Category Archives: WRiting Strategies

You are using infinity wrong.

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An onus we writers have is to be very deliberate with our wording.

I was reminded of this recently when I saw one of my favorite pet peeves: the improper use of the word “infinite.”

I am a technical person, so my pet peeve rears its ugly head when I see someone use “infinite” to describe a feature that allows for “continuous” control or adjustment. This is typically when someone is describing a speed control that has a range from zero to 1,000 RPM and can be finely tuned to any speed in between. This, as opposed to a control that only allows for speed control to the nearest hundred RPM – like 100, 200, 300 and so on.

The range of 0 to 1,000 is not the same as infinite– which means “without end.” You can’t set it to 1,001 RPM  or -10 RPM for example. There is an upper and lower bound.

Now, it could be argued that there is an infinite number of speeds between zero and 1,000 RPM much in the same way there are infinite decimal numbers between 0 and 1,000. However, that is not true from a practical standpoint. 500 RPM and 500.0000001 RPM likely have no tangible difference in most applications. Or we could take the decimals out to a point where we would hit physical limitations of the motor before we exhaust infinity.

So, my term for this kind of controller situation is “continuous.”   That makes a lot more sense to me

Should this bother me? No, probably not.

But should a writer pay attention to details like this? Yes, I think we need to be good stewards of the language and take responsibility for such details.

But there are a couple of ways to look at such a thing:

  1. We should be diligent about using words in the manner in which the dictionary defines them.
  2. We should be faithful to the way in which it is used in practice, by the audience at large and the culture in which our story finds itself.

The first is easy to understand, but what do I mean by the second point? This is basically another way of saying “Write to your audience.” If I find that the group I am writing toward uses the word infinite instead of continuous, I may actually confuse that audience when I use the technically correct term. Note that there is another choice: I could describe the speed control using both terms, such as “…the motor is infinitely adjustable over a continuum of between 0 and 1000 RPM.” A bit wordy, but you get the idea.

There is a 3rd (and probably the most fun) way in which specific words can be selected and that is the manner in which characters in your stories use language.  If the word “dog” is redefined to mean something we would never use it for — say, a sunspot — then this builds a lot of interesting dynamics to the world in which your characters find themselves.

Note that word redefinition should not be random, but make sense within that world and have some sort of natural, organic beginning and evolution. For example, maybe in the world in which “dog” means “sunspot” there was a historical event where a scientist determined how to use labradoodles to detect solar activity. OK, I am being a bit silly, but I think you see where this line of thinking is going.  There should always be a reason for the words used within a language.

What you think? Should we writers be dogmatic and stick to the dictionary approved usage for words or can we take liberties by using the words the audience may related to or redefine words to mean something else entirely within in our stories?

Grok your understanding in the comments below.

-James

How to Write a Great Hero

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Most great stories need a hero for us to root for but what makes for a good one?

Here are some key characteristics that work for me:

Relatable

A hero does not need to be exactly like the us, but we do need to understand them.

This relatability often comes from emotional truth. What tends to make them tick? What is interesting to them and why? This interest or desire isn’t their main goal in the story but can relate to it. It’s more about how do they operate and often hints at why.

One character that comes to mind as an example could be a Heavy-Weight boxer who loves to raise pigeons. The characteristic of being a boxer is rather one-dimensional but add in the facet or raising pigeons and he now becomes more interesting and gives us a broader character to work with. There is a softer side to this brute which makes him interesting. Here is a person who can crush a man in the ring but also cares for fragile creatures. We want to know why he desires to care for the pigeons. Is it because he has a hard time relating to others? Does he see hope in the way they escape every day and fly off into the blue because he wants to escape his life? Does he find solace in how they always return home to him, something he may not have gotten from the people in his life?

Morality

A hero needs some kind of moral compass.

That does not mean they always make the right choice. In fact, seeing them not make the right choice is often better as perfect decision-making makes for a dull character. But inside them, there should be a sense of right and wrong, and it should often be tested.

The hero’s morality can help to give a story weight.

When a hero is faced with a difficult choice, we tend to feel what is stake internally for that character. Will they make the choice demanded of their moral code or cross the line?

The best heroes are compelling because temptation costs them something. Having them, crossing the morality line can also give us great material to work with in our stories.

Adversary

A good hero needs a good adversary because opposition gives the hero shape. Much in teh way we do not have black without white, or a front without a back, a hero is defined by what stands against him/her. The adversary reveals who the hero truly is.

A strong adversary challenges the hero’s beliefs, highlights our hero’s flaws, and pushes them to grow. The villain’s actions should challenge our hero’s deepest weakness.

