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Honesty
August 18, 2016
Here’s a question: when you write, do you write freely and without inhibition?
Be honest. Your impulse might be to say you do. But think about it. Think about your writing. Think about the way characters react. Think about how scenes unfold. Are they uninhibited? Are you uninhibited in writing them?
Astonishingly, many writers aren’t.
And they aren’t for a very simple reason.
What would people think?
Admit it: that’s an alert in your head.
What would your partner, you family, your friends, the general public, etc., think about the scene you wrote where the killer garrottes his victim, bathes in the gore, and then plays a spot of mini golf with the kids? Or the scene where the sweet, modest loving couple engage in bondage behind closed doors? Or when the tough, macho husband breaks down, and cries on the floor of the kitchen? Would your partner, your family, your friends, think you a creep? Or sick? Or gushy? Better to temper it all.
No.
This isn’t about being shocking. Anybody can throw in a scene to shock, and sometimes authors do, because they feel that’ll captivate. It might, but not in the right way. Often, a reader will frown and even if they don’t recognise the scene as gratuitous, they’ll know there’s something not quite right.
Be true to what’s required in your writing. If that means you need to write an emotional scene which is going to have people thinking you’re just some big softy, write it. If you need to write a violent scene which is going to make people think you’re a sicko, write it. Whatever the scene, write it as it needs to be, devoid of boundaries, unfiltered, and free of judgement.
This applies to any form of writing. You could be a poet, you could be a novelist, you could be writing your biography.
You’ll know when you’ve hit a scene where you’re holding back. You’ll feel that tentativeness about the writing. It might even become diplomatic, couching the expression so that it won’t be confrontational, nor an indictment on you as a person. Other times, you’ll be racing through scenes and thinking you’ve nailed them, but because you’ve been doing this so long you’ve just learned to ignore your instincts. Have you been as real as possible? Have you been truthful with yourself and the narrative?
If you’re not going to be honest with your writing, be honest with yourself.
A Luxuriant Breakdown
August 11, 2016
Last week, we posted a purposely badly-written creative piece to show some of the issues we regularly encounter in editing. Let’s now break them down …
Suddenly
This has grown so overused, it’s almost become a cliché. ‘Suddenly, this happened.’ It’s such an easy – and melodramatic – way to show urgency.
Think of ways you can communicate suddenness in the writing itself. For example, instead of
- Suddenly, the door opened
try
- The door crashed open.
This is not to say you can’t ever use ‘suddenly’. Just make sure it’s required.
Just then
This is another version of ‘suddenly’. A lot of the time, you’ll find you can just cut it out entirely. Using the (first) example from ‘Luxuriance’:
- Just then, the phone rang.
This could just read:
- The phone rang.
Again, if you need something to happen ‘just then’, think about how you can express that through the writing itself.
However
‘However’ has become a cheat, a way to transition from one subject to another without any real logical evolution.
- Today, I am writing a blog. However, the sky is blue.
There’s no logical evolution there, but it sounds like a feasible transition due to the use of ‘however’. Think about how you’re getting from Point A to Point B. There should be a causality in how that happens.
Clichés
Clichés simply have no meaning any more. If somebody tells you their ‘blood ran cold’, beyond your basic understanding that it’s meant to communicate terror, what does it mean? Think of relatable ways to say things.
Favourite words
We all have our favourite words and phrases. In this piece, it was ‘ominously’. Try to identify your own. Sometimes, a fresh set of eyes (e.g. a workshopping group, an editor) can help you find yours. Once you know of their existence, you’ll find yourself mindful of using them.
Attributors
Keep it simple. You don’t really need to venture too far away from ‘said’ and ‘asked’. If you do, don’t get too fancy – you never want to use an attributor which is going to make the reader stop and wonder why that word is there.
Useless Modifiers
‘It’s quite hot.’ What does that mean? How much is ‘quite’? Stay away from weak modifiers (e.g. quite, somewhat, practically, basically, virtually).
Foreshadowing
Make sure your narrative sets up what’s going to follow. Don’t throw in details later just because you’ve forgotten something should’ve been introduced earlier.
One of the best examples of foreshadowing is the movie The Sixth Sense. When the twist comes, we understand everything that we’ve been seeing in a new context. At no point do we feel either cheated or confused.
