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47 words and phrases that slow your reader down

18 May
Packed car trunk

Photo by Alan (click for credit)

Your neighborhood is about to be blown up by alien invaders. You have 24 hours to pack your car and get out of the city. What do you bring?

You have to choose the most essential, useful, meaningful items that you can possibly fit in a limited space. You have plenty of time to choose, but – still. You might seriously regret taking the gun instead of the pitchfork two months from now when you’ve run out of bullets and discover you have to grow your own food.

Sometimes the things that seem essential are really just taking up space. 

That’s what it’s like to write a novel.

It’s also one last tip in how to write a page-turner.

Cut the fluff.


The second A in AIDA

Fluff drags the writing. It’s clutter. Every unnecessary word makes a sentence harder to understand. The brain must sort through what’s important and what’s not, sometimes going over a sentence three or four times to make sure it read it right. More work for your readers’ weary eyes and minds. And yet another reason to stop reading.

“But I don’t have any fluff,” you might say, “Everything I say is relevant,” you might insist.

Are you sure about that?

Here are 19 examples of pointlessly wordy expressions from Strunk & White’s Rule no. 17:

  • The question as to whether (instead, say: whether)
  • There is no doubt but that (no doubt/doubtless)
  • Used for fuel purposes (used for fuel)
  • He is a man who (he)
  • In a hasty manner (hastily)
  • This is a subject that (this subject)
  • His story is a strange one. (His story is strange.)
  • The reason why is that (because)

 “the fact that” is never necessary:

  • Owing to the fact that (since / because)
  • In spite of the fact that (though / although)
  • Call your attention to the fact that (remind you / notify you)
  • I was unaware of the fact that ( I was unaware that / did not know)
  • The fact that he had not succeeded (his failure)
  • The fact that I had arrived (my arrival)

Case, character and nature are  rarely necessary:

  • In many cases, the rooms were poorly ventilated (Many of the rooms were poorly ventilated)
  • It has rarely been the case that any mistake has been made (Few mistakes have been made)
  • Acts of a hostile character/nature (Hostile acts)

Who is, which was, etc. are rarely necessary:

  • His brother, who is a member of the same firm (His brother, a member of the same firm)
  • Trafalgar, which was Nelson’s last battler (Trafalgar, Nelson’s last battle)


In On Writing Well, William Zinsser has plenty to say about clutter.

It won’t do to say that the reader is too dumb or too lay to keep pace with the train of thought. If the reader is lost, it’s usually because the writer hasn’t been careful enough….A clear sentence is no accident. Very few sentences come out right the first time, or even the third time.

He points out “[clutter] slows the reader and makes the writer seem pretentious.”

Here are 24 examples:

  • Assistance ( Help)
  • Numerous (Many)
  • Facilitate (Ease)
  • Individual (Man or woman)
  • Remainder (Rest)
  • Initial (First)
  • Implement (Do)
  • Sufficient (Enough)
  • Attempt (Try)
  • Referred to as (Called)
  • With the possible exception of (Except)
  • He totally lacked the ability to (He couldn’t)
  • Until such time as (Until)
  • For the purpose of (For)

Currently, at the present time, and at this point in time can all be replaced with now or today.

Cut fluff phrases like:

  • I might add
  • It should be pointed out
  • It is interesting to note

And phrases that indicate self-doubt (thereby and weakening the tone), like:

  • A bit
  • Sort of
  • I’m tempted to say
  • In a sense

 

I’ll add a few of my own:

  • Very [usually superfluous: very loud, very tall]
  • That [can often be cut: he thought that she was pretty vs. he thought she was pretty]
  • In order to (To)
  • Help to (Help)

Will Your voice may demand that you break some of these rules? Possibly. But only some. I challenge you to commit to cutting 500 words from out of your first chapter.* Take a word count, write it on a sticky note, stick it to your monitor and start cutting. You don’t have to cut whole paragraphs. You may not even have to cut whole sentences. Just a phrase here or there. Change from passive voice to active to save a word or two. Get clever. When you’ve cut reached your 500 mark, go back and reread the chapter. See just how much sharper the writing is.

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* This is assuming Only if you’re in the final editing stages. If you’re still fixing plot problems, don’t worry about line editing yet.

