Category Archives: Balancing Acts

A guest post by Lou Berger.

As Emily Godhand’s post Friday discussed, writers are, in the course of their tutelage, exhorted to show their story, not tell it. As you read this post, however, you‘ll learn a specialized form of how to break this rule and do it well.

See what I did there? I gave you some insight about what’s to come! If you were paying attention, Gentle Reader, you’ll be able to guess the rule I’m about to teach you how to break. And that’s exactly the point.

Authors, including Stephen King and Jane Austen, make frequent use of the literary device known as authorial foreshadowing. Thing are bopping along, you’re getting great dialogue, great scene descriptions and a general, friendly backstory of the folks you’re about to spend time with in the story you are reading. Then, ruining your day, the author intrudes on all this happiness and beauty with a huge revelation.

“Little did Jimmy know that this was his last morning of sunshine. A late-model Buick with fishhooks welded to the grill barreled down the interstate, driven by an unshaven man hunching forward to peer through the cloudy windshield.”

Gives you shivers, don’t it? And the unshaven man probably won’t, prior to his smashing into poor little Jimmy and his friends at the bus stop, pull over and shave or, God forbid, clean the damn windshield.

The author has interrupted the story to tell you that something dire is approaching. Now you can’t see Jimmy in quite the same way, can you? You’re already discounting what he says and does because he’s gonna die. Oh, it will be a splendid death, for sure, with young bodies cartwheeling through the air, perhaps a mangling or two, maybe even a severed head bouncing through the school zone, coming to rest against the curb, eyes clouding over as the mouth works soundlessly.

But I digress. That’s coming up. Right now, Jimmy and his cohorts are sniggering about something the teacher said. “The beauty of art,” she announced, but the boys can only parse that she said “The beauty, uh, fart.”

Boys, right?

Authors foreshadow to build tension, to keep you engaged in the story.

Also, if they know that something unbelievable is about to happen, a good author will break the “show, don’t tell” rule with authorial foreshadowing to get your mind working on what is about to take place. Call it, if you are so inclined, a way to get you thinking about something improbable way ahead of time, so that when it comes up, you were expecting it and you’re not so unwilling to believe that it is possible.

“When Georgette woke up that morning and stretched in the early Kansas sunshine, she had no idea that she’d be barreling toward Pluto in a stolen alien spacecraft by mid-afternoon.”

See? Now she can munch Wheaties, dress for school in a smock and Mary Janes, then skip her way to the bus stop where Janice is waiting with the latest dirt on the new boy that moved into the Johnson house. WE know that aliens are a’comin’. So we mentally prepare for that and anxiously await learning how the author will make it happen.

Georgette, on the other hand, is clueless.

And we turn the pages rapidly, racing toward the abduction . . .

There. I told you you’d learn something!

About Lou Berger:

Lou Berger is a Denver-based writer. He’s published several short stories in magazines and anthologies, and is a member of SFWA. He’s currently working on a middle-grade novel set in 1978’s Franklin, North Carolina. His website is www.LouJBerger.com.

TELL Me a Story

March 13, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills Emily Godhand Horror The Writing Life 4 Comments

A guest post by Emily Godhand.

Oh sure, give Friday the 13th to the horror writer. I see how it is. Two can play this game.

I apologize for nothing.

It seems a bit blasphemous (Hi! I’m Godhand) to call out one of the first rules I ever heard when writing stories: Show, don’t tell.

This quickly became the only rule I ever heard, as it seemed the easiest way for anyone who had ever put pen to paper to become a critic and ‘help’ me with my story. (Even you, Ms. High School English Teacher! For shame.)

But the problem was, as well-intentioned as everyone was, there was never enough ‘showing’ and any sort of ‘telling’ was immediately reprimanded with that ‘rule’. They were taking it as an axiom, and weren’t looking at context, style, pacing or point of view. They weren’t listening to it as a story, as an oral narration passed from person to person.

Oh, no.

It was just “you’re directly telling me something and there’s a RULE against that and therefore that’s bad.”

Sure, they wanted to be helpful, but they didn’t have or didn’t know how to deliver constructive feedback, so by God, they were going to keep repeating that suggestion no matter how minutely I described every mundane detail of every person my protagonist encountered. It wasn’t enough to just say he was “fair, fit, and flawless”; they wanted every last detail of this man’s physical description until I had spent a page non-ironically devoted to the magnificence of his beard.

When really, there are no words.

I mean, it was a well-intentioned enough rule meant to draw out vivid descriptions and immersive, flavorful text that evoked cinematic images from the effective use of word-play. It was meant to avoid mundane descriptions and narrations. But…in the process, describing every last little thing in an attempt to ‘show and not tell’ creates mundane descriptions and narrations.

