In the early eighties when I was six, I was obsessed with My Little Pony. The colourful plastic horses had just appeared on toy store shelves and I had made it my life’s mission to collect them all.
One day I found a big cardboard box and incorporated it into my pony games. Sunbeam, the unicorn, thought that as the only unicorn in Ponyland (translation: the only unicorn I owned so far), she should be the queen of the ponies. When the other ponies disagreed, Sunbeam hatched a plot. She asked Snuzzle if she would like to be a rock star, and set up a concert (with the cardboard box as the stage). All the ponies came out to see the show.
Surprise! The show was a trap. The cardboard box flipped ninety degrees and trapped the other ponies inside. Sunbeam proclaimed herself queen, with Snuzzle as her assistant.
Snuzzle was sad. She had wanted to be famous, not to hurt anyone. Sunbeam got angry and threw her into the pit (box) as well.
So Sunbeam was queen. But she was queen all alone, with no friends. Worse, with all the other ponies in captivity, their special powers (indicated by their symbols) stopped working. Soon, Sunbeam’s sun power had turned Ponyland into a desert.
Desperate, Sunbeam freed the other ponies, and stepped down from her position as queen. The other ponies’ powers caused the flowers and clover to grow again, the stars to shine again, the rain to fall again. And, in time, the ponies would learn to forgive Sunbeam for her mistake.
(Not bad for a six year old, hm?)
The next day in school, my class was given an assignment to write and illustrate our own books for a project called Young Authors. I knew right away what I wanted to do. I was so happy with the plot I had made up for my pony game that I decided to write down the story. Entitled “Sunbeam’s Sad Show,” it was chosen as one of the best three in the class, and I was able to attend a special writing conference with children from other schools.
It took me ten years to discover that what I had created was something called “fan fiction” and that I was far from the only one using characters from toys, cartoons and books to make my own stories. It took me another ten years to learn that those people who were lucky enough to be paid to create the official tales of licensed characters were called “tie in authors.” But it took very little time at all for me to recognize that telling stories in writing was not that different from acting out stories with my plastic figures.
Writing, at its best, is still play to me. I create a world and populate it with characters. I set up scenarios and let them play out, watching to see what my characters will do, how they will interact with one another, how they will face the challenges ahead of them, whether or not they will succeed, and what will happen to them then. My goal is to create a tale as compelling to my readers as the world of the little ponies was to me, long ago.*
(*Full disclosure time: Anyone with a collection of 300+ little ponies is still pretty darn compelled by that world.)
It’s Saturday morning. Cartoons are over. For whatever reason, Mom hasn’t found us for our weekly chores. Huddled under our old polyester blanket, the edge poised at our brow, my brother and I plus some occasional neighborhood friends, watch the large white letters flash on the screen of our old console TV. “ADVENTURE THEATER presents….” This was the place where my love for sci-fi horror grew. We watched the original “Planet of the Apes,” “The Blob” (Click the picture on the right for the blob song.), “Godzilla” vs EVERYTHING, and even “Abbot and Costello Go to Mars.” I lived for these kinds of shows, soaking it in like a sponge cake soaks up sauce. I believe these movies are the influence responsible for the comment I’ve heard so many times regarding my horror short stories:
“The writing is similar to Stephen King. You must have read a lot of his books.”
“Um…No, I haven’t.”
The only Stephen King book I’ve read is “On Writing,” where he talks about his early childhood influences. The same shows I watched on my TV screen, he saw in the theaters. Freaky,yet cool, it shows the power these early-childhood entertainments have on us. Still, though these films were my influence, my introduction was a movie I doubt Stephen King, or probably any other writer, has ever seen.
In a small town in southern Utah, where my grandparents TV only received one station which only aired occasionally, that one station showed the 1955 “Tarantula” many times. And every time the tarantula chased a crowd of people across the desert, someone would point to the screen and say, “There’s grandpa! He’s one of the extras.”
That was my true introduction, and from that point on, throughout my childhood, I watched monster flicksl, even if I had to close my eyes and pull the blanket over my head. Is it any surprise that one of my favorite recent films is “Super 8?” J.J. Abrams took the classic monster tale and created a beautiful modernization set in the monster-movie glory days. And is it any surprise that my first short story sale was a horror about a woman who turns beetle and terrorizes an airplane full of people. It’s in my blood, and it shows up in my fiction, in some way or another, almost without fail.
Now, I mentioned librarians in the title, and though it’s completely off topic, I have to give a special thank you to my junior high librarian. Most of the districts in my state no longer pay for certified librarians, or even full-time librarians, which I think is sad. When a shy seventh-grader asked for more animal books, instead of giving me the same Black Stallion-type content I’d been reading my entire life, my school librarian opened a whole new world to me with “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” That was my introduction to fantasy and it sucked me in as horror sci-fi film had ten years earlier. And do I enjoy a combination of the two? Yes. An author who writes some amazing sci-fi horror meshed with old-time fantasy, is David Farland. His “Runelords” series and “The Golden Queen,” are absolutely brilliant, and though one was relegated as sci-fi, and the other as fantasy, I think an argument could be made for both fronts with both books.