NOTE: The actual edits in this post are examples, not rules. For voice, it might have been wise to leave some of the phrasing as it was.  But none of the cuts confused the meaning – good to know if you’re ever up against a word limit.

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26 Tricks to Keep Readers Reading

11 May

Unmet desire. That’s how author Steven James defines tension. Unmet desire drives your hero, drives the story, and drives the literary agent and the bookstore browser. The desire to know what happens next, the desire to feel something – this is the D in AIDA that leads to the A. Action.

The second A in AIDA


Action in this case is taking the time (and/or spending the money) to finish reading your book. Which means you have to create a page-turner. Something un-put-down-able.

Here’s the best advice I found.

 

The Mindset

Who cares?

James Scott Bell advises you to constantly ask yourself this question as you write. Adam Gidwitz suggests you picture someone you know who is in your target demographic. Someone with a relatively short attention span. Predict their reactions to each scene in your mind. Ask yourself what would make them turn the page.


The Structure

Elizabeth Sims has a brilliantly simple method for plotting an un-put-down-able book, which she calls the HCM method (HCM = Heart-Clutching Moments). List all the HCMs in your story – pivotal points like chases, escapes, kidnaps, revelations, and love at first sight. Then, think of more. Find opportunities to dramatize what you previously only summarized, or left out entirely.

Construct your story around these moments, rather than on a loosely-constructed storyline.

 

Milk it

Get the most out of every scene:

  • Put chapter breaks just before or just after HCMs to create cliffhangers
  • Carefully delay some action – like making Pandora argue with herself for hours before opening the box
  • Use surprising but logical plot twists. Victoria Lynn Schmidt notes the art is in making the reader wonder what could possibly happen next, without making them incredulous after it happens.

 

Don’t be a drag

Don’t let those pages get cold:

Steven James warns you to avoid these tension killers:

  • Background exposition
  • Repetition – use your fight scenes, explosions and tender moments sparingly
  • Waking up from the scary dream and realizing it was just a dream – is a deflation, not an escalation

Tips on dialogue from Elizabeth Sims and Jessica Page Morrell:

  • Avoid using dialogue for information dumps – cut it down as far as possible
  • Don’t use dialogue to rehash or comment on events – show those events instead
  • Do use dialogue for tension – power struggles, mind games, etc., wherein strong emotion runs underneath, but is never explicitly stated
  • Try blending dialogue with action – like during a car chase instead of over a quiet dinner
  • Dialogue should mostly be short sentences with lots of fragments and white space – avoid conversations that go on for pages

Plus, remember:

  • Perfect people are boring. Show readers your hero’s emotional needs, wounds and skeletons in the closet
  • Don’t waste time – begin the story at the last possible moment

Dig deeper

Most good stories have both an internal and an external struggle. Make sure you’re inside the hero’s head, wanting and fearing everything he wants and fears.

 

Give ‘em Hell

To keep raising the stakes, you have to train yourself to think of the worst possible ways to hurt your hero. What will cut him deepest? What will complicate matters most? You can’t save the life of a minor character just because you like them (or worse, because you don’t want to put the hero through the pain of losing them). Here are some ways to say “no more Mr. Nice Writer”:

From Jessica Page Morrell:

  • Introduce new characters, settings and circumstances that throw your hero off-balance
  • Throw a devastating curve ball just when the hero is about to accomplish his mission

From Elizabeth Sims:

  • Add an unpredictable character – someone who’s “not all there” and may do something dangerous at any moment

From James Scott Bell:

  • Can you raise the stakes with outside events, like oncoming war or a natural disaster?
  • What’s the worst thing that can happen in the hero’s professional life? Family life? Love life?
  • How are the people the hero cares for most effected by events?
  • Think from the villain’s perspective – how else can he thwart the hero?

 

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What the heck is AIDA? If you missed the original post, read it here.

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The 21 Best Tips for Writing Your Opening Scene

4 May

The first page is your make-or-break moment. The 250 words in which your reader – be it a literary agent or bookstore browser – decides to either turn the page or close the book forever.

For. Eh. Ver.

If you don’t emotionally engage your reader by page one, it’s over. This is the D in AIDA.


The D in AIDA


To find out how to hook and keep my readers (and your readers), I scoured the Internet for the best advice on first pages and first chapters. 