Exposition
We need to introduce backstory to drive our narrative. Just be mindful of how far it goes. A good way of identifying exposition is how grounded is it in the current setting? Or do we digress into a shapeless overview of the past? Exposition, at times, is necessary and unavoidable. Just make sure it doesn’t take over.
Tenses
What tense are you writing in? Stylistically, you might fluctuate from one tense to the other, e.g. you might be writing in past tense, but when something shocking happens, you bring the story into the present tense. There’s a justification in a shift here. But, often, authors flip around unknowingly. Be conscious of the tense you’re in.
Obviously, there’s plenty of other issues to look for in writing, but these are amongst the most popular.
What you’ll find as you grow aware of these issues is you’ll be challenged to find new and innovative waves of expression that avoid all the problems that can make writing so pedestrian.
Luxuriance
August 4, 2016
I was struggling to come up with an idea for a blog when suddenly, it came to me. Suddenly, I had it! Suddenly, I had the best idea.
Just then, the phone rang. It was a friend, wanting to talk about a book he’d read. I waited impatiently while he rambled on. Just then, I had another idea for my blog. It just came to me, all of a sudden.
However, I had to get rid of my friend. It was rude. However, when I had an idea for something I wanted to write, it’s all I cared about. I tried to hurry my friend on. However, he wasn’t going to be rushed. Just then, the doorbell rang. I told my friend I had to go and rushed down the hall. Suddenly, my cat jumped out and tripped me.
However, I saved myself at the last minute. I peeked through the peephole and my blood ran cold. It was the police. Or at least I thought it was. Their uniforms were a ghastly pink, like brain matter. I felt shivers all over. Suddenly, they started to knock on the door. Just then, another idea came to me for my blog. However, I couldn’t keep the police waiting. With a lump in my throat, I opened the door.
The police peered ominously at me. I felt like a drowning man. The mood was ominous.
‘Hello, sir,’ one of them announced suddenly. He was tall, blond, and had blue eyes.
Just then, the other one thrust out their hand for a handshake. I flinched. However, I recovered and shook their hand. The hairs on my neck stood up. This was ominous. Suddenly, they smiled. Just then, my apprehension broke suddenly into a million pieces.
Suddenly, I actually started to breathe easier. Just then, I was somewhat relieved. However, I basically have a fear of authority. It’s quite debilitating. And practically makes me useless in these situations. I’m totally out of my depth. Absolutely. However, I do the best the can.
‘Can I help you?’ I queried. ‘Are you the police?’
‘We are the Writing Police,’ the one who shook my hand declaimed. Did I mention she was a policewoman? She was a woman. ‘Are you aware of the issues in your writing?’
Issues? I thought. What issues? I jolted awake this morning all of a sudden like somebody had walked over my grave. However, I didn’t think my day would turn out so ominous. All I ever wanted to do was write. Just then, the memory of my parents giving me my first notebook came to mind. That’s when I fell in love with writing. That’s all I did in primary school. In high school, I was a geek who loved to read and write, enduring the scorn of the cool kids—
‘We don’t need your exposition,’ the tall blond cop flouted suddenly.
‘However, you should be wrapping this up,’ the policewoman said ominously just then.
‘This?’ I extemporised.
The tall blond cop bristled. ‘The suddenlys, the just thens, the howevers, the clichés, the overuse of ominously as a favourite word, the tenses, the ridiculous attributors, the clichés, the useless modifiers like “quite” and “somewhat” and “practically” and all that, forgetting to introduce details, the overlong digression into a backstory, the … the … the …’
‘The … the … ’ the policewoman refashioned.
‘The … the …’ the tall blond cop denounced.
‘The luxuriance,’ the policewoman finished. ‘Just put a stop to it. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ I relinquished said.
They nodded, smiled and left.
I closed the door and got back to my blog.
World-Building
July 28, 2016
The idea for a novel bursts into your head.
How long do you wait before you start writing? Do you jump right in front of the computer? That would seem the best idea. Get into it. Write. Write. Write. The only problem is how far will inspiration take you?
Unless you’ve had some miraculous inspiration that’s envisioned
- story
- plot
- subplots
- characters
- locations
you’re going to reach a point in your story where you don’t know what comes next. It happens to the best of us.
Do not trust inspiration – not wholly. It’s the spark. That’s it. It’s not the fire.
The moment you’re inspired, start planning your story. Work out as much as you can of the world your story takes place in. And take this as far as necessary.
