A MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF WRITING
LITTLE-KNOWN FACTS ABOUT . . .
FINALLY . . . A SAMPLE OF EXCELLENCE
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Volume
4,
Issue 3
May
2006
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R e a d i n g W r i t e r
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Welcome to The VERB! Ask any agent or editor about the quality of submissions they receive, and they'll tell you the same thing--roughly ninety percent are rejected. Ninety percent! The hardest part of their business, they contend, is finding good stories to publish. Seems unfathomable, doesn't it? We live in a world with over six billion people, and almost every one of them wants to write a book. Yet the vast majority of manuscripts are rejected. What's the reason for this? Why don't at least, oh, fifty percent of these manuscripts qualify as "publishable" and "shelf-ready" products? Could it be that having the desire to write a book does not guarantee having a story to tell? In this issue, we begin a new series here in the Research Department. We're going to take a closer look at what makes a story work (the ultimate research), and how a few misplaced elements can destroy a perfectly good idea. Maybe this will put a dent in that ninety percent. ~~~ FOR YOUR RESEARCH - Finding the Right Protagonist At all times, from the very first sentence to the last, we have to know what our protagonist wants, and what obstacles prevent him from attaining it. If we don't know, or if the answers are too weak to sustain the story, we need to stop and reevaluate this character. Is he really the one qualified to tell the story? Let's say the lead character's conflict, aptly introduced in the first chapter, is to save his girlfriend from a dangerous situation. She's in another country, a hostile war-torn country, and he has to hop a plane to go rescue her. Starts off great, right? Readers will hang around because they want to find out something: Will he or won't he save his girlfriend? But let's say that in the very next chapter, he arrives in the foreign land to find his girlfriend safe and sound. Tension is released. Conflict is resolved. Now what? We've already set up the premise that this story is about a man's search for his girlfriend, yet we've settled that pretty fast. It's no longer an issue. And this is where readers scratch their heads. They aren't sure where they're going anymore, but, judging by the weight of the book, they presume there has to be more, a lot more, to this story. So the readers read on. A few more pages, and we learn the girlfriend has come to this foreign land for a specific reason: to document a stunning scientific breakthrough. The focus shifts. She, not the protag, is the one who speaks the language. She, not the protag, is the one who knows her way around the culture. She, not the protag, can make a difference as a direct result of her scientific expertise. Suddenly our leading man has little to do. After "saving" the girl, he's relegated to aimless pursuits: holding up walls, doling out pensive looks, cutting loose a quip here and there and generally taking up space. He becomes downright pitiful to watch, and readers begin to wonder why the heck they're following him around in the first place. Clearly, we have chosen the wrong protagonist. IN A NUTSHELL
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| NOAH LUKEMAN
As both an author and an active literary agent, my situation is unusual. As an agent, my desk is always covered with manuscripts, book proposals, contracts, checks, and tons of paperwork. As a writer, I need to work on a desk that has absolutely nothing on it (aside from the computer and phone)—it helps to keep my mind clear. My writing desk also has to be clean—I don’t like to write in a dirty or dusty space. Unfortunately, I usually end up using the same desk for my agenting and my writing, which causes a conflict. It forces me to clear the desk of all the agenting work first, by both getting the work done, and/or by temporarily moving it to another part of the room (like the shelf space near my desk).When I’m writing, I usually work early in the morning, and then turn to a long day of agenting, so, fortunately, by the end of the day I’m usually caught up with my work in both areas, and my desk can be clear again for the morning!
