Category Archives: Craft & Skills

A guest post by Ann Cummins.

Two aliens walked into a bar.

Well, that’s not quite right. They were New Yorkers just beginning to mutate. One was a writer, the other a tailor. The bar was crowded. It was karaoke night.

The writer was miffed. Had a bad week. It wasn’t his writing. His writing was great. First novel done and sold, review copies out; there would be royalties, he was sure.

But he’d spent the week trying to track down some fool tailor, who was never in his shop. The writer was getting married. This tailor was supposed to be the best, and the writer wanted the guy to sew him a wedding shirt. But the dang tailor was MIA, which made the writer’s skin crawl. He liked people to be where they said they’d be when they were supposed to be there.

The tailor, his skin was crawling, too. Some sub-species writer had flamed him on Yelp. For ever-so-long, the tailor had enjoyed a 5-star rating. “I’ll pan him on Amazon,” the tailor groused. “Just wait ‘til his book comes out.”

The writer’s day was getting worse. There were so many people between him and the microphone. He needed to vent. He wanted an audience. In frustration, he shouted to the room in general: “I’ll yelp him again. I’ll give five-stars to his competitors.”

“Who?” the room shouted back. So the writer told the story, and the tailor, he listened.

Blood in his eye, he could barely see the abomination that was calling himself a writer. “You!” he shouted.

The writer stared in horror at the needle-fingered couturier.

Both lunged. One skittered spider-like, the other bull-dogged: Over shoulders and under legs, they tore through the crowd in a dead heat toward the stage, each desperate to get to that microphone first.

(For details on the non-fictional story, go to: http://www.dailyfreeman.com/general-news/20130820/writers-new-woe-revenge-e-reviews)

*****

I published a short story collection, Red Ant House, with Houghton Mifflin in 2003. I was lucky. They assigned me a publicist, who sent out many review copies, followed up, and as a result my book was widely reviewed.

It was my first book, and I didn’t have much name recognition. My editor suggested I start reviewing books. Get my name out there. So I contacted the wonderful Oscar Villalon, who, at the time, was Book Review Editor for the San Francisco Chronicle. Oscar gave me a shot. Actually, he assigned me a 250-word review for a 600+ page tedious historical novel. A challenge? Yes. But I guess I did OK, because for several years after that, Oscar assigned me books. I graduated to the 800-word review.

But then, the congenial world of writing and book reviewing morphed into what it is now: the free-for-all electronic media driven Tower of Babble (not that that’s a bad thing, but it’s definitely a new frontier). Newspaper sales dwindled. Editors slashed or eliminated their book review sections.

In 2007, I hit the trail, promoting my new book, Yellowcake. The scene on the street was depressing: vacant buildings where bookstores used to be; conferences where bug-eyed writers paid for a ten-minute shot at sweet-talking an agent. And where were all the readers? I, and many writers I know, gave readings to empty rooms in a few holdout bookstores. The only writers getting any attention were showboats emboldened to camp it up and draw blood if necessary. Whatever it took to get an audience.

I decided to go home: To do what I could to promote writing and reading in a civil environment at the grassroots level. I contacted my local NPR station in Flagstaff, Arizona, KNAU. We launched Southwest Book Reviews. I aimed to review books by small regional publishers that might not get the wide media attention big bucks publishers could buy.

So how does a writer get reviewed these days? My advice: Read. Work at the grassroots level to promote reading. Contact favorite magazines, radio stations, websites. You’d be surprised how many will say yes to a well-written review about books by favorite and new authors.

What goes around comes around. Writers who read and write intelligently about books inspire readers. Readers, we hope, get excited about books. We all fan the dying embers, and everybody wins.

Bio:

Ann Cummins is the author of a short story collection, Red Ant House (Mariner, 2003) and a novel, Yellowcake (Houghton Mifflin, 2007), a San Francisco Chronicle notable book and Best of Kirkus. Her stories have appeared in The New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and elsewhere and have been anthologized in a variety of series including The Best American Short Stories, The Prentice Hall Anthology of Women’s Literature, Best of McSweeney’s, and The Anchor Book of New American Short Stories. A 2002 recipient of a Lannan Foundation Literary Fellowship, she’s a graduate of Johns Hopkins University and the University of Arizona writing programs. She’s on the fiction faculty at Northern Arizona University and the Queens University low-residency program in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Some of My Best Friends Are Editors

April 18, 2014

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A guest post by Joseph Thompson, publisher of IF magazine.

IF_poster Let’s be frank. Writers are sympathetic characters, editors are not. Writers toil in romanticized isolation but get invited to the coolest parties. They create and share every moment of joy and sorrow experienced by not just one character, but by an entire world of their creation. They brainstorm and draft, rewrite and polish, and then one day they mass submit that perfect story to the editorial altars.