If your story is about a family coming to terms with a loved one’s death, you’ll have to map out the family – who’s in it? Who are their partners? Who are their parents and grandparents? Who are the friends of your protagonists? Do they own a dog? A cat? Where does everybody live? What do they do for work? Do they study? Is there anything particular about the characters – e.g. goals (the family might be big in law enforcement but one character wants to go into the arts), conditions (they might suffer depression, or be diabetic)? Where does each character begin and where do they end?
Or you might have a story about a disgraced police detective whose partner is killed, and the detective works the case to find the murder. Why was the partner killed? What was the motive? Who’s in the story? Who are the suspects? What do they do? In what locations will they be found? For example, one suspect might be a bartender. Do they work in a pub, an exclusive bar, or some dive? What areas are covered? What’s the timeline?
You don’t need to know the entire story from beginning to end. Many writers begin with a basic premise that can be summed-up in a single sentence, e.g. Following a death in the family, each family member struggles with their relationships and their place, and must reconcile where they go from here, or To clear their name, a disgraced detective must investigate the murder of their partner. And all you might have outside of that are flashes of what else happens, things that’ll eventually link up.
But work out the rest of it as much as you can. And push yourself. Don’t just leave it at a handful of people and a handful of locations. You’re better off having characters you never use and places that you never visit, rather than coming to an empty hole as to where you go next, and trying to work out what’s needed.
Because that’s what’ll happen if you don’t world-build. Once inspiration burns out and leaves you stranded, the option is to be left in a world you don’t know very much about (outside of your immediate locale), or it can be in a world that you’ve mapped and know intimately, one which presents as many possibilities as things to do and places to go as any tourist location.
Role of an Agent
July 21, 2016
Most authors want a traditional publishing deal. There’s a validation that comes with that: the gratification and branding of being accepted. But, collectively, traditional publishers accept only a handful of unsolicited manuscripts yearly. Some refuse to look at unsolicited manuscripts entirely. A few have specific windows when you can submit. So how do you get published?
Something that can help is having an agent.
What does an agent do?
An agent submits your manuscript to a publisher – usually directly to an editor, as opposed to a slush pile reader. Having an agent in itself carries its own form of branding, that the author’s work merited an agent’s attention.
How do you get an agent?
Trying to get an agent is the same as trying to get a publisher: read their guidelines, submit your work (usually just a sample), wait, wait, wait. If they’re interested, they’ll ask to see the rest of it. Then wait some more. Some more. Some more. If they’re not interested, they’ll decline you and you move on. Their response times vary.
| Sidenotes | ||
| — | Most agents will want a fresh manuscript, and not one you’ve already submitted to every publisher there is. | |
| — | Most agents will also prefer that you’re not submitting simultaneously to other agents. | |
| Important: | Don’t think you can fib an agent about either of these things. Most agents have, at some point, worked in publishing. They know everybody there is to know, so if you’re lying about something, there’s a great chance they’ll find out. | |
Do agents charge?
Not directly. If an agent is charging you to take you on, there’s something shifty going on. An agent earns money – a percentage – from making a deal for you. Obviously, the better the deal they get you, the more money they’ll earn.
Does having an agent guarantee you’ll get published?
Nope. It’s still a submission process.
What else will an agent do for you?
They’ll read your manuscript and offer your feedback. Remember, your manuscript is a representation of their taste, and their agency. They want to be submitting the best possible manuscript. If they have feedback – and, again, remember, they have experience in this industry – the feedback is worth considering.
Will I be obligated to the agent in any way?
You will sign some sort of agreement – usually one that involves exclusivity. But you’re not signing away your soul. You will be able to get out of it if it’s not working out for you.
Are there different sorts of agents?
Yes. They’ll have different specialties (in regards to genre and mediums), so it’s worth finding one who’ll fit your needs.
So what’s the benefit of having an agent?
They’ll be able to submit to places you can’t. If you get a contract, they’ll negotiate it for you, whereas you might be clueless. Big agencies with international offices might try to sell your book internationally, independent of your local contract, i.e. they might sell your book to a publisher here, to another publisher in the UK, and another publisher in Germany, etc.
Do I really need an agent?
No. You can still get your own publishing contract through unsolicited submission, and retain a legal professional or the Australian Society of Authors to evaluate the contract you’ve been offered.
Where can I find an agent?
You can try the Australian Writers’ Marketplace, and there’s a list on the Australian Literary Agents’ Associations website ( under Members).