Noah is author of the bestselling books on the craft of writing The First Five Pages (Simon & Schuster) and The Plot Thickens (St. Martins Press), a BookSense 76 Selection, a Publishers Weekly Daily pick, and a selection of the Writers Digest Book Club. He has contributed to Poets & Writers, Writers Digest, The Writer, AWP Chronicle and The Writers Market, and has been anthologized in The Practical Writer (Viking, 2004). Foreign editions of his books have been published in the UK and in Portugese, Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Indonesian. Noah is also President of Lukeman Literary Management Ltd, a New York based literary agency, which he founded in 1996. His clients include winners of the Pulitzer Prize, American Book Award, Pushcart Prize and O. Henry Award, finalists for the National Book Award, Edgar Award, Pacific Rim Prize, multiple New York Times bestsellers, national journalists, major celebrities, and faculty of universities ranging from Harvard to Stanford. He has worked as a Manager in the New York office of Artists Management Group, Michael Ovitz’ multi-talent management company, and has worked for another New York literary agency. His new book,
A Dash of Style: The Art and Mastery of Punctuation (WW
Norton) is available now. To read a free chapter (and contact him),
visit his website. |
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© 2006 Elizabeth Guy |
SAY WHAT? Commonly Misused Words
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Nauseous means disgusting;
sickening to contemplate. Nauseated means sick
at the stomach. UPDATE! |
A MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF WRITING
On a cool December day in 1874, two gentlemen paused on a Boston sidewalk to peer into a storefront window. What they saw, a small sign informed them, was a newfangled writing machine called a “type-writer.” Since one of the gentlemen earned his living as a writer, they ventured inside to get a better look. The salesman, excited to make his first sale, showed them samples of the print and boasted the machine could type fifty-seven words a minute. The writer simply did not believe it. So the salesman called out a “type-girl” to prove it. The writer and his companion stood behind and timed her. Sure enough, she actually typed fifty-seven words in sixty seconds. Over and over again. The samples came out on narrow strips of paper, and the writer pocketed them to show off later as curiosities. He was so impressed by the
machine, he wound up shelling out $125 for it.
Back at his hotel, he discovered the trick. The strips of paper he’d collected all contained the same words. The girl had developed a formula, which she memorized, that guaranteed each typing demo would end in exactly sixty seconds. Still, the writer played with the machine for a while, repeating the words, The boy stood on the burning deck, until he narrowed it down to twelve words a minute. He got a kick out of showing off his handiwork to astonished visitors. But the new toy soon lost its appeal. It typed only in ugly Gothic capitals, no lowercase letters, and the keys didn’t always respond as they should. It was so full of “devilish defects,” the writer declared it was ruining his morals, making him want to swear. When the Remington makers asked him for a recommendation of the machine, he replied that he had stopped using the thing and didn’t want his name attached to it in any way. End of story. A few months later, however, the story changed altogether with the simple act of employing a secretary. Hired primarily to assist with the writer’s correspondence, this young woman also turned out to have more patience and more success with his little toy. In no time at all, she had copied a large portion of his work-in-progress, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, on the new-fangled writing machine, making Mark Twain the first person in the world to apply the typewriter to literature.
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LITTLE-KNOWN FACTS ABOUT . . .
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EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS Born: September
1, 1875
"If I had striven for long years of privation and effort to fit myself to become a writer, I might be warranted in patting myself on the back, but God knows I did not work and still do not understand how I happened to succeed.''
