Lessons Learned

A popular post from July 2011

by Julie Wright

When my first book was published, I thought I'd arrived. I would never have to submit with fear of rejection ever again, because I now had a PUBLISHER! Having a publisher surely meant that whatever I wrote from then on out would end up in print.

So when I finished my third book, turned it in, and received a rejection letter back from my publisher that was so scathingly cruel, I ended up in a year-long funk of depression, I was surprised. This wasn't the expected turn of events.

I wondered what that meant about me as a writer. Had I really been fooling myself for those first two books? But then I'd read over the rejected manuscript and be completely baffled. It was the best thing I'd written up until that moment.

And then I met someone. Her name was Valerie Holladay. I was at a luncheon for my online writer's group and someone brought her with them. She had once been the head editor of a larger publishing house, but at the time of the luncheon, had recently quit that job.

I was still in the throes of depression when someone introduced me to her. She asked me what I was working on. Well . . . she asked, so I spilled. I spilled all my frustration, all the belief I had in the rejected manuscript, and all the bafflement of a rejection a newer author could muster.

She did something rare, something spectacular, something that changed me forever and made me who I am right now. She offered to read it and give me some advice. With very little hope that she could really help, I boxed the manuscript up and sent it to her.

Bear in mind, I had no idea about second drafts and self editing. My first publisher was a bit relaxed on their editing methods, and I'd received no guidance in that area. So it was with astonishment and tears of gratitude that I received a letter back from Valerie Holladay. It was my very first editorial letter.

In that letter, she taught me how to make a gritty, caustic, bitter character loveable. That was the problem my publisher had with the book. My character wasn't loveable. No one wanted to root for her--they wanted her to die of a drug overdose (which was actually what they said in the rejection letter . . . classy, right?).

I made every change Valerie asked me to make. I treated that editorial letter like a blueprint for an unrelenting building inspector. And when I was done with the book, it was a million times improved. I had written a good book before, but this was something different. This was a whole new level of writing. I'd never known what a difference a SECOND draft could make. I'd never known what people meant when they used the phrase self-editing.

I finished the rewrite, and turned it in to a much larger publisher. They published it. I wrote an acknowledgment to Valerie, and though I thanked her profusely for saving me the way she had, we never really communicated any further.

I'm writing this post for several reasons. The first is that I found yesterday that Valerie Holladay had passed away on the third of July. And it struck me how much I owe her, how grateful I am for that chance meeting that changed a so-so writer into something more. The second is that I hope you all don't make my mistake. I hope you work to make the draft you turn in the very best you can. I hope you don't get cocky or too comfortable with your publisher, because getting a publisher and keeping a publisher are not the same things at all. The third is that I hope you all take editorial advice seriously. Yes, it's your work, and you should only make changes that you are comfortable with, but seriously consider the advice you've been given. If I hadn't taken Valerie's advice seriously, I would not only have wasted her time, I would have wasted my chance to find successful publication for that manuscript.

Good luck to all of you, and to you, Valerie Holladay--thank you for saving me from myself. I know I speak for more than just myself when I say you have impacted many lives for the better.

Define IT

A popular post from June 2010

by Annette Lyon

I didn't realize until I kept seeing the same thing cross my desk (or, um, monitor) literally dozens of times that one very common way of telling is often overlooked.

Here's the awesome news: this kind of telling is really easy to change into showing. (Easy is the kind of fix we all like, right?)

So what's the weak telling I'm talking about?

When the words THAT and IT are too vague.

Most of the time, sure, the reader will technically know what you're referring to, but if you'd just define IT or THAT, you'd be showing us rather than telling.

For example, you write:

I knew THAT hurt him.

Okay, so chances are we know, thanks to context, what THAT refers to. But what if you were to be more specific? Can you SHOW us?

Switch out THAT with what it refers to:

I knew my words hurt him.

Zing! So much more powerful.

Let's try another:

IT felt like family.

WHAT felt like family? Show us by defining IT:

Being with them felt like family.

OR

Dinner that night felt like family.

