I'm not sure who coined that phrase -- maybe Stephen King? I heard it from my multi-talented friend, Lynn Somerville, who blogs with her amazing daughter KT over at Scary Mondays. (They have an anthology by the same title on Kindle. It's well worth the read.)
Closing the door has to do with protecting your work while it's still in the creative stages. The theory is you start writing Chapter 1, you do it more or less in private. You don't trot out your still-forming baby for inspection by anybody -- not your agent, not your spouse, not your editor, not your biggest fan. It's just you and your computer and that story you're wrestling into shape.
Granted, there are as many ways to write as there are writers and each of us has to find the right way for us, but I think a lot of people could benefit from a closed door. Sure, a new writer has to find out whether she's on the right track, if the story's staying clean and not getting its nose snotty, if its style is cool or out of date or just plain boring.
But there's one important thing to learn before you start showing it around asking for compliments and critiques: you've got to know what's good for you and your book. You have to be able to look at the comments and say, "Oh, yeah, this one will strengthen the book," and "Interesting idea, but it doesn't belong in this story." (Or, more often than you want, "Thank you, but that sucks pond water.")
You have to protect your story, your voice, your vision of what you're creating. It's yours. It's coming out of your passion and courage and that gnawing need to get it out of your head and hopefully into someone else's. Don't give anyone, however well-intentioned, the chance to sidetrack or derail you completely until you're at the point as a writer that you can stand up for your creation.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Working Without a Net
These days the only reason an author doesn't have a safety net -- writers' groups, friends, critique partners, advice coming out their ears -- is because they choose not to. There's a group for virtually every genre or subgenre of fiction, and they're all accessible thanks to the Internet.
Back when I wrote my first book, Within Reach, the sum total of my safety net was a book by Kathryn Falk of Romantic Times Magazine called How to Write a Romance and Get it Published. That, plus the tons of romance novels I read every month, was it. I didn't know any other writers. I had no idea that professional groups existed or that I would be allowed entry. After all, authors were intelligent, well-educated, highly-talented people. I kind of coasted through my college career, changing majors the way some people changed clothes, skipping too many classes, not taking it seriously until the scholarships were gone and it was my own money on the line. I was just a stay-at-home mom who'd been making up stories most of my life.
But I did the single most important thing: I wrote. Not every day, but regularly. I turned out pages and pages of story. I wrote tens of thousands of words before I ever got the nerve to submit anything.
And I read the books on the market that I wanted to write. People get excited by different things; for me it was books and bookstores. And since we lived right across the street from a shopping center with a WaldenBooks, I got excited pretty darn often.
For me, that isolation worked. If I'd had people giving me conflicting advice, bruising my tender ego or telling me what the odds were, I never would have made it as far as submitting that first book. My ignorance worked against me. I didn't have a clue about the craft aspects of writing, but I could tell a story, and I was lucky enough to get an editor in Leslie Wainger who taught me a lot of what I needed to know.
I wouldn't recommend going it alone these days -- other than "closing the door," which is the subject of another blog -- but why not learn from people who have already made the same mistakes you make? Take advantage of all that advice and maybe save yourself 100,000 of those practice words.
Back when I wrote my first book, Within Reach, the sum total of my safety net was a book by Kathryn Falk of Romantic Times Magazine called How to Write a Romance and Get it Published. That, plus the tons of romance novels I read every month, was it. I didn't know any other writers. I had no idea that professional groups existed or that I would be allowed entry. After all, authors were intelligent, well-educated, highly-talented people. I kind of coasted through my college career, changing majors the way some people changed clothes, skipping too many classes, not taking it seriously until the scholarships were gone and it was my own money on the line. I was just a stay-at-home mom who'd been making up stories most of my life.
But I did the single most important thing: I wrote. Not every day, but regularly. I turned out pages and pages of story. I wrote tens of thousands of words before I ever got the nerve to submit anything.
And I read the books on the market that I wanted to write. People get excited by different things; for me it was books and bookstores. And since we lived right across the street from a shopping center with a WaldenBooks, I got excited pretty darn often.
For me, that isolation worked. If I'd had people giving me conflicting advice, bruising my tender ego or telling me what the odds were, I never would have made it as far as submitting that first book. My ignorance worked against me. I didn't have a clue about the craft aspects of writing, but I could tell a story, and I was lucky enough to get an editor in Leslie Wainger who taught me a lot of what I needed to know.
I wouldn't recommend going it alone these days -- other than "closing the door," which is the subject of another blog -- but why not learn from people who have already made the same mistakes you make? Take advantage of all that advice and maybe save yourself 100,000 of those practice words.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Care and Feeding of the Writer Ego
Agent Maria Carvainis told me many years ago that authors are the most egotistical people she knows -- the most insecure.