The villain/adversary is a kind of mirror. They reflect what the hero could become if they give in to their flaw. The better the adversary, the more clear and compelling our hero becomes. A great hero rises to greatness because of what stands in their way.

Goal

Our hero needs to want something. The hero’s main goal gives the story direction and is something that we can plot the story around.

The main goal is usually external: win a competition, solve a murder, defeat the villain, return home etc. But strong stories pair the external goal with the hero’s internal need.

The hero may want to win a competition, but what they really need to do is to stop measuring their worth by each victory. They may be tasked to solve a murder, but what they really need is to forgive themselves for a past mistake. They may want to return home, but what they really need is to realize they no longer belong there and can never go home again.

External goals are used to drive the plot while internal goals drive the character arc. Having a great character arc, which is essentially just showing the character change or grow in a positive way, is one of the most powerful aspects to storytelling. It is very rewarding to the reader as we can all relate. We want to see the hero become better because we, too, desire to be better.

Flawed

Giving our hero a flaw may be the most important ingredient of all.

Flaws create friction. They create bad decisions which have consequences. A hero’s flaw typically relates to a “sin” (action that will be taken or has been taken in the past) at the heart of the story which will need to be addressed before they can attain the desired goal.

For example, Tony Stark in Iron Man begins as arrogant, selfish, and careless about the consequences of his weapons. His intelligence is not the problem. His wealth is not the problem. His flaw is his moral blindness. The story forces him to confront the damage caused by his own choices. Only when he takes responsibility does he begin to become a true hero.

I am also reminded of Robert Zemecis’s interpretation of Beowulf in which the hero king’s sin was to sleep with the tempting demon that bore Grendel, who later came to destroy the town. His flawed decision literally came back to haunt him.

A great hero needs to be relatable enough for us to understand, moral enough for us to care, and flawed enough to change.

Readers love our heroes because they struggle, fail, rise again and are morally better for the experience by the end of the story.

Let me know if the comments below characteristics you feel are important for strong heroes in our stories.

-James

Write on Coffee, Edit on Wine

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I heard this phrase from David Baldacci in his Masterclass. While this may sound like he’s promoting substance use in order to produce a story, I think what he’s actually referring to is the different mindsets needed for each phase of writing.

The Coffee Phase

Coffee refers to the idea that the first draft should be a relatively fast process.

When getting the first draft down, many writers claim you want to focus on getting the idea out and captured and not worry about making it perfect. “Get it down on paper,” was the phrase we used before everyone started doing their writing on computers. Don’t concern yourself with exact wording, sentence structure, or where all those danged commas need to go. Just get that story out of you.

The Wine Phase

Wine refers to the idea that editing should be a slow process.

After the first draft is born, it makes sense to do a few passes to clean up obvious issues but the key is to set that draft aside for at least two weeks before trying to edit it.

When you do sit down to work on your story again, you need to be in a place where you have a different perspective. This time, your efforts need to be slow, deliberate, and discerning. This time, you do need to focus on where the commas go.

I think this is one of those things where there are as many approaches to writing as there are writers. Let me know your process in the comments below.

-James

Capturing story ideas: Should you keep a pen and paper on your nightstand?

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David Baldacci made an interesting comment in his MasterClass. He mentioned how he does not to write down story ideas when they come to him. He avoids the standard advice to keep a notepad and pen on your nightstand. Instead, he feels that any worthwhile story idea will tend to stick around in your head. If it’s good enough, you won’t be able to stop thinking about it, let alone forget it. This is also a concept shared by Stephen King.

While the “nightstand” method really didn’t work for me, I do capture my story ideas. My current method is to jot down the ideas as I get them, typically as a word Doc on my phone. They usually take the form of a of a couple sentences saved with a filename resembling concept for the story. Often something along the lines of “Story idea about AI that lives inside food.DOCX.”  Most of these are rarely revisited. Many of these even get deleted when I look back and shake my head – AI inside of pears? Why did that ever seem like a plausible idea to me?

The other thing I’ve noticed is that I don’t usually have an idea for a true story, but rather I tend to capture the general concepts a story could be built around. For example, “AI food” is a premise that I could work with (yet probably shouldn’t), but that idea tells me nothing of the conflict or of the characters motivations. There is no plot line being described. It’s merely a premise, or perhaps better thought of as a base framework, on which to hang the plight of the characters.

Sometimes a premise can be enough of a spark to get a story started, but I find the real creative work comes as I trudge through getting the story down, line by line, word by word. In Stephen king’s terminology it is where the story is “unearthed.”