“Bob was happy. He drank his coffee. Then he went to work.”

Some have taken it so far as to be interpreted as “Don’t tell ANYTHING”, as if the story is some sort of well-kept secret only to be ascertained by the finest of reader-sleuths.
…After they dredge through a purple sea of descriptions, that is.

“The Writer’s Motto!” …wait…

The other extreme being, of course, is to show EVERYTHING. Which isn’t much better.

Let’s go back to Bob.

“Bob picked up his yellow mug with a bright smile. He took a sip then set it down. His lips puckered at the taste and twisted his face into a scowl. He took another sip. The metallic toaster popped up golden brown toast. His stomach growled. He left the toast in the toaster and took another sip….”

Do I care that the mug is yellow? Is there something special about the toaster that I need to describe it as ‘metallic’? Is toast anything but golden brown? Does all that description even matter? Bob’s having breakfast. Tell me he’s having breakfast and then Cut. End scene.

You could tell me he got ready for work “with his usual breakfast of black coffee laced with self-loathing”, but to tell me anything more implies there is something important within the context of the breakfast itself. If there isn’t, you’re just slowing down the pacing. Giving attention to something tells the reader ‘this is important!’

But you can mix showing with telling. You can do that. You’re the writer. You’re a God with a pen in your hand; there are no rules, only suggestions.

“Bob was happy.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he poured a large mug of black coffee. He had a good home, a good wife, a good job. He plastered on a smile and chugged down the burning liquid, still ignoring the toast that popped up behind him minutes ago.

What good was his home to him when he was never there?
What good was having a wife when she hated him?
What good was having a job if he couldn’t bring himself to go in?

He hung his head in utter shame.
No, Bob was miserable, and he knew it.”

Ask yourself:
Is this adding to the texture and flavor of the story?
Is it appropriate for the current pacing? (description slows things down)
Is this most effective way of delivering important (or at the very least, interesting) information in your style?

If not, get on with it already! There’s an antagonist to face and obstacles to overcome and you’re here writing something that could be summarized as “Bob had his normal breakfast of black coffee and self-hatred before heading into work.”

But that would be story-telling.

So what is a writer to do?

*Keep point of view in mind-
Who is telling this story and who are they telling it to?
Would you say it this way when telling the story to someone else?

*Keep pacing in mind-
What information do they need to know right now, and is it worth slowing the story down to show this information?

*Keep in mind this is a narrative medium, not a visual one-
You can hand over information freely in a narrative medium. You are conveying information; give the information the reader needs to, or should, know, in order to enjoy the experience.

Then again, there’s a lot to be said about straight up telling information to your readers without ever showing them anything.

As it is Friday 13th, there’s always the classic horror tactic of telling the reader just how indescribable something was, because, My God, it works.

Look at this lucky bastard with no eyes.

“My dearest reader,

I cannot even begin to describe the horror, the insanity, that this beast invoked within the depths of my jaded soul.

I cannot — WILL NOT — describe this evil nightmare, as you and this .45 are my only friends left, and I fear if I even began to describe a fraction of the terror I’ve witnessed, your eyes would burst within their sockets and your mind would shatter into a thousand pieces.

They would lock you away in a quiet room at the furthest reach of Arkham’s towers because you’d do nothing but scream,
and scream,
and scream.

The image of this grotesque monstrosity would be forever seared into your mind. Never again in your short, miserable life, (if God is merciful), would you ever know any rest or peace again.”
-Lovecraft possessing Godhand

And it’s like, well, Mr. Narrator- writing-in-second-person, you’ve done a lot of telling for sure, but, you’ve also shown me what this thing looks like as well, and …you know what, Man? Maybe…maybe I don’t wanna see it.

That’s how it’s done. Ladies? Call me.

My friend and mentor Bruce Elgin gave me only two rules for writing:
1) Be Clear
2) Don’t be boring

If you can do both these things, your writing works. You can do what you want.

So go on and tell me a story.

About Emily Godhand:

Emily Godhand is a cross-genre author who lives in a book fort in Denver, CO, with nine rats who revere her as their Queen.

As former psychiatric technician, she draws her inspirations from her work and the constant nightmares she’s had for 13 years. As such, her works tend to focus on an exploration of trauma, immortality, and human consciousness.

Read her latest work on Wattpad, where she is an Ambassador.

I Write For Money–Except When I Don’t

March 10, 2015

mary

Balancing Acts Doing Good in the World Living Deliberately Mary Pletsch Publishing No Comments

Money flows to the writer.

It’s a great rule, created to help new writers from being taken in by scam publishers who make their money by demanding payments from authors rather than from selling books to readers.