Here’s a comprehensive overview of the best advice I found. (If confused, click the source link for a more detailed explanation.)

 

First of All

From “Moonrat,” a recovering editorial assistant:

  • Assume your reader is in a terrible mood when they look at page one. This prospective agent has an endless stack of submissions to sift through, not to mention actual clients to attend to. You don’t have until page two.

 

The Do Nots

From Hilari Bell:

  • Don’t open with scenery
  • Don’t open with back story (aka “the data dump”)
  • Don’t open in the middle of too much action
  • Don’t open with more than three characters (three is already pushing it)

From various agents

  • Don’t open with a dream or a flashback
  • Don’t be flowery – minimize adjectives and adverbs
  • Don’t open with a cliché – (see examples in the post)

From Livia Blackburne:

  • Don’t start with weather unless it’s about meteorologists
  • Avoid having the character think about something just so you can tell the reader about it (that’s telling, not showing).

From Hallie Ephron:

  • Don’t start with a stolen prologue – you know, when your first page is boring, so you take the most exciting scene from the middle of the book, slap it at the beginning and call it the prologue
     

 

The Dos

From Anica Mrose Rissi:

From Nancy Kress:

  • Introduce the protagonist – focus on the individual, not just a type: what is different about this person?

From Tara Lazar:

  • Briefly set the scene, but be specific versus generic – what’s unique about this place?

From Hilari Bell:

  • Set the tone of the story – is it sarcastic, dark, whimsical, suspenseful?

From Elizabeth Sims:

  • Give it a mini plot – a first chapter so layered, concise, and complete that it feels like it could stand alone will make an awesome first chapter

From Nancy Kress:

  • Understand the promises you are making your readers – both emotional and intellectual – and be prepared to follow through (will the ending meet the expectations you encouraged your readers to have in the beginning?)

Deciding Where to Begin

From Elizabeth Sims:

  • Pick a scene you know you’re going to put in—even if you don’t know where. You might discover your Chapter One right there.
  • Ask “what will the protagonist be doing when we first meet him?”

From James Scott Bell:

  • Try cutting your current first scene and starting with the next one instead

 

Feeling overwhelmed?

Here’s a more structured look at how to compose your first pages, from Les Edgerton’s book, Hooked:

The Components of an Opening Scene

 

Primary (absolutely necessary):

  1. The inciting incident – event that creates the surface problem, setting the stage for the story-worthy problem
  2. The story-worthy problem – thing the character must solve by the end of the story
  3. The initial surface problem – result of the inciting incident, appears to be what the story is about, but isn’t
  4. The setup – a snapshot that will help the reader understand the next scene

 

Secondary (may not be necessary):

  1. Back story – include only what is absolutely necessary
  2. A stellar opening sentence – spend more time on this line than any other
  3. Language – use your best prose in the beginning
  4. Character – reveal a telling detail about your protagonist using action, not exposition
  5. Setting – ground your readers but don’t go overboard
  6. Foreshadowing – hint at action or obstacles to come

 

 

Test Your First Page

At Flogging the Quill, people submit their first pages to a “Flogometer,” where people read the page and vote to turn the page or not. Ray, who runs the site, also gives valuable feedback. It may take awhile to be featured if you submit, so I advise looking at the examples already posted there to see if any are similar to yours – and whether they made the cut.

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Hooking interest with a killer hook

13 Apr

Between two marketing campaigns, a video, a cousin’s wedding, and a best friend coming into town, I didn’t write a new post this week.

The I in AIDA

The I in AIDA

HOWEVER – my absence is your excellent opportunity to learn (or review)  how to write a hook – that thing that’s going to grab the interest of friends at cocktail parties, literary agents in query letters, and bookstore browsers who glance at the back cover.

This post explains what a hook is, how to write one, and how you’ll know when you’ve written a good one.

This post gives examples of hooks that will help you write yours.

Have fun, and if you like, post your hook in the comments for some feedback!

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4 steps to convince people they NEED to read your novel

23 Mar

 Did you take the leap with me last week and admit to yourself that your writing is what needs improving–not your friends’ tastes? Are you ready to find out how to fix it?

Meet AIDA.

No, AIDA isn’t the personal writing coach I’ve hired to help you turn your novel into a bestseller, but if you want to think of it that way, go ahead.

