is waged – a battle in which survival becomes more imperative than all the treasure in the world.

The Hobbit is a fun-filled adventure, a tale of reluctant heroism that’s sure to delight and entertain readers of all ages.

And there is it – a 486 word synopsis for The Hobbit. If we aimed at 1,000 words, we could continue to fill in details. Instead of just mentioning ‘as the adventure unfolds’ we might get into some specifics, e.g. being brought before the Goblin King in Goblintown.

Now this synopsis isn’t perfect – far from it. It’s still a first draft. But we have the bones of what we want to say. There’s some we could flesh out, e.g. What is a Hobbit? We could change the first sentence from:

To:

Bilbo Baggins is a Hobbit – which is like a person, but about the height of a child and with a talent for being furtive. He lives in the Shire, contented with his peaceful life, baking cakes, eating, and, when the occasion takes him (as it does often), sitting on his porch blowing smoke rings.

Even that’s not great, but experimenting helps us explore how to phrase things. There’s also some rough edges to be smoothed out, e.g. ‘contented with his peaceful life’ and ‘only wants to live peacefully’. There’s bound to be other issues that require attention, or additions we might need to make succinctly (e.g. introducing the Goblins earlier), but we’ve now got something workable (and keep in mind that everything you’ve read is first draft). And you might’ve read in this blog a time or two the importance of revision – these are all things we can address and hone.

Keep trying to use this trick when writing synopsizes. The more you do it, the more you’ll learn to compartmentalise your synopsis, and eventually you’ll find you won’t have to use this trick at all.

L.Z.

The Magic Moment

May 6, 2014

So. You have something finished. A story, a poem or a well-rounded article. You have content, edited and refined – and maybe it’s pretty damn good.

Now you need to know what to do with it.

Writers who develop their work professionally may already have the end in mind when they start a project – they know where to submit it, they know what that particular magazine/newspaper/competition/publisher is looking for and have a game plan to tick every box on the guidelines. Many writers simply write what comes to them and think about the submission process later. Fair enough. But here’s where cold feet comes in.

In speaking to a lot of emerging writers, I find there’s often only one thing that many of them lack when compared to ‘veteran’ authors. It’s not creativity. It’s certainly not enthusiasm or dedication. In many cases it’s not even experience – I dare say there are many ‘emerging’ writers that have experimented more with their craft, and for a longer period of time, than other writers considered to be seasoned contributors. The difference is often one thing: the consideration of what to do after the last edit is complete. So that piece might end up in a blog feed, read and appreciated by the fanbase but eventually lost in the archives. When, maybe, it deserved a chance to be a contender.

It can be scary to think about those stories and poems being sent out, away from our reach and at the mercy of unknown editors and publishers. I know. I remember my first attempts at submission. I started off as a teenager still learning the process of targeting publications with the correct content. Heck, I was still learning how to write – the pieces I was writing at the time were far from ready. I’d spend days, or weeks, bringing a story to fruition and posting it off, waiting anxiously for a response that sometimes never came.

I took chances and didn’t get any breaks until years later. But in the early days after declaring ‘I’m going to be an author’, I probably put as much time in researching for opportunities as I did developing my ideas. By trial and error I gave myself deadlines and worked to them so that I could enter short story competitions that looked appealing. I’m not against the idea of writing only for oneself and only thinking about the wider possibilities after all is said and done, but I think in my case the focus on submission is what developed my writing the most.

If you’ve never thought about submitting before, or just don’t feel confident in taking that leap of faith, then make your latest piece the one to leave the nest. If you’ve never thought about putting it in a magazine or a competition*, I guarantee that sitting down and reading it through with a specific target in mind changes your perspective on whether everything on the page really worked the way you thought it had. And there’s no motivator like a deadline.

And then you’ll arrive at that point. You’ve gone over the story, the characters, and the line-by-line passage of text so many times you could probably recite passages backwards in a foreign language while juggling flaming torches. (Actually, if you can do that, for the love of god put it on Youtube.) So there’s no more stalling. The deadline is nigh. The piece has been correctly formatted, and it’s attached to the email or sealed in the envelope.

What are you waiting for?

If you’re confident enough to take the work this far, then not submitting would just be a missed opportunity. Who cares if it’s rejected? Their loss, really. And it gives you a chance to look at it again, maybe re-style the content to match another target’s criterion.

So let the bird leave the nest. Take the chance that someone else will appreciate it. Just because it might be rejected for publication, that doesn’t mean it won’t be appreciated – maybe even admired. And every time you let a bird leave the nest, unsure whether it’ll come back or find a home somewhere else, that’s a magic moment where you’re placing hope in your own work. In many ways that’s more uplifting than the validation of having the same work accepted. That magic moment, more than anything else, is what gives you the confidence to do it again and again, and grow as a writer because of it.

Beau Hillier | Editor, page seventeen

*And, of course, seriously consider submitting to page seventeen. Aside from the obvious fact that I want to see as many submissions as possible to the general and competition lists, it’s also objectively a good place for emerging writers to start. It’s unthemed, makes emerging writers a focus for content selection and is diverse in the types of content it will take.