And one more:

IT would make things easier.

WHAT would make things easier? Define IT:

Breaking off their relationship now would make things easier.

Simple yet so effective.

In rough drafts, most of us add those extra words without giving the issue much thought. No problem. But when you're going through revisions, try this: search for THIS, IT, and even THAT.

Not every instance will fall under this category, but of those that do, see how many you can replace with showing details. Be specific.

You don't want to get wordy, so there may be places where IT and THAT fit better.

But don't assume as much. Look at each case to see if defining those words with detail makes for a stronger sentence.

Trust me; it can pack a huge punch.

Wait. Try that again: Trust me; defining IT and THAT can pack a huge punch.

Yep. Much better.

Types of Editing

A popular post from August 2010

By Heather Moore

I recently turned in a manuscript to my publisher. Although I’m thrilled to have completed another manuscript, I’m thinking of the editing process with some trepidation.

Once you have a publishing contract, you might think the publisher has forgotten about you for awhile. “When will I get to work with my editor?” you might ask. Be careful what you wish for. Although I have been lucky enough so far to have editors who’ve allowed fair give-and-take throughout the editing process, the editing process continues to be daunting.

When I finish my manuscript, I send out the book to several alpha readers on my own. When I get their comments back, I go through my manuscript and revise. So by the time I turn in the manuscript to my publisher, I feel I’m well into the editing process. Yet, from the publisher’s perspective, it has only begun.

Steps of editing that you might face (or look forward to):

Phase 1: General evaluations from the readers who were hired by your publisher to see if your manuscript is marketable and fits the line-up of the publisher.
Your Job: Revise according to suggestions and resubmit

Phase 2: Your assigned editor will read through book and make general comments. Sometimes this might come back very detailed or more overall plot/character/etc. issues.
Your Job: Revise, discuss, revise again, with editor

Phase 3: After both you and the editor are pleased with the book, the manuscript moves onto the copy editing stage (or line editing). My publisher uses two different copy editors for this stage
Your Job: Review copy edit, approve changes, or revise accordingly. This stage is really the last chance to change anything in your manuscript.

Phase 4: Proofreading. Once the copyedits are finalized, the manuscript is transposed into book layout form. Also called the galley stage or the typeset version. My publisher uses two proofreaders to check formatting and look for typos or other errors.
Your Job: Some writers leave it up to the proofreader, but I like to print out a hard copy and, yes, painstakingly read through it again. During this stage it’s very hard to change more than a word or two since a sentence addition or deletion often changes the layout of the page and/or chapter.

The good news is that with all of these stages of editing, your book will get much stronger, much tighter, and become something to be proud of.

Perfect Pitch

A popular post from March 2010

By Julie Wright

I spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out how to embed this video into this post, and still can't do it. I hope I write better than I utilize the internet. I wasn't able to figure out how to bring the video to you, so you must go to the video.

This was a little gem I found on You Tube, and it portrays the things that I have personally witnessed writers do to poor agents and editors. It's a good reminder to those of you who might be going out and doing pitches anytime soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeTTCvXz-Zk

What's Your Book Called?

A popular post from September 2010

by Annette Lyon

This is probably the most common question I get from readers about whatever my current work in progress is.

I never have an answer for it. I used to, when the stack of rejection letters was growing. But I no longer name my books as I write them, and I haven't for many years.

Why? For starters, authors rarely get to have any say in their titles.

That can come as a surprise to aspiring writers who spend hours concocting the perfect title and imagine it emblazoned on a stack of books at their favorite bookstore.

But the reality is that the marketing department gets to pick the title, and an author is extremely lucky to have any say at all. Just about every book I've submitted has hit shelves with a different title than I gave it.

I got close with book #3: the title I suggested had the word "house" in it. The final title was House on the Hill. To my utter shock, my 7th book kept the title I submitted it with, Band of Sisters. But I can't take credit for the title, because I'm terrible at coming up with them; my husband invented that one, and it worked.