AIDA is an acronym for Attention > Interest > Desire > Action: a basic formula marketers and salespeople use to guide them through each phase of the sales process. It goes like this:

Attention: Get noticed. In a media-saturated world, this is hard to do.

Interest: Once you have their attention, prove you have something worth their time–by giving them the most compelling part of your message in as brief a form as possible.

Desire: Once you have their interest, show them how the product will meet a need they have.

Action: Once they know they want it, tell them how to get it.

How does it apply to your novel?

Attention:

Getting a friend’s attention could be as simple as letting them know you’re writing a book (“Really? What’s it about?”). For a literary agent you’re querying, it’s spelling their name right and following all the submission guidelines. But for your toughest audience—the book store customer who’s never heard of you—it’s a lot tougher. You need a cover and a title that stand out among hundreds of others. We’ll talk more about this in the coming weeks.

Interest:

What makes this worth the time of the friend, literary agent, or customer? This one’s a bit trickier, but it follows the question your friend asked you when you got their attention: what’s it about? You have to summarize your story in the most compelling way possible, in a few sentences. This is known as your elevator pitch or “hook”—it’s how you’ll describe your book to people at cocktail parties, how you’ll begin your query letter, and what you’ll give to the writer or intern who’ll craft the copy for your book cover. This is the part that makes your friend ask to read it, the agent to request a full or partial manuscript, and the customer to flip to page one. I’ve actually already covered the hook extensively:

Action:

I’m gonna do a flip-flop on you and talk about Action first, because before we can understand the Desire phase, we have to understand what action we want our audience to take. For a friend it might just be to finish reading the book. For an agent it’s to offer representation. For the book-store customer, it’s to buy the book. It seems like three very different stages, but really it all boils down to the same thing: you want them to keep reading. You have to suck them in fast. You have to make them want to know what happens next. Which brings us to:

Desire:

How do you convince a reader this piece of fiction is something they need? Ask yourself—why do you read? Is it an escape from reality? An alleviation of boredom? A hunt for truth? A search for someone who understands you?

It’s sure to be one of those reasons. It may be all of them.

Those are the needs. And it takes the whole book to meet those needs. But the promise—and the evidence—that you can meet those needs happen in the first few pages. That bookstore customer is not going to keep reading to see if it gets better—you must grab them in the first paragraph. And to keep all your readers reading, you have to keep sucking them in deeper and deeper throughout the entire book.

A variety of factors affect this “sucking in.” But there are two main things you absolutely can’t succeed without:

  1. A relatable protagonist.
  2. Conflict.

If your reader relates to, or identifies with, your hero, you’ve begun forging an emotional connection. When you add conflict—which usually involves threatening the thing that hero loves most—you create the reader’s need to find out: “What happens next? Does the hero overcome the conflict?” And, since the reader relates to this hero, the subconscious question: “Could I overcome that conflict?”

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…And that’s plenty for us to think about this week. Questions? Put ‘em in the comments!

Stay tuned! In the next few weeks, we’ll be digging deeper into each of these areas. (Subscribe if you haven’t already. Top right.)

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Why no one is reading your work

17 Mar

Write a book so good people read it on the street.

I was terrified. I was ecstatic. Sending my novel – my brainchild – out into the world for the first time. By “the world” I mean, to a few of my closest friends. My brother and best friend finished within a week. Probably due in part to a feeling of obligation. “It’s great!” they said, “Wouldn’t change a thing.”

Months went by. I checked in with my other best friend, who hadn’t gotten past chapter seven. “I’ve been busy,” she said. “That’s fine,” I said lightly, but felt hurt.

Years later, she (and the few others I sent that draft to) still haven’t finished reading it.

Oh, I was hurt for awhile. Angry. I distinctly remember telling some of them off in a forum message about eight months after that draft went out.

See, I had poured my soul out into that book. My soul. And my soul wasn’t interesting enough to even tempt the attention of my closest friends? I told myself the writing wasn’t the problem – after all, no one could tell me a thing that needed changing, aside from a typo or two. No, my friends just didn’t understand how important this was to me.