Re …?

May 1, 2014

Here’s something you’ve read here before: REVISE.

The end.

Oh very well, there’s more.

Revise religiously.

There. Satisfied? No?

Amongst a lot of more inexperienced authors, there seems to be an almost overriding preconception that you write your first draft, send that off (sometimes without revision), and then when you get feedback, take that in and there, it’s done. The end. Happy ever after.

After, like, two drafts.

Uh uh. Here’s an example of the process required.

Step #01
After you complete whatever you’re writing, read straight through it. This is when your mind’s still buzzing with ideas, and when you’re likeliest to see any immediate issues it might contain – usually, where something needs to be fleshed out, or included, or candidates for deletion due to repetition.

An important sidenote: After you’ve read through and revised, you’ve (technically) gone onto a new draft. But guess what? Any changes you include are first draft. For example, if you included a whole new passage, that’s a first draft new passage, even though it sits in a second (or later) draft book.

Step #02
Repeat Step #01. Yes, right now. Not tomorrow. Not after you send it to your friends. Now. Reread!

A danger of revising is that changes (whether they be additions, deletions, or modifications) can look awesome in isolation, but fail to work in the greater arc of the narrative flow. You can only see this with a read from go to woe. Reading an individual passage in isolation shows you nothing (in this context) other than that individual passage.

Step #03
You might guess what’s coming now … but redo Step #01. And keep repeating it until you feel there’s nothing more you can extract (in terms of revision) from your piece. There’s no point sending something off for feedback, if you know the issues the feedbacker is going to cite. That’s just a waste of time (unless you specifically request of them solutions to an issue which has you stumped). You want feedbackers to cite what you can’t see for yourself, so address everything you can.

Important complaint: ‘Aw, but I can change things forever.’

What we’re talking about here is meaningful editing. If you’re changing

The chair was blue and gold

It was a blue and gold chair

It was a turquoise chair

It was a blue divan

well, that’s not all that meaningful.

Every writer needs to learn when they’re tweaking for the sake of tweaking.

Step #04
Take a rest from your story for a time – at the very least, a week. At the very least. It would be great if it’s for a month. For a book, even six months. You need to retreat from it, need it to fade from your mind (and imagination). The words which have been so familiar need to become like strangers to you, and only time can do that.

It’s amazing when you’re not thinking about it, how many ideas will occur to you. Surely, this is something you’ve experienced before. How many times have you sat at the computer, unsure how to phrase a passage, or uncertain what comes next, and then you take a walk, or are in the shower, or out shopping, and bang! There it is. That perfect phrase. The next idea.

We place pressure on ourselves to produce when we’re trying to write, and that pressure can be asphyxiating, so obviously when we’re not focused on writing, our minds are free to breathe and can realise what comes next.

If you do have ideas, record them. Bullet-point them.

Step #05
If you have bullet-points, knock those off. Then give your piece another read. Now that you’ve had some time away from it, you should be able to look at it with fresh eyes. Then reread and refine your writing until you can get nothing more (meaningful) out of it.

Step #06
Send your piece out to get feedback. This has been mentioned before: don’t use anybody whose constructive criticism amounts simply to, ‘It’s good’, or who’s negative (e.g. family) simply to be negative, or because that’s their way. Find people who can give you analytical and constructive feedback that you respect.

Another important note: Also, make sure you’re on the same page with them. Some people have a tendency to offer feedback as they would write your piece, rather than get in the vein of what you’re trying to do. It can be difficult to recognise when feedback is valid, or when somebody’s citing something which is fine, but they’ve highlighted it because if they’d written it, they would’ve done it differently. However, if you’ve got two (or more) people citing the same issue, it’s a good chance there is an issue, even if you think what they’ve cited just happens to be the greatest writing ever.

Step #07
Take in feedback.

Step #08
Reread. Reread. Reread.

Step #09
Repeat above steps as required.

How tedious is all this rereading, revision, rewriting and waiting?

When people think of writing – when they idealise it as a concept – they don’t consider all the rereading, rewriting, and revision that’s required, but that’s the reality of writing we all have to reconcile.

Some things you’ll write and they’ll come out so well, they’ll hardly need any work at all. Others will be a slog, to the extent you’ll contemplate they’ll need to be chopped and sewn together, like Frankenstein, or that they’ll be unfixable.

If you’re going to be a writer, though, just make sure you understand the work that’s required after you’ve gotten that first draft out.

You might think you’re producing gold first draft (hehe) or, screw it, there’s enough greatness in your piece that it’ll win over wherever you’re submitting it to and they’ll bow at the feet of your magnificence, but it doesn’t work like that.

Your market looks at your writing and, often, it’s easy to determine how much work has gone into a piece. If you want to give your writing the best chance, make sure you put that work in.

L.Z.

Month: May 2014

busybird_publishing