So, to the amazing artists, monsters, and librarians who have influenced my life and my dreams, I can only say again, “Thank you.”
Ask a group of twenty-three writers why they write, and you’re going to get twenty-three different answers. I should know, because that’s exactly what I started doing a week ago in preparation for this month’s Fictorian Era coverage.
Specifically, I wanted to know what kind of pop culture stories really inspired them. Almost everyone had something in particular that lit a fire under them, whether it be a movie, a television series, a video game, a series of novels… or whatever. And I got some pretty eclectic answers, ones which I never could have expected. Saturday morning cartoons are represented, as are popular lines of kids toys. For others, pop culture didn’t factor into the equation at all.
I half-expected to get a dozen or more people wanting to wax eloquent about the magical influence of J.R.R. Tolkien, and yet I was pleased to discover almost no overlap. Like I said, all the posts you’re going to read this month are very different from each other. Yes, you’ll read about Tolkien, but you’re also in store for posts about Robert Heinlein and C.S. Lewis, Godzilla and Planet of the Apes, Star Wars and Star Trek. We’ve even got some Harlequin up our sleeves. How about Dean Koontz? Yep. Not to mention Stephen King and Robertson Davies. Not familiar with that one? You will be by the time we roll into June.
Even though our influences are divergent, the resulting passion and drive is pretty much universal. Almost everyone I approached to write for the blog this month said yes without hesitation, because it’s a subject that is near and dear. It turns out that our individual origin stories are the stories we are most eager to tell.
Because every writer has an origin story, the point when they transformed from a Regular Joe or Jane into a storytelling superhero. The details may be different, but the narrative is the same. So join us every day this month (except for Sundays), pull up a chair, and reminisce about the stories that have changed us and made us who we are. If you’re anything like me, reading the words of your fellow writers will make you nostalgic.
I’d like to close out the month with some of the most frequently asked questions I get from writers, and most frequent issues I see in my day to day work as a full-time editor.
So without further ado, let’s just jump into it!
What is industry standard formatting?
This is the standard manuscript formatting that will be generally accepted anywhere you want to submit. It is the formatting standard by which I work as well. If a market or agent or editor needs something that differs from this, then it will be in their submission guidelines. Always go with the specifics they require and make sure to check. If they don’t specify, feel safe going with the old standard.
Specs for Industry standard: (in Word) 12 point New Courier, spaced “exactly 25 point” (not double spaced!) with widow control off; one inch margins all the way around; half inch first-line indent, header and footer; zero indentation and spacing; titles on seventh line down; and name/title/pg# in the right-side header.
Should I use double spaces or a single space between sentences?
This is hot-button issue. If you don’t believe me, just bring it up the next time you’re around a bunch of writers. I’ll prepare for the hate mail now because inevitably this answer is going to make someone turn into a giant green rage monster.
The reason double spaces were used between sentences is because when people were using typewriters, editors needed a strong, definitive break between sentences. The monospaced font typewriters used didn’t create that, so two spaces were inserted. It isn’t necessary with word processors.
Whether you use one or two spaces these days comes down to a style issue. Some editors prefer one, some prefer two, however most style guides advise you use only one. As I understand it, page designers beg the use of just one to avoid the unsightly blocks of space that using two will litter a document with. If your MS is at that step, they’ll just have to remove all the double spaces anyway.
So forget the double spacing. I always recommend using just one.
Excuse me while I go lock my doors.
What the heck is passive voice?
A passive construction occurs when you make the object of an action into the subject of a sentence. That is, whoever or whatever is performing the action is not the grammatical subject of the sentence.
For example: “The next few hours were consumed with preparations for the journey.”
What is doing the action in this sentence? The preparations; however, the preparations are not in the spot where you would expect the grammatical subject to be-the hours are. So, to make this sentence active, rearrange it thusly: “Preparations for the journey consumed the next few hours.”
Look for forms of “to be” (is, are, am, was, were, has been, have been, had been, will be, will have been, being) followed by a past participle. The past participle is a form of the verb that typically, but not always, ends in “-ed.” Some exceptions to the “-ed” rule are words like “paid” and “driven.”
So here’s the formula for spotting passive voice: form of “to be” + past participle = passive voice.
I will sometimes call things out as passive storytelling that aren’t technically passive verbs or passive voice. I’ll mark both progressive and pluperfect tenses passive at times-note, I don’t mark them as passive verbs. When I do this, it means that there is a more dynamic way to write the passage I’ve highlighted. It could be made stronger and more vibrant with a different, more active verb. Progressive and pluperfect often present as good an opportunity as a passive verb to make your text more interesting.
Unless it is the most effective way to put something, try never to start a story off with something passive sounding. These kinds of things will often amount to personal preference. When I spot something like this, I’ll call it out so the author can decide what’s best for their story. Personally, I like active storytelling-I find it both more engaging and better able to draw pictures in my head. Most readers do.