Awhile later, I realized chapter seven was possibly the worst combination of English words ever typed on paper, and I began a complete overhaul of the novel (one of countless overhauls). It occurred to me that the people close to me are naturally going to look at my book differently from one they’d pick up at Barnes & Noble – they’re not going to notice much wrong with it, specifically. But if they can’t finish it – that’s a sign it ain’t too good.

I started to realize that the problem was the writing, not my friends.

But I didn’t fully realize what that meant until a few years later, after I had been in marketing for awhile. You see, if an advertisement doesn’t get any attention, nobody blames the audience. It’s not a shortcoming of the product advertised, either – it’s a shortcoming of whoever created the ad.

If people aren’t reading your stuff, it’s not because your soul is boring.

It’s because your writing is boring.

There, I said it. Don’t get offended; I’m in the same boat.

It doesn’t mean we have to get depressed and self-deprecating. It just means we have to get better.

See, I discovered something copywriters use, that few aspiring novelist even think about.

Strategy.

An example: What do most novelists think about? Grammar. Punctuation. Plot. Character development. Poetic descriptions.

Copywriters, on the other hand, are asking: Who is the target audience? What part of my message will resonate with them on the deepest emotional level? What’s the quickest way I can convey that message? How can I grab their attention and keep their attention? How can I make them feel a certain way? How can I make them take action?

Funny how a lot of those questions could be applied to a novel, huh?

Oh, we’re told a lot of the same things copywriters are told. Show, don’t tell. Create relatable characters. Keep the action moving. But if you’re like me – if you’re experiencing the same kind of thing I described at the beginning of this post – you’re just not getting it. Not really.

So I propose this: we step back and look at our work from a different perspective. From a marketing perspective. In the next few weeks, I’ll share some of the things I’ve learned, some of the things I’m implementing in my own novel right now – all while digging deeper into how basic marketing principles can be applied to fiction. We’ll learn together.

You see, I want to write a novel that no one can put down.

Who’s with me?

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4 clever ways to write around curse words

9 Mar

I’m swamped this week, so I’m using the automatic publishing feature. This means I haven’t responded to any comments (or InMon submissions) in the last few days. I’ll get to them by Monday. Thanks for your patience!

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Image by Scott Ogle

Image by Scott Ogle

Following last week’s post on limiting your use of curse words in fiction to get the most power out of them, here are a few examples of how to get around them.

In The Cardturner by Louis Sachar (the guy who wrote Holes, which you should read), the narrator, who is a seventeen-year-old boy, doesn’t include any strong language, but at one point explains:

I should tell you that so far, when I’ve recounted my conversations with Cliff, I’ve left out certain descriptive words. It’s not that we’re especially vulgar or crude. It’s just that those kinds of words seem worse in print than when we would just say them in an offhand way. I think I’ve been able to omit those words and still give you a fairly accurate account of what was said between us.

However, if I were to repeat what Cliff said when I asked him if he wanted to play bridge, I’d have to leave out every other word. Let’s just say he wasn’t overjoyed with the idea.

Still, he was my best friend, and when he realized I was serious (adverb deleted), and that it was important to me (adverb deleted), he agreed to play (adverb deleted).

This character gives us several similar asides throughout the book, so this totally works. It’s funny, and when he uses his little parenthetical deletions later on, we know why.

Podkayne of Mars, by Robert. A. Heinlein (the guy who wrote The Moon is a Harsh Mistress; you should read that, too) is another first person narrative – this time a teenage girl keeping a diary. The book is full of her personal editing style (you may remember I used it as an example of a strong voice), so it makes perfect sense when you get to this point:

“He certainly does mean it!” Clark said shrilly. “You illegal obscenity! I delete all over your censored!” And I knew he was really worked up, because Clark is contemptuous of vulgar idioms; he says they denote an inferior mind.

It cracks me up.

But what if your book has a much more serious tone?

The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton (the same girl who wrote…a bunch of stuff that wasn’t good as The Outsiders), is narrated by a fourteen-year-old wrong-side-of-the-tracks boy who’s wanted in connection with a murder. He’s surrounded by people who swear like sailors, but only includes language (mild language at that) in the tensest moments. The rest of the time he does this:

I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps.

Or this:

“They’re running!” I heard a voice yell joyfully. “Look at the dirty ——- run!”

This can work in third-person narratives as well.