~ Edgar Rice Burroughs was born in Chicago, Illinois. ~ Father George--a Civil War veteran and prosperous businessman--and mother Mary had six sons. Two died in infancy, leaving Edgar as the youngest. ~ Eddie attended several private schools, excelling so well that he quickly became an instructor and assistant commandant. ~ When an influenza epidemic hit Chicago, killing hundreds, his parents sent him off to his older brothers' cattle ranch in Idaho. Eddie loved the frontier, even made friends with thieves and murderers. Unimpressed, his parents soon sent him off to military academies in Massachusetts and Michigan. ~ After graduating from the Michigan academy, Ed joined the Army. A natural horseman, he was assigned to the Seventh US Cavalry (General Custer's old regiment) stationed at Fort Grant, Arizona Territory. There, he met, and heard war stories about, the Sioux and the Apache. ~ At the age of 22, Ed was diagnosed with a heart murmur, which made him ineligible for an Army promotion. He was discharged in 1897. ~ Ed tried the ranch life again, even running a dry goods store for a time, but he eventually went back to Chicago to work at his father's battery company. ~ In 1900, he married his childhood sweetheart, Emma Hulbert. Four years later, the restless Ed took his wife to Idaho. ~ The next several years were filled with failures. Ed worked as a railway policeman, door-to-door salesman, accountant, clerical manager of Sears, Roebuck & Company, peddler for a quack alcoholism cure and pencil sharpener wholesaler. ~ During this time of sheer poverty, he also became father to a boy and a girl. ~ His writing career took off at the age of 35, when he began writing for pulp magazines. His first sale, "Under the Moons of Mars," was serialized in All-Story Magazine and earned him $400. ~ His second novel was never published, but his third one, Tarzan of the Apes, brought in $700 in 1912--an unprecedented price at the time. The film version was released in 1918 with Elmo Lincoln in the title role. ~ Now highly successful, Burroughs bought a large ranch in the San Fernando Valley. He named it Tarzana. Later on, he also founded his own publishing house and movie studio. ~ To cover his expensive lifestyle, he wrote three novels a year. Twenty-six of these would be Tarzan adventures. He also wrote The Carson of Venus books, the Pellucidar series and The Land That Time Forgot trilogy. ~ In 1932, MGM released the first sound Tarzan movie starring Olympic swimming champion Johnny Weissmuller. This film didn't stay true to the book, but it was still a huge success. ~ In 1934, Burroughs and wife Emma divorced. He married Florence Dearholt the following year. ~ During World War II, Burroughs served as a war correspondent in the South Pacific. He also wrote columns for the Honolulu Advertiser from 1941 to 1945. ~ After the war, Burroughs settled into a small home near Tarzana. Divorced again, he devoted his time to his children. ~ At the age of 75, Burroughs died in bed while reading the Sunday comics. He was buried under a walnut tree at the Burroughs Office Building in California. ~ Although critics have called Burroughs' fiction crude and chauvinistic, his books are still widely read today. And Tarzan remains one of the best-known protagonists of all time.
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Specificity elicits trust. It tells readers the author knows what she's doing. She understands they don't want to read a story, they want to live it. They want to be dropped in the middle of the action. So every detail counts. A car isn't half as vivid as a red '74 Gran Torino with one headlight. A receptionist can't hold a candle to a dark-haired teenager with purple eyeliner. The ordinary becomes extraordinary. The vague becomes precise. Suspension of disbelief comes naturally. The next time you're re-reading a scene, look for ways to be more specific. Readers will remember. And they'll come back to you again and again.
EXAMPLE: CLEANED UP:
EXAMPLE: CLEANED UP:
EXAMPLE: CLEANED UP:
Uncertain
of a piece of your writing? |
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Sites with dead links and
outdated content are equivalent to abandoned stores. Sign’s out
front, but nobody’s home.|
Do you construct character profiles? |
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PREVIOUS SURVEY
1-12 months
- 3%
“Twelve years and counting! Do I win a prize?” - Toby Bankhead “A decade. But I read somewhere that writers devote at least ten years learning to write their first novel. Guess I’m following the trend.” - Daniel Jamieson “July ’06 will make a solid decade. I can’t believe it. Sometimes I get so sick of this story, I want to send it to the round file for good. But it’s been around so long now, it’d kinda feel like throwing out the dog.” - Natalie Peck “Well, I’m in my
8th year, but I have a feeling it’ll stretch out to a
decade before I’m through. It’s nowhere near ready to be read.” -
Linda Yarbrough |
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Subject:
CHALKBOARD submission
MEMOIR
OF A RECOVERING FAT ASS My heart pounded ... My legs trembled as I approached the bench. I looked up at his desk and felt like a mouse at the foot of the Empire State Building.