And it gets rejected. Again. And again. And again. A few of these rejections will come with well-intended but cryptic comments like “We just didn’t feel this story had enough meat on its bones for how it had been designed,” or “Your story is like a tree with really beautiful branches but no trunk.” An extremely lucky few may come back with a request for a rewrite. The majority, however, will come with nothing but a form letter: We loved (insert story title here), but it’s not for us. Good luck placing it elsewhere.

The editors themselves don’t do much good for their public image. The ubiquitous rejection form letter is on par with a break up text message. It makes editors come across as anonymous, insensitive jerks. Now don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against editors. Some of my best friends are editors. As the publisher of Isotropic Fiction, I work closely with an editorial team whose skills I respect and admire. IF06_100 As a writer, I’ve worked with a variety of editors, good and bad, from newspapers and books to literary and genre magazines. And as an editor, I’ve worked with sci-fi writers and romance novelists, journalists, and poets. There are countless essays about what editors are looking for, what their major peeves are, and how you can improve or kill your chances of getting published. Some of my favorite can be found right here on The Fictorians. After you’re done reading my essay, make it a point to check out Joshua Essoe’s “The Editing Hit List” and “Editing FAQ.” But first, I’d like to take a moment to present the contradictory image of the sympathetic magazine editor.

Believe it or not, editors are a lot like writers. They smell the same, hang out at similar cafes, and many editors start off as writers. They may have gotten into editing to help pay the bills or a friend with a managerial bent may have suckered them into the job by saying “let’s start a magazine.” No matter what drew them to the editing, they continue because they want to read what you wrote. Seriously! Editors don’t just read what writers submit. They want to read it.

TheBoneTree If you’re a writer reading this, think about the last time you asked your friend, husband, wife, or dog to read the latest draft of your story. Did you notice how their eyes darted toward the door in a desperate attempt to escape? Did they sigh? Did they take your pages only to not have read them a month later? Did they say it was nice? Editors will never treat you like that. This bears repeating: editors want to read your work. You are their raison d’être.

Editors see themselves as midwives in the creative process. When magazine editors open a file, they aren’t looking for perfection, but for some crowning creation that just needs a bit of a push. Like the midwife, the editor is there to help and guide the process, but it’s the writer who has to go through the labor. Unlike midwives who can limit the number of patients they see, editors must deal with dozens of new submissions each day.

Due to the realities of time management, editors match their efforts to the writers’. Form letters are a necessity for many submissions, and what’s written in them is true. Editors are glad to read the work even if the work is not ready for publication. And they do truly wish writers the best of luck in placing it. What the form letter doesn’t say is just as important. Print When a form letter goes out, the work that came in most likely was riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, displayed a total disregard of the publication’s submission guidelines, and/or wasn’t even a complete story. The form letter allows the editor to exemplify a level of professionalism with which the writer may not have treated his or her work.

When a work comes across the slush pile that’s well written but not quite finished, editors begin leaving comments. This is scary ground for both writers and editors. From the writers’ perspective, it can look like editors are trying to justify the rejection. Let’s face it: to a degree the writers are right. Acceptances and rejections are subjective, and the comments are an attempt to let writers know their story was looked at by an editor who gave it serious thought. There’s another side to this, however. When works are good enough to comment on, it means editors want to see that writer improve, and they want to see more by that writer.

When dealing with an endless slush pile of submissions, time is always a factor. The need for brevity frequently trumps clarity and civility, leading to the aforementioned cryptic comments. It can make editors seem gruff and unapproachable when they are actually trying to cultivate the craft of a fellow artist. And when comments include a rewrite request, writers should know that request is made in all sincerity. It means the editor wants to spend more time with the writer and the story.

It’s that word, “wants,” that is the key to the sympathetic editor. Regardless of their backgrounds, the majority of editors are there because they want to be. They love their work, which means they love the opportunity to see your work. Editors are very similar to writers in terms of their passion and dedication. They just don’t get invited to the cool parties.

Humbly submitted to The Fictorians editorial team.

Joseph Thompson Bio:
Joseph Thompson has published short fiction and poetry, and worked as a journalist, ghost writer, editor, and reviewer. He currently publishes and occasionally edits Isotropic Fiction Magazine.

Three Aliens Walk into a Writers Retreat

April 17, 2014

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A guest post by Travis Heermann.

One of the aliens sounds like William Shakespeare having an argument with Sylvia Plath. Another speaks in long expositions resembling Montaigne and Thoreau. And the third speaks like Willy Loman in a Michael Bay action movie….

The fiction writers hunched over their scribing tools snort with derision and go back into their own little worlds.