There’s one part in The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (who also wrote…wait, you don’t know who Tolkien is? What’s wrong with you???), where tragedy actually transcends words, as Treebeard comes upon a field of his fallen friends, and says:

“There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men bad enough for this treachery.”

Granted, we can’t copy this, or risk turning it into a cliché, but it demonstrates a certain genius we should all try to learn from. I’m sure Tolkien was capable of crafting a fantasy-world cuss word that would sound perfectly abhorrent, but his choice here was much more powerful. He has turned a moment, which by last week’s argument would have required a curse word, and raised the level of emotion above the curse.

This is the kind of art we should be striving for. Not necessarily to avoid certain words – but to avoid depending on them. Reach for something deeper. Reach for a kind of hurt so gut-wrenching that an f-bomb seems, not inappropriate, but inadequate. 

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How to Start Writing a Novel in Three Easy Steps

3 Feb
Blank page

Don't fear the blank page - photo by D. Sharon Pruitt

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We talk a lot on here about various stages of the writing process, but a quick glance at the Internet reveals several people who want to write books but have no idea how to get started. Well, my friends, here’s how.

1. Getting the Idea

You’ve got to start with an idea. This can be any number of things. It can be a character (“cheesemaker who loves books and has an ugly dog named Ahab”). It can be a partial plot (“bored millionaire attempts to take over the world”). It can be a setting (“a space station 500 years in the past”). Or a single scene (“faun with umbrella under lamppost in snowy wood”).

What’s your favorite kind of book to read? What do you daydream about? Typically, if a storyline or setting is interesting enough for you to daydream about it multiple times, it’s a good thing to start writing about.

While you’re waiting for that idea, try writing some short fiction (prompts here weekly, folks). That’ll get you some practice, and you may even stumble on an idea with enough legs to become a novel.

2. Plotting

If you don’t know where the story is going, you’re likely to get bored with it fast. But don’t worry about planning every detail at first—most of it is likely to change as you do the actual writing. A quick list of major events in the story, in chronological order, is a good start.

3. Facing the Blank Page

Now comes the part so many writers seem to fear. Actually writing. Let me help you with this:

Your first draft is going to be terrible.

It’s supposed to be terrible.

The point of the first draft is to get down everything you know about the story, as fast as possible. It’s to get you started. So quit worrying about finding the perfect words or structuring the perfect sentence. Quit worrying about being eloquent or poetic. Just get some ink on paper. Because before you perfect the story, you have to discover it, and to discover it, you have to dive in and write it.

Reassure yourself that no one else will ever read this draft. Give yourself the freedom to write badly, honestly, and with vulnerability. I guarantee you the final draft will look nothing like the first draft. But I also guarantee that you can’t write the final, glorious draft until you write the first, terrible draft.

And while it’s okay to edit a tiny bit as you write, restrain yourself—don’t spend hours rearranging a paragraph you’ll just end up cutting later (there’s a 99% chance* you will cut it later).

A Final Warning

Writing a novel is will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. You will deal with constant discouragement, from the beginning stages to getting published and beyond—if you get published—and I’ll tell you right now, your chances aren’t good. Nobody’s are. But you know what?

It’s still worth it. 100%.

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What’s keeping you from starting a book?

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*Yes, I pulled this number out of thin air. It’s true, nonetheless.

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Begin your story at the beginning – but when is that?

27 Jan
Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe book cover

Book the First

This decision could be the difference between readers turning the pages and shutting the cover:

Where in the timeline does the “once upon a time” fall?

Here’s a little guide to help you decide.

Beginning at the beginning

Take the Chronicles of Narnia as an example. Lewis first wrote The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (LWW), in which a little girl finds her way into a magical land through a wardrobe.

Huh?

We need a bit more background to give us our bearings. Where is the wardrobe? In a large, mysterious house. Why is the little girl in the house? She traveled there with her brothers and sister to escape theLondonair-raids during the war.

Oh, so the story really starts with “Hitler invaded Poland.” But if you’re going back that far, why not go back to the little girl’s birth, or even to God created the heavens and the earth?

Because it would take forever.

Choose a beginning somewhere in between. Lewis briefly summarizes the children’s reason for being at the house. Dialogue begins on page 2, and we step through the wardrobe by page 5.

The takeaway: start early enough to give your readers a bit of orientation, but don’t start so far back that you have to give whole paragraphs of background exposition.