My court date was unforgettable. In my skinny blond-haired, blue-eyed vanity, I was confident I would have the upper hand, and convinced I didn’t even need a lawyer. That morning I donned a dress that was the picture of innocence on my petite frame. It was cotton with lavender and white flower print, and lace up to my throat. I put on white lace tights and modest white heels. My sun-bleached hair fell loosely past my waist. I wore no makeup over my California tan. The doors to the courtroom were dark and ominous, standing ten feet high. The hinges creaked as I pushed the heavy wood aside and walked in. To my right the benches were empty with a few all-male counselors sitting at a table up front. To my left, the benches were full of men dressed in orange jumpsuits. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me. A low hum erupted. It got louder; some men whistled. Several men in the front benches stood up, chains rattling, and ignored warnings from uniformed officers to return to their seats. I froze to the spot in terror. The prisoners shouted louder. The gray-haired judge banged his gavel and ordered the men to take their seats and shut up. The officers reinforced his commands, and order was slowly restored. Quiet at last, the judge looked at me over his glasses. There was a brief glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “Young lady, you may take a seat.” I quickly shrank into the furthest corner of the courtroom. Some of the prisoners continued to wink and make lewd gestures at me while their remaining peers received their judgments. The judge was somewhat of a grandfatherly type, and frequently used humor in his sentencing. It helped alleviate the tension. When the proceedings were over, the inmates stood in an orange blur and exited the room. They shuffled into a corridor and became unruly again. I imagine I generated animosity from the guards as they struggled to contain their charges. Finally the door closed behind them. Silence. The kindly judge looked over his glasses again. “You may come forward, miss.” My heart pounded in my chest. My legs trembled as I slowly approached the bench. I looked up at his desk and felt like a mouse at the foot of the Empire State Building. “You must be Gina McCrory.” “Yes sir,” my voice squeaked. He flipped through several pages of my file. “Well.” He sighed and set the manila envelope down. Slowly he removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, and then looked deep into my eyes. “Miss McCrory, your bail check bounced.” “What?” I stammered in horror. “But, your honor.” My thoughts groped for an explanation. “My father wrote that check, and I don’t even know him!” The judge’s eyes twinkled at me. He chuckled. “Believe it or not, it’s the best excuse I’ve heard today.”
© 2006 Gina Rae-Lane Harry |
Here's a chance to show off your
writing! |
IS THAT A BOOK OR A BABY?
Songwriters do it. Screenwriters do it. Even a few novelists have been known to do it. Now and then you'll hear writers refer to their latest project as, "my baby." Granted, creating something from nothing is an exhilarating experience, and developing a deep affection for that creation is a natural outcome. But does anyone really want it hanging around the house for the next 18 years? Take the quiz below to find out how attached you are to your work.
1. A friend asks to read your first chapter. How do you respond?
a) "What first chapter?" 2. While you’re writing, a friend calls to invite you to an impromptu gathering. How do you respond?
a) "I’m on my way!" 3. You drop into a writers’ chat room where the participants are discussing a current bestseller. How do you join in?
a) "I read a bestseller once." 4. You and the family are heading out for a long road trip. Which seating arrangement best describes you?
a) Adults in front, kids in back, work stays home. 5. Your literary agent requests a few changes in the manuscript before she submits it to publishers. How do you respond?
a) "A literary what?"
If you chose the A answers, you’re not only exceedingly detached from your writings, you’re quite possibly in another profession. If the B answers hit home, you are healthily detached from your work and serious about getting published. That’s a book you’re writing! If any of those in the C category sound familiar, you just might be a tad too attached to your work and serious about remaining unpublished. Let it go! Write the best story you know how, and then kick that baby out the door. If it comes back, you get to spend a little more time with it. If it doesn't, you get a paycheck.
© 2006 Elizabeth Guy |
FINALLY . . . A Sample of Excellence
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But scarcely did he find himself upon the open plain, when a terrible thought struck him, one all but enough to make him abandon the enterprise at the very outset. It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry he neither could nor ought to bear arms against any knight; and that even if he had been, still he ought, as a novice knight, to wear white armour, without a device upon the shield until by his prowess he had earned one. These reflections made him waver in his purpose, but his craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have himself dubbed a knight by the first one he came across, following the example of others in the same case, as he had read in the books that brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he resolved, on the first opportunity, to scour his until it was whiter than an ermine; and so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which his horse chose, for in this he believed lay the essence of adventures.
-
Miguel
de Cervantes
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© 2006 ReadingWriters. All rights reserved. This ezine is a labor of love, and may not be reproduced without permission. All correspondence should be sent to Elizabeth Guy. |