Except for one writer with a curious ear. To her, these babbling aliens at first sound like they’re speaking gibberish, but then she feels their groove, slides into it, and considers going along for the ride. She joins them at the bar, orders a round of Jagermeister shots, and pretty soon, she finds her mind expanding, new thoughts she might write down, new skills with cadence and alliteration she can’t wait to try.

The other writers, crabbed and snarling over their opus works, snort again with derision, now toward her. She smiles at them and–after the Jagermeister hangover–returns to her work with renewed vigor.

Those aliens represent other genres of literature and creativity—poetry, creative non-fiction, and plays for stage and screen.

Let’s try another metaphor.

Any yoga instructor, personal trainer, or fitness expert will tell you that you’re better off building core strength and large muscle groups than overemphasizing a single muscle. Although writers generally do not grace the cover of Muscle Head and Yoga Goddess magazines and find the word svelte a curiosity rather than a self-description, we can benefit from similar advice.

There are few things more frustrating to fiction writers than having an idea in your head for a story and being unable to pull it off in a way that feels like you did justice to the idea. We often finish something and wonder if we have somehow come up short, whether it be in terms of sentence structure, diction, poetic lyricism, organization, characterization–or in other words, all the multitude of disparate but related tools that we need to be successful as artists. Maybe our tool box needs a few more things in it.

This post can be summed up thusly: studying any genre of writing can make you a better fiction writer. The more genres you master, the more options in your toolbox.

When I say genre, I don’t mean urban fantasy versus historical romance. I’m talking about fiction versus poetry, creative non-fiction, plays for stage and screen, etc.

All of these different genres bring some specific skills to the fiction-writing game.

Poetry. You don’t have to love it all, any more than you have to love all kinds of novels or short stories. You’re free to take what you want and leave the rest. But nothing will flex the word, rhythm, and symbolism muscles like poetry. Some of it will make you groan and shake your head. Some of it you will seize upon and savor and squish around on your tongue like a mouthful of blackberries. Absorb enough of it, and it will make your prose sing out from the page without any music; it will make its own. It will show you connections and metaphors and plumb the depths of pathos like nothing else can. It’s also a crash course in economy of language.

Creative Non-fiction. A catch-all term for memoir, personal essay, narrative non-fiction, and the like, creative non-fiction can open internal doors. If you’re like me, you may not know exactly how you feel about something until you write about it. We can look at our own lives, current events, people who touch us. Creative non-fiction lets us examine who we are, flex that internal dialogue muscle, the one that lets us “get at something.” It also comes in a variety of amusing and experimental, innovative forms, as evidenced by writers like David Sedaris and David Foster Wallace respectively. In the Writing Excuses podcast, Brandon Sanderson and Mette Ivie Harrison discuss this topic at length.

Stage and Screenplays. Both formats force writers to focus on character and dialogue in ways that fiction sometimes lets slide. In fiction, you can write a paragraph of character introspection. Scripts do not allow this, forcing you to write only what is said and what can be seen. There is also little time to dally with dialogue. Most films have a limit of 120 pages (at one minute per page), so it is critical that dialogue does double- or triple-duty—advancing action, conveying character, and revealing subtext all at the same time. Study the best dialogue, and you’ll see subtext in action.

Likewise, your fiction writing skill cross-pollinates with these other genres. General baseline skills with grammar and spelling only improve with practice, no matter the genre in which you’re writing. So, branch out! Fill your tool box with as many wrenches, whatsits, whirlibobs as you can. Try your hand at poetry, or a stage play, or essays. You may find your fiction taking some surprising quantum leaps.

Plus, isn’t it more fun to be one of the aliens?

Guest Writer Bio:

Freelance writer, novelist, award-winning screenwriter, editor, poker player, poet, biker, roustabout, Travis Heermann is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and the author of the Ronin Trilogy, The Wild Boys, and Rogues of the Black Fury, plus short fiction pieces in anthologies and magazines such as Weird Tales, Historical Lovecraft, and Shivers VII. As a freelance writer, he has produced a metric ton of role-playing game work both in print and online, including Legend of Five Rings, d20 System, and the MMORPG, EVE Online. He enjoys cycling, martial arts, torturing young minds with otherworldly ideas, and zombies. He has three long-cherished dreams: a produced screenplay, a NYT best-seller, and a seat in the World Series of Poker.For interviews about the Writing Life, check out his Author Interview Series at the Ronin Writer: http://travisheermann.com/blog/

From an Artist’s Point of View

April 16, 2014

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A guest post by Suzanne Helmigh.

Two Aliens walked into a bar,one an author and one an artist.The author alien makes his order:”Could you serve me a smooth but strong beverage that will burn like gentle oil from Neptune as it slides through my throat?” The artist alien orders, “I’d like that purple stuff with the bubbles, can I get it in one of those spiral glasses with the sugar coating?”