And for most of us, she's right on target. Think about it: it takes a whole lot of confidence for someone who's never written a book to decide that a) they can do it, b) someone will want to read it, and c) they can make money with it. If writing wasn't a passion, if they didn't believe in their stories and themselves, they would never start.
So they pen the next great American novel, and sooner or later they let someone read it: a relative, a friend, a critique partner, an agent or an editor. Generally, then comes the rude awakening. That great novel turns out to be nothing but a semi-coherent mishmash of stuff that no one who doesn't love her dearly wants to read.
It can be devastating. I cried for two days when I got my first rejection. I swore I would never write again. I thought I had talent, and the editor ended her less-than-glowing letter with "don't bother me again."
That's where the wannabes get separated from the real writers. Real writers don't give up. Real writers learn what they can from the rejection (I learned not to submit to that particular editor ever again), and then they go right back to writing. For me, it was the day I discovered I couldn't resist the challenge. I was going to show her that I did, too, have what it took to be a writer. (Keep in mind, I'd been successfully resisting other challenges, like exercise and diet, for many years, so this was a real eye-opener.)
You have to have that ego, to think that anyone out there could possibly be interested in what comes out of your head, and you have to have that insecurity so you never grow complacent. You never get comfortable. You keep learning and striving and challenging yourself. You want every book you write to be better than the one before. (If you're reading this while in the middle of complete revisions, trust me, you do want it to be better, even though right now you just want all the characters to die and give you peace.)
It's a balancing act -- that ego sweetly whispering in your ear, "You're the best ever," and that insecurity curled in a ball in the corner of your brain shrieking, "You can't do this! It was a fluke! They'll find out you're a fraud!"
But, in my never-humble opinion, it's the best gig out there.
And for most of us, she's right on target. Think about it: it takes a whole lot of confidence for someone who's never written a book to decide that a) they can do it, b) someone will want to read it, and c) they can make money with it. If writing wasn't a passion, if they didn't believe in their stories and themselves, they would never start.
So they pen the next great American novel, and sooner or later they let someone read it: a relative, a friend, a critique partner, an agent or an editor. Generally, then comes the rude awakening. That great novel turns out to be nothing but a semi-coherent mishmash of stuff that no one who doesn't love her dearly wants to read.
It can be devastating. I cried for two days when I got my first rejection. I swore I would never write again. I thought I had talent, and the editor ended her less-than-glowing letter with "don't bother me again."
That's where the wannabes get separated from the real writers. Real writers don't give up. Real writers learn what they can from the rejection (I learned not to submit to that particular editor ever again), and then they go right back to writing. For me, it was the day I discovered I couldn't resist the challenge. I was going to show her that I did, too, have what it took to be a writer. (Keep in mind, I'd been successfully resisting other challenges, like exercise and diet, for many years, so this was a real eye-opener.)
You have to have that ego, to think that anyone out there could possibly be interested in what comes out of your head, and you have to have that insecurity so you never grow complacent. You never get comfortable. You keep learning and striving and challenging yourself. You want every book you write to be better than the one before. (If you're reading this while in the middle of complete revisions, trust me, you do want it to be better, even though right now you just want all the characters to die and give you peace.)
It's a balancing act -- that ego sweetly whispering in your ear, "You're the best ever," and that insecurity curled in a ball in the corner of your brain shrieking, "You can't do this! It was a fluke! They'll find out you're a fraud!"
But, in my never-humble opinion, it's the best gig out there.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Copy Editors
I love my editors. Did you get that from Wednesday's post?
Copy editors are a whole other breed. Their job, after the editor is done, to nitpick the whole manuscript. They check for consistency, spelling, house style (where to put those commas, how to handle em-dashes, etc.). They do fact-checking, too. (When I wrote The Assassin as Rachel Butler, the CE double checked my use of "Tulsa County Sheriff's Department" and found out it was "Office" instead. I didn't know that!)
(They also tell you if you use too many parentheses, dashes, ellipses . . .)
I've learned a lot from my CEs over the years. And one of the things I learned is that they're not always right. I had such an experience with a CE years ago on a romantic suspense novel in which she wrote me a two-page letter explaining why my entire story failed because it was hinged on my misunderstanding of the Constitution and suggesting ways in which I could fix it to make it at least slightly believable.
Of course, first thing I did was panic. Rewrite the entire book? At that late stage in the process? Next, when I could breathe again, I called my editor and said, "My legal information comes from my husband (who's got many years of city, county and federal law enforcement experience under his belt), the local district attorney and the Attorney General for the state where the book takes place."