When I first began submitting my work, I made a deal with myself: I was submitting only to markets that paid up front. I wasn’t going to settle for “exposure in lieu of payment.” If I wanted “exposure” I could post my stories on my tumblr. I wanted to see cash up front. And I wasn’t going to fill my garage with hundreds of copies of my books that would then be up to me to sell.

For the most part, this is a good rule and it’s served me well. It’s a great feeling to be able to buy things and pay bills with the money I make from my writing.

But I’ve broken this rule a few times with short story anthologies, and I still feel good about it. Here’s why.

Charity anthology

I gave a short story to an anthology in support of animal welfare. I give cash to the Humane Society, so I was also willing to give a story in lieu of cash, in support of a worthwhile cause.

Similarly, some of my writer friends have donated copies of their books or anthologies they are in from their stock (see below) to silent auctions and other fundraisers. Although they’re out the cost of the book, they’ve increased visibility for their work and contributed to a good cause.

As with cash donations, writers need to strike a sustainable balance for giving away stories or hard copies. You will need to decide for yourself how often you’re willing (or able) to give away your work for free. If you’re gaining exposure in a way that counts–for example, appearing in a charity anthology with some big-name authors–or if you feel strongly about the cause you’re fundraising for, it’s worth doing this sometimes.

Payment in royalties

Payment in royalties is a gamble. If the anthology sells well, I stand to make more than I might if I’d simply sold the story for a flat fee. If it doesn’t, though, I risk seeing little if any return on those first publication rights.

The first time I took this gamble, I had a story that was shorter than my usual work. It had been sitting on my hard drive for the better part of a year and I’d been having trouble thinking of where I might place it. I finally found the perfect anthology call, but it paid only in royalties. I decided to take the gamble. It was accepted. Currently, I’m still a little short of what I’d like to have sold it for, but the anthology is still in publication, meaning I will hopefully be seeing more royalties in the future.

Royalties are a lot more common when you’re writing in longer forms. My first novella (written under a pseudonym) also pays entirely in royalties, so I’m waiting to see whether I get more, or less, than I would’ve gotten if I’d cut it down to anthology length and sold it to an anthology for a single up-front payment.

Stocking your work

On occasion I’ve paid more than I’ve earned getting extra copies of the anthologies my work appears in. The first time, I looked at that box of books and my empty wallet and winced a little. In the end, though, having a few copies on hand has proven to be worth the investment.

Earlier this year, I participated in an author launch and came away with cash in hand—even after giving copies to the event organizer, my fellow authors, and our fearless sales-table staffer. I also attended Ad Astra convention in Toronto and sold enough books to pay for my food and travel expenses, making the con much more affordable. The launch party and the convention gave me the ability to promote my work to a wider audience, something I couldn’t have done as easily without stock on hand to sell.

Another factor is when acquaintances, co-workers and party guests ask me: oh, you’re a writer? Can I see your work? I’ve gotten my anthologies into a number of hands just by saying: yes, I have some copies on hand, this one is $15…

So how much stock should you have? I’ve had authors recommending five copies of each work as their ideal stock number. Other factors to consider include how much money you can afford up front, how much space you have to store stock, how many anthologies you’re in, and how marketable each book is (for example, in-person I attend more sci-fi events than romance events, so I stock more of my sci-fi themed work.) I also find that I get better shipping prices on 10-20 books than I do on 5; fortunately, I have family and friends who lay claim to most of the difference, which helps to keep my first stock shipment affordable.

Writing for fun

I enjoy online role playing, fan fiction, talking about themes in my favourite comics, and other kinds of writing that don’t pay me money. I’ve scrutinized my hobbies to avoid wasting time I could spend on paying writing, and have decided that if I accomplish my professional writing goals, I am just as entitled to spend my relaxation time on role playing as on video games, crafts or any other form of entertainment. Sometimes, when I’ve edited a story for the tenth time or a conclusion just isn’t coming together or I’ve received a disappointing rejection, I feel that I hate writing, and ask myself why I’m doing this. And then I hammer out a goofy little fan-fic, fall in love with my craft all over again, and the next morning feel inspired when I return to my original work.

Fiction Faux Pas

March 6, 2015

fictorians

Balancing Acts Craft & Skills Marta Sprout 4 Comments

A guest post by Marta Sprout.

You know the feeling. You, the writer of a magnificent novel, stare at yet another rejection notice, which you promptly shred into confetti and promise to use as tinder in your fireplace the next time the wind-chill sags below freezing.

So what’s wrong? Why can’t editors and agents see the brilliance of your story? The simple answer might be fiction faux pas. Here are a few of the red flags that make editors roll their eyes and grab for that nasty form letter faster than you type nope:

The overuse of names in dialog.
Dialog tags that go beyond said or asked.
Too many modifying adverbs.
Holy Moly! There be too many exclamation points here!!!!!!