Beginning at the middle

What’s that? Your story’s more complicated than that? There’s far more background to explain?

Well, LWW is more complicated than it sounds. Where did the magical land come from, and how does an old wardrobe grant access to it? But Lewis doesn’t explain this in this book, and he doesn’t have to. The mystery gets pushed back in the face of more pressing matters. Evil witch. Captive brother. Etc.

Review all the information you think your readers need. Cut out anything they don’t need right away and save it for later in the story. Readers can typically suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the wonder of the current story by itself—a wardrobe opening up to a snowy wood, a faun in a red scarf carrying an umbrella—without asking too many questions about How It All Got There. They will trust you to answer such things in time (hang a lantern on it if necessary).

Is there anything readers truly need to know right away? Work that in gradually, showing, not telling, like this.

Back to the stuff you set aside for later. Possibly a whole book’s worth of background information. You have two choices:

1. Work it into the current story at intervals (Louis Sachar does this brilliantly in Holes)

2. Write a prequel later—which is what Lewis did with The Magician’s Nephew.

In either sense, you’re starting in the middle of the story. The advantage: When you finally do explain How It All Got There, readers get double the amusement in putting all the pieces together—how the magical world came into being and how the wardrobe is connected to it—as if they’ve just solved a clever riddle. It’s an advantage you lose if you start with The Magician’s Nephew.

The takeaway: don’t let oodles of background force you to start too early. Work it in gradually, or save it for later.

Beginning at the end

There’s an episode of Firefly that opens with the ship’s captain sitting alone in the desert, naked.

“That went well,” he says to himself.

Cut to opening theme.

Meanwhile, we’re all dying to know how he got there.

You probably won’t really be starting at the end—just at the climax. At your hero’s lowest point. Show your readers just enough to make them go “huh?” then before they get confused enough to be frustrated, pause, rewind, and spend the rest of the book showing them how your hero got there.

The takeaway: if you start by showing your readers an intriguing glimpse of the future, you can create enough curiosity to propel them through the rest of the story.

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What type of beginning makes you keep reading?

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How to Master Apostrophes with Ease

21 Jan

Photo by Brian Kelly

Photo by David Goerhing

Above are just two (technically three) examples of an error that pervades the English-speaking world almost as thickly as the incorrect use of the word “literally.” So I thought I’d do a quick, yet comprehensive, apostrophe usage guide that will actually be easy to understand.

When Apostrophes are Needed:

Possessives – when a noun owns (possesses!) another noun. Usually you indicate a word is possessive by adding an apostrophe and an ‘s’. Example: Stephanie’s blog means the blog owned by or associated with Stephanie.

Contractions – when you contract two words so tightly together that some of the letters pop out, leaving only an apostrophe. Example: don’t (from do not), I’ve (from I have), there’s (from there is), y’all (from you all – it’s a word, people!). [Bonus tip: if you’re writing dialogue in an accent, you use apostrophes wherever you drop letters, like you drop the ‘g’ in shootin’ the breeze. That’s how we Texans talk, anyhow.]

When Apostrophes are NOT Needed:

Plurals – a word that indicates there are more than one of something. We pluralize most words by adding an ‘s’ at the end. But NOT an apostrophe. Example: houses (more than one house), apostrophes (more than one apostrophe).

Singular Third Person Present Tense Verbs – actions done by one person you are talking about (not to); add an ‘s’ but NOT an apostrophe. Words like gets, owns, drives, writes. For instance, I walk, and you walk, but he walks. NOT he walk’s.

When it Gets Complicated

Plural possessives – when more than one thing owns something else, add an ‘s’ and then an apostrophe. For instance: the girls’ hair is red (two girls have red hair) versus the girl’s hair is red (one girl has red hair).

It’s vs. Its

Okay, so the possessives and contractions rule seemed pretty great, but, as seems to be inevitable with the English language, there was this one word that rebelled: It. You know; the giant brain from A Wrinkle in Time. I don’t know why the Powers That Be deemed it necessary to eliminate the apostrophe from possessive its, because context should in any case make the meaning clear. Probably just to torture kids in English class. But the standing rule is this:

It’s is a contraction for it is.

Its is the possessive form of it.

So there you have it.

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