Many of my artist friends and I share similar experiences when it comes to working with authors on their book covers. It seems like misunderstandings or misinterpretations are a common problem, because we simply have different ways of describing things. Both authors and artists are creative people, though one thinks in words and the other thinks in imagery.

Authors tend to over-detail their descriptions, but the artist simply needs a still/fraction of the story, as if putting a movie on pause. Often, the artist gets more information than needed, which can make their vision of the image cloudy.

An artist only needs 3 things.

The synopsis of your story.
A movie frame instance for the cover. (If it portrays a scene/keymoment.)
Physical description of the main object or person.

When you’ve worked on a story for a long time, it becomes dear to you. Artists make stories,too, yet they rarely get portrayed into words, so we understand how precious specific details can get. You’ve had times where you share a quick run of your story to a non-creative friend,but they drown in the details and enthusiasm of your world, loosing the plot line because they’re simply not experienced with keeping track of such things. It’s like explaining to my mother how Skype works; she’ll get parts of it, yet still tries to video-call me over Facebook.

My point with this: when you make your idea for the book cover clear to the artist, treat them like you would treat that non-creative friend or I would treat my mother about Skype. Spare them the copious amounts of detail and keep it limited to a simple synopsis, spoilers included (so a little different from the back blurb of a book.)

The next thing the artist needs is the “movieframe”.

Maybe it’s just me, as I’ve done film school and my first passion towards drawing came from wanting to become a story-boarder for films. Though most artists I know do seem to work with the same method, a simple list:

Who: (What object or character is the main element and or side elements.)
What: (What is going on??)
Where: (Where are they, small description of the environment.)
When: (This is needed for lighting; colors are different during sunset than at noon. If it’s an interior scene, simply describe what the light source is. candle light- neonlight… you see my point?)

Now the character portrayed or the object needs some description, too. We don’t need to know about the person’s history or the fact he/she is a bird lover, unless it clearly shows by all the feathers in their outfit. Let me show you a sample of a character we probably all know, and explain what’s relevant and what’s not.

Aragorn (Lord of the Rings.)
Middle aged. Rugged by living outdoors. Adventurer. Dark hair, blue eyes, Caucasian.
Carries sword and elvish necklace. Color scheme of clothing matches nature.
He’s a hero, traveler, calm and mysterious.

That’s all an artist needs. Even though we know Aragorn is actually 87 years of age, it has no relevance as he looks in his 40’s because he’s a Dunedine. Dunedine? The artist probably has no clue about any race/type/planet/order/organization names you mention, so simply don’t. He has the elvish necklace from Arwen which contains her immortality, not something of relevance for the image unless, of course, the image is a portrait of his head and shoulders and the necklace becomes a center piece. Though an image of Aragorn wielding his sword against a bunch of Orcs makes the source of the necklace far from relevant. The less items are shown in an image, the less we need to know about its details.

The big “Don’ts”.

Naming fictional elements such as races/types/planets/orders/organisations etc. When you say “Vera is a half Funderon and half human…” we have no idea how to image that. When you say, “Vera looks like a human but with rabbit ears and a flat rabbit- like face,” that brings us much closer to the visual appearance.

Don’t send the artist pages of the book unless they ask for it.Sometimes 1 page can be fine if it perfectly portrays the scene for the cover. Though, I’ve had entire chapters with highlighted portions before, and it’s one of those drown-in-the-details moments.Suddenly sneaking into a movie in the cinema midway through, and then leaving after 15 minutes, will make you very confused about the story.

Please don’t get too nit-picky about the tiniest points. The last thing an artist wants is to become a machine that loses their own vision and simply copies. The 3 different eye colors of the octo-alien in the distance really won’t be bigger than a pixel.

Another helpful thing: send the artist imagerythey can use. Maybe you fancy the look of a certain actor or you’ve seen a lasergun that really comes close to the style you’d like. Heck, you can even make a mood-board! It will only help the artist’s vision match yours better, presenting it to them in a form they understand.

I hope this will help you communicate with your artists. I’m curious to read your point of view as a writer so I can better understand you as well.

Suzanne Helmigh Bio:

At 24 years old, Suzanne Helmigh is a professional artist who went from film to concept art and illustration. She always wrote stories as a hobby, but found her words get lost compared to her ability to create images.

Currently, she’s working on an Artbook titled Caldyra, which will show a story portrayed into illustrations and key element concept designs–a bit of a mix between a graphic novel without words and a concept art book for animation or games. You can have a look at her Facebook fan page and let her know what you think!

https://www.facebook.com/Caldyra