I think most authors will be honest by admitting that there's a part of us that hates having so little control over the title. It's my baby; why can't I have a say in what it's called?

But then you have to remember the one and only purpose for a title: to get potential readers to take an interest and pick up the book. If the title does that, it's a good title, no matter how well it ties in.

We write stories; that's our specialty. We aren't nearly so good at selling them. On the other hand, the marketing department specializes in selling books and knowing what kind of title grabs interest. They have entire meetings devoted to picking titles.

Since the publisher is the one footing the bills for editing, design, marketing, printing, shipping, and other costs associated with my book, it's only fair that they get to pick the title that will give the book its best shot. They have a vested interest in seeing the book do well, so they'll pick a title they think will get the final product off the shelf and out the bookstore doors.

That said, I still dislike the title of my first book. When my editor informed me that it would be called Lost Without You (now available in e-reader format on Kindle and Smashwords!), I sent her an email in hopes she could clarify what in the world the title had to do with my story.

Basically: nothing. It's just a romantic-sounding title.

Since it didn't even almost fit the story or my characters, I added a line of dialogue in the final scene so the title would both make some sense as well as reflect what I felt was the entire point of the book. (Which, by the way, wasn't the romance.)

Side note: I've had many readers tell me they had no clue why it was called that until they reached the added line. Glad I made that change!

Aside from the fact that I know whatever title I pick won't be used, there is another reason I no longer use working titles for my projects: It's emotionally and mentally tough to rename your baby.

With Lost Without You it took me a good year to be able to refer to the book by name. For months it was just, "my book." (That worked at the time, since it was my only one so far.) Since my stories always become such a part of me, it feels like an appendage gets cut off when they're renamed.

Instead of giving them working titles, I refer to my books by a significant element in them, like a character (House on the Hill was my "Lizzy" book), part of the setting (At the Journey's End was my "Honeymoon Trail" book), or the topic (Band of Sisters was my "military wives" book.)

The good news is that my publisher now asks for at least five title suggestions, along with lists of significant locations, objects, ideas, words, etc. so the marketing folks can have a better idea of what's inside the pages, and then attach a more-fitting title.

I love that it gives me some input in the process, and I must admit that all of my other titles rock; they fit the books and are catchy enough to grasp a reader's attention.

Even better, with each one, I haven't had to call them my second, third, fourth, and so on, while getting used to them. Without batting an eye, I've been able to call my babies by their final titles even before they're in print.

Next up: my cookbook, which the marketing department brilliantly titled Chocolate Never Faileth.

I never in a million years would have come up with that, but readers are clamoring for the book weeks before it's on shelves.

See? Those marketing people really do know what they're doing.

A Time to Please

A popular post from January 2011

by Annette Lyon

After yesterday's inspiring and fun post from Julie, today's topic will sound downright dry. Maybe even wrong. She made some fantastic points about loving what you do and that if you aren't having fun, if you aren't writing for yourself, it'll show.

And yet.

There is a time to write to please. Learning how to do literary acrobatics can be useful and profitable.

But I'd better back up. First of all, know that I'm not talking about fiction here. Everything Julie said applies to fiction, and I say a big, "amen!" to her post.

Today I'm talking about freelance non-fiction.

While I'm a novelist, first and foremost, I make twice as much from freelance work each year as I do in royalties, split pretty evenly between editing work and other freelance writing projects. (I'd like to think some day that will change, but most writers who make a living at it earn more on non-fiction than on novels, alas.)

In this economy, the extra money has been useful. When a child comes to you with dreams in their eyes to join a school team and perform, the last thing I want to do is squelch that with, "Uh, sorry, but we can't pay for it." So I continue to wear three hats: novelist, editor, freelance writer.

With one of my first freelance writing gigs more than a decade ago, I also got one of my most valuable educations. Fortunately, the editor who'd hired me was willing to teach me (and rehire me, because I'd learned from her lesson).

I finished and sent off an article she'd requested, pleased with how it turned out. It was published with a completely different opening. Several phrases and words were changed rather dramatically. My gut reaction was annoyance; I knew full well that everything I'd written was grammatically correct and just fine.