You work hard to tell a ripping good tale and to present exciting dialog. Knowing what not to do is only part of the equation. What we need is to understand why something doesn’t work and how to fix it. Let’s take a look at what works and what doesn’t:

What would you think if you read a line of dialog that went something like this…

“Enough, Rebecca!!!” he yelled, angrily.

Oh good grief…Referee flags are flying like a brawl on the goal line. Let’s look closer.

There is nothing wrong with using names in dialog, unless you go overboard and make your characters sound stilted and awkward.

“Ben, I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Well, why not, Sarah?”

“Because, Ben, this is where it happened.” (Bum, bum, bum…bum)

The overuse of names can easily sound like newbie theater students trying to be uber-dramatic or like characters telling each other what they already know for the sake of the reader’s enlightenment.

“Well, Elizabeth. We’ve been married for twenty years and have three fine sons.”

(I’m thinking Lizzy already knows this.)

Another reason too many names don’t work is because they act like speed bumps and interrupt the flow of the conversation. Never interrupt dialog unless three guys with machine guns show up.

What about those modifying adverbs? On page 673 of Under the Dome Stephen King wrote: “Glinda,” the girl said faintly. If he can do it, why can’t you? Beyond the fact that he has sold over 350 million copies, even he uses modifying adverbs very sparingly. Verbal exchanges pop NOT when you tell the reader that she spoke angrily, boldly, emphatically, hesitantly, sadly, or joyously, but when you put the full force of those EMOTIONS into her words. Compare these lines:

“You don’t listen,” she said angrily.
“What is wrong with you? You never listen to me,” she said.
Sarah smacked the silverware drawer shut. “What’s wrong with you? You never listen to me.”

In the first line, can you see how the character’s voice is so flat that the author has to tell us the character’s emotional state? The second line is better. We don’t need to be told that she’s hacked off because we can hear the anger rippling in her voice. In the third version, we are getting the emotion in her voice and we see and hear the snap of her gestures when she slams the drawer shut. The point here is that great dialog oozes action, emotions, and your characters’ own distinctive voices. Remember that in any conversation there are two expressions happening simultaneously: the verbal exchange and the body language, which can be even more telling. For example:

Richard launched out of his seat, towering over Sarah. “Do you love me?”

She stared at her lap and continued picking at her red nail polish.

“Answer the damned question.”

Sarah slouched in her seat and yawned. “Yeah,” she said without looking up.

Is Richard going to believe her? Not likely with that body language.

What about alternative dialog tags such as: he screamed, yelled, offered, replied, commented, snorted, bellowed, whimpered, etc? Here’s where the problem lies. Remember that some conventions in writing are done purely for the sake of clarification:

I love eating my dog and my grandmother (yuck) vs. I love eating, my dog, and my grandmother.

Like punctuation, dialog tags are purely for clarity and are meant to be invisible. They aren’t part of the dialog nor are they prose. To avoid repetition it makes sense that we’d be tempted to use something other than said. But trust me on this one, a reader’s eye will glide right over said and asked and remain focused right where you want it–on the conversation.

So, does that mean you will never see “he screamed” in the work of a bestselling author? Nope.

On page 180 of Tripwire, Lee Child wrote: “Get down,” Reacher shouted. If Lee Child can use these type of tags, why can’t you? You can, just do it in moderation and only when nothing else will do. Hint: they work best when showing a voice’s volume.

Speaking of punctuation. Exclamation points work only in extreme situations of utter desperation. Not so much when they crop up in every other line of dialog! Sometimes in multiples!!!!! Unless you write wonderful comic books, use them like hot Sriracha sauce–only when the situation requires a fierce punch. Remember those editors, whom you are trying to impress? They see the liberal use of exclamation points as sure signs of an amateur, which you’re not.

Writing is much more than a list of rules. It’s an art form. You can write anything–if it works. Language is fluid. Ever-changing. There was a time when we didn’t use punctuation or standardized spelling. Word usage evolves. If I had called you nice in 1285, you would have slapped me for calling you stupid. Back in the day of movies such as The Sound of Music, gay meant light-hearted or carefree. Lite is commonly used for the word light. Any form of written language from novels to nonfiction, blurbs to bumper stickers will BTW continue to change. The trick for a novelist is to tell a story that people will remember.

Good luck and keep writing.

About Marta Sprout:

Marta Sprout is an award-winning author. The Saturday Evening Post published her short story, The Latte Alliance, in their anthology “Best Short Stories of 2014 from The Great American Fiction Contest.” Her essays and articles have been published in newspapers and major magazines such as Antiques Magazine. Known for her thrillers, Marta writes full time, assists the Corpus Christi Police Department on crime-scene scenarios, and enjoys kiteboarding, scuba diving, and snow skiing.