How do I properly punctuate dialogue?
In dialogue, the only time you use a comma is when you are continuing a sentence after or before a tag. Note that when a comma is used, it indicates that the sentence is not over, so use lowercase when inserting a tag. Always put the comma inside the quotation marks if a tag follows the dialogue, and at the end of the tag if a tag precedes the dialogue. Use a period for everything that is not a tag.
For example:
I guided her to my chair. “Sit here.” Not: I guided her to my chair, “Sit here.”
“We need to get out of here.” His whisper sounded like a hiss of air. Not: “We need to get out of here,” his whisper sounded like a hiss of air.
“We need to get out of here,” he whispered. Not: “We need to get out of here.” He whispered.
She squealed, “Like, ohmygod!” Not: She squealed. “Like, ohmygod!” (Unless the squeal was a separate utterance.)
Do I write out numbers, or just use numerals? What about percentages and times?
This is one of those questions where if you ask a dozen different people, you’ll get a dozen different answers. Here is what I tell my clients.
For fiction, write out any number under 101, and numbers easily expressed in words like “one thousand.” This is the easiest rule of thumb to go by, and then let your publisher or editor make any in-house style changes they need.
As long as the number can be spelled out and still be easily understood without looking ridiculous, then spell it out.
If you’re writing dialogue, spell out all the numbers. Of course, even here The Chicago Manual of Style notes that you should use numerals “if words begin to look silly.” But the idea is that you should lean toward using words in dialogue.
All percentages and decimal fractions should be written in numerals. The only exception is for the beginning of a sentence, where the numeral would be spelled out. The Chicago Manual of Style’s general rule is to spell out zero through one hundred. Use the word “percent” for humanistic copy and the “%” symbol for scientific and statistical copy.
Normally, spell out the time of day, even with half and quarter hours. With “o’clock,” the number is always spelled out.
Use numerals, however, when exact times are being emphasized, or when using A.M. or P.M., but use “noon” and “midnight” rather than 12:00 P.M. and 12:00 A.M.
Bonus trivia-you can write “a.m.” and “p.m.” as lowercase letters with periods, or as small capitals without periods. Either way, there should be a space between the time and the “a.m.” or “p.m.” that follows. It’s more common to see lowercase letters followed by periods.
Also, when following an exact time with either, the time should be written as a numeral unless it is dialogue.
When do I use “which” and when do I use “that”?
Use “that” before a restrictive clause, and “which” before everything else. A restrictive clause is part of a sentence that you can’t get rid of because it specifically restricts some other part of the sentence.
For example: “Jewels that glow are worth more money.”
“That glow” restricts what kind of jewels we’re talking about, so you can’t get rid of it without changing the meaning of the sentence.
Nonrestrictive clauses include a part that can be left off without a change in meaning.
For example: “Jewels, which may glow, are worth a lot of money.”
Note that when you use a nonrestrictive clause it is set apart by commas.
Are there three or four dots in an ellipsis? Which do I use when a character stutters?
Use three dots when the ellipsis follows an incomplete thought; but include a period as normal, before the ellipsis, when following a complete thought.
When using an ellipsis, make sure that there is a space between it and the word it follows and/or precedes, and between each ellipsis point.
As for the second question, there is a difference between stammering and stuttering and, usually, I find the author means stammering. For that, the ellipsis is the better way to go. Em dashes are used to represent an interruption or break in thought, whereas ellipses are for trailing off, or pausing.
So, for example:
“Where is your sword-wait, you didn’t give it to them, did you?”
That shows a clean, abrupt break in the thought. If you replace with an ellipsis:
“Where is your sword . . .? You didn’t give it to them, did you?
This shows trailing off in thought before the beginning of a new thought. If you combine you may get:
“Where is your sword . . . wait, you didn’t give it to them, did you?”
That is incorrect because you should finish and punctuate your first thought before going on to the next.
So, “I . . . I don’t know.” is the way to go for a stammer. “I” is a whole word, and thus should be treated as any other whole word.
If you were going for a stutter, you would use a hyphen thusly:
“I . . . I d-don’t know.”
The hyphen shows that the character utters the same sound multiple times while trying to get out a single word. (Since “I” is a whole word, that fact takes precedence over it also being a single sound.)
I’m quite out of room, so hopefully that answered some of your questions . . . and hopefully no rage monsters are now beating out responses with two spaces before each sentence.
Joshua Essoe is a full-time, freelance editor. He’s been editing and writing for twenty years in one form or another, but has focused on speculative fiction in the last several. He’s done work for David Farland, Dean Lorey, Moses Siregar and numerous Writers of the Future authors and winners, as well as many top-notch independents.
Together with Jordan Ellinger, Diana Rowland and Moses Siregar, you can find him waxing eloquent (hopefully) on the writing podcast Hide and Create. Don’t forget to check out the workshop that he and Kary English have created for this fall! Caravel Writing Workshop with Kevin J. Anderson, David Farland, Rebecca Moesta, and Grammar Girl, Mignon Fogarty, instructing.
