Swinging the Ax

I was so hoping, Dear Blog Reader, that by now I'd finally be in the throes of the publishing process and would have tons of juicy insider bits to share with you. Unfortunately--like most things in life--my journey toward getting this book published is not going according to plan. As detailed in my post The Summer of Crazy, my agent says I have some more work to do. I've spent the last three months revising the first third of the manuscript and now I have to do it again.

This is no small revision. I'm eliminating a plot that's going nowhere, changing all the characters' relationships toward each other (which basically means that every line of dialogue and every action between them has to be reconsidered), and get the story moving sooner. It feels a lot like building a beautiful piece of furniture, taking an ax to it, and then trying to rebuild it from the splinters. It's hard to make the pieces fit, but incredibly satisfying when they finally do.

What is surprising me about the process, though, is just how much stuff I'm able to cut out every time I go over it. Even though my prose can hardly be described as "lean", I like to think that I tell a pretty tight story. There are many points in the process where removing a paragraph or scene seems to jeopardize many other parts of the book. More often, though, in an effort to get the plot rolling faster, I'm finding just how much I can cut without affecting the story at all. It's scary and liberating and disconcerting all at the same time. Once I start swinging the ax, I can't stop. I wonder sometimes if I'm getting carried away. Am I going, once again, in the completely wrong direction?

Then I heard a great piece of writing advice from an unlikely source...The Princess Diaries 2 movie.

I had trouble determining if using the original movie poster image on my blog fell under 'fair use'. Let's pretend this is a royalty-free picture of Anne Hathaway, shall we?

My daughters were home sick (they're twins--they do everything together) and wanted to watch The Princess Diaries 2. When the movie was over, we watched the deleted scenes, introduced by director Garry Marshall. One scene in particular caught my attention. Anne Hathaway was poking around the hidden corners of the castle and found a secret passage hidden behind a wall. We follow her for several minutes in the hidden room until she discovers something that plays an important part later on in the movie (I'll refrain from spoiling it for you). While Hathaway's discovery is crucial to the plot, the director ended up cutting the scene. In the final cut of the movie, you see Anne Hathaway disappear behind a hidden wall and that's basically it.

 Marshall explained that he cut the scene because it had slowed down the pace of the movie and there was still enough information there for the audience to fit the pieces together. And that's when he said something so simple and so brilliant it should be heeded by directors and writers everywhere: "You think you have to explain everything, but you don't."

This bit of wisdom reaffirmed when I had been discovering during my revision--much of what I'd written was explanation of things that didn't need to be thoroughly explained. I'd found moments when I'd gone on for paragraphs about a bit of background when one sentence was enough. Rather than describing how a character feels toward another character, a line of dialogue could convey the relationship instead. Other things didn't need to be mentioned at all. As long as I was aware of the forces shaping my characters, I didn't need to clue the reader in on everything.

Art is shaped not only by what is present but also by what is absent. Sculpture is formed by what is removed. Rhythm is defined not only by the beats but by the rests. Fiction comes alive not only by what is written, but by what is left out. Simple, obvious, but not always easy in practice.

9 Favorite Books for Writers

Looking for a good book about writing? Here are nine books that have resonated with me throughout the years. I keep nearly all of them with arm's reach of my writing desk.


For Beginners

One of the biggest hurdles for someone who wants to begin writing is gaining enough confidence to get started. These three books inspired me to get into the habit of creating.

1. Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg. This was the first writing book I ever read and is a perennial classic for beginners. Goldberg uses gentle wisdom, Zen practice, and anecdotes about life in New Mexico to inspire writers to create without fear.

2.  The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. This is a great book for those occasions when you want to write but feel stuck. While the tone of the book is a little over-the-top at times, Cameron does a terrific job of unlocking the potential in people who might otherwise view themselves as non-creative types. Even though I read this book over a decade ago, her insistence on daily writing practice and on 'filling the well' by engaging in all kinds of creative pursuits still speaks to me.

3. The Art of Fiction by John Gardner. The minute you sign up for Creative Writing 101, this is the first book on your required reading list. (Or at least that's the way it used to be. I'll assume nothing's changed since the book is still in print.) The book is an introductory course on craft unto itself as Gardner digs deep into literary theory and analysis. It belongs on every writers bookshelf.


For Aspiring Authors

Once you understand the basics, it's energizing to read about successful authors and the creative process.

4. On Writing by Stephen King. Half memoir, half writing manual, King's book has become a modern classic. The story of how his wife rescued his Carrie manuscript from the trash bin and the enormous success that book would bring is riveting, emotional, and well worth a read for those dreaming of literary fame.

5. Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters by John Steinbeck. This book is a collection of letters Steinbeck wrote to his editor as a daily exercise while writing East of Eden. Best to be savored in small bites, it's the kind of book to read at the beginning of a writing session, when you're trying to drum up enough motivation to get to work. Discovering that even Steinbeck had moments of doubt and distraction has a way of soothing the soul on those days when writing feels like a chore.

6. The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. When the work gets bogged down or I have a professional setback, Dillard's lyrical prose puts me back on track. This slim, quiet book is a good reminder to focus more on the urge to create and the discipline of writing than on elusive publishing success.


For Professionals

These books are helpful for writers who are already published or are on the path to publication.

7. How Fiction Works by James Wood. This book is incredibly dense and will be most helpful to those writers who are already familiar with the process of writing a novel. Much of what Wood writes about will seem too abstract for the beginning writer, but it's packed with insight for those with writing experience. It's important to remember that Wood is a critic and some of what he expresses is opinion rather than gospel. Still, I've found it to be an invaluable addition to my library. There is so much to absorb, I recommend reading it with a highlighter.

8. The Savvy Author's Guide to Book Publicity by Lissa Warren. Published in 2008, this book is a bit old and I would love to see a revised edition that includes social media. Still, there is a wealth of information here that will never be out of date--such has how to prepare for media interviews, write press releases, and hire a publicist. The bottom line that echoes throughout the book, and one that any writer should constantly keep in mind, is that authors are largely responsible for their own publicity.

9. Mortification: Writers' Stories of Their Public Shame edited by Robin Robertson. Before you go out on your first book tour, you must read this hilarious collection of most embarrassing moments by 70 well-respected authors. Then, when you're sitting there at your signing, twiddling your thumbs because no one has shown up, instead of feeling sorry for yourself you'll just be glad that you weren't like Margaret Atwood who was forced to sign copies of her book The Edible Woman in the men's underwear department of clothing store. Many of these stories so cringe-worthy and so unbelievably horrible you'll want to throw the book across the room--but you won't because it's just too damn funny.

What are your favorite books for writers?

Will Write For Food

I'm a latecomer to artist/musician Amanda Palmer's TED talk, but her thoughts on the changing relationship between artists and fans may be even more relevant now than it was in 2013. In her talk, Ms. Palmer argues that artists shouldn't sell their work--instead, they should give it away for free and trust that their fans will be generous enough to support them.

Ms. Palmer gives numerous touching examples from her own life where this patron/artist model has worked for her: an immigrant family that gave up their beds for the night so her crew could have a place to stay; a nurse that drove across town to deliver a neti pot when Ms. Palmer requested one on Twitter; a sheepish downloader who handed her a $10 bill by way of apology. It's clear that Ms. Palmer has many fans and this system really works for her.

I love her message of allowing people into your life and not being afraid to ask for help. I'm a firm believer that most people have generous hearts and jump at the chance to help when given the opportunity. I admire the close relationships she's developed with her fans and how she uses social media to connect with them.

Still, I have to admit I'm struggling a bit with the overall message. Somehow, it feels like this barter-economy cheapens art.

Part of the reason why the music and publishing industries are experiencing growing pains is that no one can seem to agree on how much a creative work is worth.  Even Hachette and Amazon can't agree on the price of an ebook. We can price out the cost of paper, bindings, and distribution to determine the physical cost of production, but when the book is turned into a digital format it becomes immaterial. We are forced to put a value exclusively on the content.

How do we quantify the personal experience, the imagination, the skill that goes into writing a book? Even if we determined that a writer should only be reimbursed an hourly wage--say, for the sake of argument, a paltry $1 per hour--most books would costs thousands of dollars to produce. As a culture, we view the artist's time as free, and by extension, their work, too. We balk at $24 hardcovers and $12 ebooks, but happily fork over the same amount for a meal out, alcoholic drinks, or another t-shirt that we probably don't need.

Ms. Palmer touches upon an economic truth--an object's value is based on what someone is willing to pay for it. Sadly, a great many of us have decided that we don't want to pay much at all for books or music. Has our collective attitude toward artists gotten so low that Ms. Palmer's barter system looks like a viable option? Why must the artistic economy be any different than any other form of commerce? When we see the doctor, he doesn't treat us for free in hopes that we'll offer him a chicken dinner in exchange. At a store we don't grab a pair of jeans off the rack and offer the cashier what we think it's worth. Shouldn't we view artists and their works with the same respect?

What do you think? Is Amanda Palmer's patronage model a clever solution to a shifting paradigm    or does it devalue art?

I've Changed My Mind--I'm Going With Harper Lee

Before I get to explaining how to read a royalty statement (which I keep putting off because, let's face it, it's not the most interesting topic to write about) I thought you might be interested in hearing this interview with James Patterson that I heard on NPR last night, where he describes his writing process. Since the process seems to involve more editing than actual writing, I'm changing my answer to Harper Lee.