There was a moment's silence, then my editor asked, "What are you talking about?"
She didn't know the CE had sent the letter. She was not happy about it.
There have been other bobbles -- one CE who wanted my Oklahoma granny who dropped out of school in eighth grade to speak the Queen's English, one who thought it sounded better to say that Dallas is a hundred miles closer to Houston than it actually is -- but mostly I've had good CEs.
And truthfully, I'd make a lousy editor. I get too caught up in the story to worry much about the big picture.
But you can ask my friends: I'd be one heck of a nitpicking copy editor. :-)
Copy editors are a whole other breed. Their job, after the editor is done, to nitpick the whole manuscript. They check for consistency, spelling, house style (where to put those commas, how to handle em-dashes, etc.). They do fact-checking, too. (When I wrote The Assassin as Rachel Butler, the CE double checked my use of "Tulsa County Sheriff's Department" and found out it was "Office" instead. I didn't know that!)
(They also tell you if you use too many parentheses, dashes, ellipses . . .)
I've learned a lot from my CEs over the years. And one of the things I learned is that they're not always right. I had such an experience with a CE years ago on a romantic suspense novel in which she wrote me a two-page letter explaining why my entire story failed because it was hinged on my misunderstanding of the Constitution and suggesting ways in which I could fix it to make it at least slightly believable.
Of course, first thing I did was panic. Rewrite the entire book? At that late stage in the process? Next, when I could breathe again, I called my editor and said, "My legal information comes from my husband (who's got many years of city, county and federal law enforcement experience under his belt), the local district attorney and the Attorney General for the state where the book takes place."
There was a moment's silence, then my editor asked, "What are you talking about?"
She didn't know the CE had sent the letter. She was not happy about it.
There have been other bobbles -- one CE who wanted my Oklahoma granny who dropped out of school in eighth grade to speak the Queen's English, one who thought it sounded better to say that Dallas is a hundred miles closer to Houston than it actually is -- but mostly I've had good CEs.
And truthfully, I'd make a lousy editor. I get too caught up in the story to worry much about the big picture.
But you can ask my friends: I'd be one heck of a nitpicking copy editor. :-)
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Editors
I occasionally read indie-publishing blogs, and one thing's caught my attention. Among the more avid indie-publishing authors, "editor" seems to have become a bad word. "I don't need no stinkin' editor," some of them say. (Well, what they tend to say is, "I can edit myself as good as any NY editor or I can hire someone to do it for me.")
In my never-humble opinion, after the story and the writing, editors are the most important part of the biz. A good editor will make your work shine like the diamond you're convinced it is. (A bad one will make you want to slit wrists -- yours or hers; at that point, it makes no difference.)
I disagree that anyone can edit themselves as well as a professional editor. We're too close to the story. We've worked too hard to write those words, describe those settings, come up with that witty dialogue. What we see as clever and cute and endearing, editors can see for the annoyance it becomes to the reader. They can spot the plot holes and the inconsistencies and the clumsy repetitions.
Editors can make a so-so book into one well worth reading (to say nothing of buying).
I've been blessed to work with wonderful editors. Leslie Wainger, who bought my very first book and taught me so much. Jeanne Tiedge, Claire Zion (who said an editor's job is to make the book better, not different), Beth DeGuzman, Melissa Jeglinski (who's now my wonderful agent). Wendy McCurdy, Patience Smith, Shana Smith (my current Harlequin editor) and Selina McLemore (who's editing the Tuesday Night Margarita Club books). I've been published for more than 25 years, and most of the responsibility goes to them.
Major thanks, guys!
In my never-humble opinion, after the story and the writing, editors are the most important part of the biz. A good editor will make your work shine like the diamond you're convinced it is. (A bad one will make you want to slit wrists -- yours or hers; at that point, it makes no difference.)
I disagree that anyone can edit themselves as well as a professional editor. We're too close to the story. We've worked too hard to write those words, describe those settings, come up with that witty dialogue. What we see as clever and cute and endearing, editors can see for the annoyance it becomes to the reader. They can spot the plot holes and the inconsistencies and the clumsy repetitions.
Editors can make a so-so book into one well worth reading (to say nothing of buying).
I've been blessed to work with wonderful editors. Leslie Wainger, who bought my very first book and taught me so much. Jeanne Tiedge, Claire Zion (who said an editor's job is to make the book better, not different), Beth DeGuzman, Melissa Jeglinski (who's now my wonderful agent). Wendy McCurdy, Patience Smith, Shana Smith (my current Harlequin editor) and Selina McLemore (who's editing the Tuesday Night Margarita Club books). I've been published for more than 25 years, and most of the responsibility goes to them.
Major thanks, guys!
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