But with a second reading, I clued in: What I'd sent in didn't match the voice of the publication. Their voice was far less formal that I'd written the piece, more like good buddies having a chat. I studied the final version and realized that if I wanted to keep writing for them, I'd have to learn to write in that voice, stat.

Writing that way was hard; their voice was so specific, and it didn't come naturally to me. (Ironically, when done right, the voice came across as easy and breezy, but each word was wrenched out of me.) But I did learn. The result: I was hired again for several other projects for about two years, when the editor changed jobs.

I was lucky; not everyone would be willing to train a newbie. I knew that. So moving forward, I studied magazines in a different way, looking for length of pieces, voice, evergreen topics, angles, the advertisers, and much more. Even if I never wanted to pitch to a particular magazine I was reading, I still tried coming up with article ideas, just for practice. And it's paid off.

Recently, the lesson of writing for an audience/boss was hammered home again, in a good way. I was hired by a company to write technical scripts. (That alone is funny to me; there's a reason I freak out when the printer fails and I cry out, "Honneeeeeey!")

They gave me two trial scripts. Before starting, I read the company's style guide, which took a couple of hours all by itself. (And whoa, what a style guide it was! SO specific on phrasing and terminology and usage . . .) I researched my tail off on the topics and worked hard on those trial scripts to make them as close to what the company was looking for as I could.

When they came back edited, a comment said, "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen a trial script so clean!"

I was promptly asked how much work I could handle a week.

Just a hunch, but I'm thinking not all their first-time writers spent as much time studying their style guide. My extra effort paid off in spades. (And helped finance some Christmas presents and several other things.)

Booyah, people.

Lesson of the day: She who reads the style guide, does her research, and turns in the copy they're looking for, comes out on top.

Vilify Me

A popular post from October 2010

By Julie Wright

In a book I finished several months ago, I had an epiphany about villains. They don't think they're villains.

The evil cheerleader who picks on the ugly girl with glasses? She doesn't think she's evil. Maybe she's picking on the ugly girl because the ugly girl did something that hurt her when they were in grade school, and she's holding a grudge. In that case--according to the cheerleader, the ugly girl is the villain and is only getting what's deserved.

Let's consider Professor Snape in Harry Potter. He's the ultimate complex character. He's the bad guy, a constant thorn in Harry's side. And yet . . . he's also a sympathetic character. We feel sorry for him, we understand his motivations, and sometimes he's helping our protagonists achieve their goals. Sometimes he's doing things that good guys do.

So is he good or bad?

That depends on who you're asking. Harry would say Snape's the villain. Snape would call himself the hero. He made the hard choice, did what had to be done, and he did it all for the love of one woman. Isn't that heroic? Doesn't that deserve our approval? Or if not approval, at the very least, it deserves our understanding, and certainly doesn't deserve our censure.

In fact, all bad guys are the heroes of their own stories. They don't think of themselves as diabolically evil. They usually think of themselves as avengers of wrongs done to them. Or they're egomaniacs who really think the world would be better if they were in charge, and they can't figure out why everyone's trying to stop them.

This is important to remember when writing about bad guys--he usually has some strong motivating factor to act the way he does. A bad guy with the depth of the puddle isn't very interesting. Your hero is only as strong as his nemesis. You write a strong villain, and it will force your hero to step up to the plate and be equal and surpassing of that strength--because the hero has to win and he can't if the villain is stronger. But if you have a weak, two-dimensional bad guy, your hero will also be weak.

The best way to give characters complexity and therefore make them interesting is to avoid the "absolute" personality. No one is absolutely evil. No one is absolutely good. Most of us are somewhere in the middle.

I truly believe that the very best humans are capable of horrible acts if given the right circumstances, and the very worst humans are capable of great kindness if given the right circumstances.

Keeping in mind that everyone has their reasons for the things they do will enrich your story and make sure that the characters stay in character. So now you know Snape is my favorite villain and why, who is yours?