That said, Patterson has a point. Artists have been taking their concepts and hiring them out to others to execute for years. Take Jeff Koons, for example. Patterson argues that people have a hard time accepting when a writer does this (though they shouldn't because it happens all the time, whether readers are aware of it or not).

We could argue all day whether Patterson and Koons are producing real art or pure product, whether there is a difference between hiring someone to craft a sculpture or a paperback, whether you can truly call yourself the creator of a piece of art if you have a hand only in the concept but not the execution. I will say, however, that when you choose to skip the actual process, something is lost in both the art and the artist.

Space

John Cheever’s short story, “Reunion” is a marvel of economy. This story is so tight it squeaks. If you have twelve minutes to spare, check out The New Yorker podcast featuring Richard Ford reading this masterful story and the brief discussion that follows. Deborah Treisman, fiction editor at The New Yorker, mentions in the podcast that even though the story is only around 1,000 words, it feels more like a 10,000 word story with 9,000 words left unspoken.

As writers, we are often so concerned with choosing the perfect words and not leaving anything out that the idea of shifting our focus to what can be left out really turns writing on its head. It’s often easier to say everything there is to be said instead of giving the reader a little empty space to piece things together on his own. Cheever reminds us that a story can be defined as much by the written as the unwritten. Empty space doesn’t have to be empty at all.

Space is important in all art forms. Sculptors consider ‘negative space’, or the area surrounding the piece, when they create. In music, the rests are nearly as important as the notes, working in tandem with the beat to create rhythm. Listen to reggae and you’ll know what I mean. In pop and rock, the beat falls on the one and three, whereas in reggae it falls on the two and four. This subtle shift creates space where there usually is none, giving the music an entirely different feel.

Space is crucial in the dramatic arts. Think about spoken dialogue and how the meaning of what is being said changes or is heightened by the use of pauses. When I think of pauses in acting, I immediately think of Christopher Walken in the classic watch scene from PULP FICTION. Notice how he uses space for both dramatic and comedic effect (warning--clip contains offensive language).

Deciding to put space into your writing is easy to do; executing it is another matter. There is danger in trimming too much, leaving the reader feeling confused or feeling that something crucial has been left out. If you’re unsure where to start, try the “10% Rule”—get your story as tight as you can, then trim another 10%. An even better way is to study the stories of masters, like Cheever. With your writer’s eye, pay attention to what has been left out.

Maybe This Cookie Will Help Me Write...

My previous post about the difficulty of filling the blank page reminds me of a conversation I once had with an agent about a certain superstar of the graphic novel world. The writer apparently told her that one of the biggest struggles he faced every day was forcing himself to sit down and work. Hearing that procrastination is a problem for someone of his caliber has been a great source of comfort to me over the years.

I’m one of those writers for whom settling down to work involves a lot of avoidance and no small amount of superstition. I liken it to a professional baseball player up at bat, with all the spitting, helmet-and-elbow-touching, dirt kicking and glove adjusting that needs to take place before he feels psychologically and physically comfortable enough to swing. In order for me to work, I need a glass of water and a comfortable room temperature. The house needs to be completely quiet. The weather can’t be too nice or I’ll want to be outside instead. I can’t be too tired or even a little sick. Then, if all these conditions are right, I have to check my e-mail, my favorite blogs, and do an online crossword. Then I might check the weather, and then my e-mail again. If no one has written to me or I haven’t received notice of a sale at one of my favorite stores, I’m good to go.

Once I begin writing, if I get stuck on a word, I find myself “write walking”--a phenomenon closely related to sleep walking, in which a writer gets up from her desk and suddenly finds herself standing before her open refrigerator with no recollection of how she ended up there. This occurrence is usually followed with an unhealthy snack and a wave of guilt, and can sometimes be repeated several times during the writing of a particularly difficult passage.

If writing is one of my great passions in life, why is it so hard to be disciplined? The best answer I can come up with is fear of failure. When I’ve written nothing, that nebulous masterpiece floating in my head retains all of its perfection; the moment I try to write I realize just how far my work is from my vision. Yet this should never be a deterrent, for it is extremely rare for a work to perfectly echo one’s vision. I wonder if artists in other mediums have the same problem with procrastination. I can certainly see songwriters having similar angst, but what about painters and sculptors or performance artists? Does fear of facing their limitations put them off, too?

Today, I might get down one good sentence if I’m lucky. Or maybe a particular word choice might sing. Or maybe it’ll all sound stiff and boring. So be it. Tomorrow I’ll sit down at my desk, with my water and silence and optimal room temperature, check my e-mail and play my word puzzles. And when all is right I’ll settle down to work and try again.