I recall a conversation with my mom after she read something I had gotten published. She asked “How did you think of that?”  If you have tried your hand at fiction at all, you know the ideas rarely come to you in full form but rather it is a slow unearthing. You see a bit of something shiny sticking out of the ground that catches your eye so you start to dig away.  You carve out the dirt around it and sweep the surfaces clean until you are able to completely pull it from the soil, hold it up to the light and be in awe you were ever able to get at a thing like that.

That analogy was a bit much to try to explain to my mother, so I think I said something profound like “They just come to me.” It really is something you have to experience to understand. Ideas are only the starting point that lead to more ideas which then, with persistence and practice, morph into craft.

My point being whether you capture your story ideas or not, isn’t even be that important. It’s the ass in chair unearthing that matters much, much more.

Let me know in the comments below how you capture the ideas for your stories.

-James

How volunteering to read slush makes you a better writer

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I remember the first time I received my assigned slush (story submissions) from the editor of Allegory. Twelve unread submissions, each hoping to land in the publication. It was exciting, daunting, and very eye-opening for me. Once into a routine of reading stories for a publication, you can really get a feel for which kinds of stories editors see too often and what makes one story stand out from the pile.

Here are some of the common problems I came across when reading slush:

Telling instead of showing

There is a ton of information on this out there already, but in essence, telling is useful for moving through information quickly, but at the potential cost of distancing the reader. Showing brings us into the story and paints a picture in detail.

The blurb I used when providing feedback went like this: Telling has its place. It works well for quickly covering a lot of ground, but it tends to distance the reader. We would much rather see the bouncing knee and infer the character is anxious as opposed to reading “Bob was anxious.”

A lack of conflict

Sometimes everything was fine for the character, too fine, actually. With no conflict, there’s no story. I think this can happen to a writer sometimes when they really like their character and don’t have the heart to put them through any hardship. But that hardship is needed to drive the story forward.

Scenes vs stories

This is where there is an often extensive description of the character and his/her world but nothing that resembles a story arc. The character is just hanging out at a bus stop, eating a sandwich, and waiting, and in the end, nothing has really changed (other than the sandwich is gone). Sometimes these scenes can even be beautifully written, but without a story arc, these pieces are not interesting enough to pass on to the main editor.

This one often occurs in conjunction with the lack of conflict problem.

Slow development

This is the one I saw the most. It’s when a story takes way too much time to get to the core conflict.  For a 5000 word story, if I am past page three or four and don’t know what the conflict is about yet, I am probably going to pass.  I also saw a lot of stories where the intro paragraph could have been omitted and the story would have been better for it. Not that the intros were necessarily bad, but often times it was unneeded.  I feel like this probably happens a lot to the “Pantser” style of writer. The ones who hop in the chair, shift the keyboard into Drive, and start writing without an outline. If you operate this way it can take a bit to get the flow of the story headed in the right direction.

No ending

This one was also a frequent occurrence. Sometimes the story was really good and kept me going, but then just ended. The stories that were the most unfortunate were the ones that had a clear way to end, or several ways to end, but just stopped. In order for the reader to feel fulfilled with a story, things need to wrap up at the end in a satisfying way.  The more unique and surprising the ending the better.

Downer endings

A lot of the stories coming through the slush pile end with a downer ending. It’s not that a downer ending is wrong or bad, but slush readers see a lot more of those than upbeat positive endings. You absolutely don’t have to write a happy ending but if you do, and it’s well done, your story will stand out for that alone.

Flow

Tiny issues, like awkward phrasing or inconsistent tone, can pull you right out of a story, even one with a great idea and is otherwise clear and well-paced.

One other secret I learned:

Feedback to Writers

As a slush reader, I decided early on that I wanted to offer personalized feedback whenever possible. Instead of sending the standard “not a fit for us at this time,” I made myself articulate why a story didn’t work for me.

That discipline really sharpened my editorial instincts for my own work. If you ever want to learn what makes a story effective, try forcing yourself to explain what did and didn’t work. The times you find this really challenging is when you are learning something new.

Here are a few insights I picked up about when a story is good:

  • If you find yourself thinking about a story you read hours or days after reading it, it has something special. A lot of times for me it was some concept the story covered (Sci-Fi nerd here). Sometimes it was a character or a character trait.  I recall one story to this day where the monster had a pillow for a head.  That kind of simple, clear, and unique, imagery is the sort of thing can make a story stick with a reader long after they finish it.
  • You shouldn’t have to work at reading or understanding a story.  As soon as I have to reread a sentence to understand exactly what is happening, the story is starting to lose me. A few more of those and it’s a rejection. I liken it to a trip in the car. If the road is bumpy and you have to go around fallen trees and are always unsure of where you’re going, it’s not an enjoyable ride.
  • Another great sign is if you immediately want to tell someone else about the story. If you get done with a story and think “Oh, man, so-and-so would love this.” Try to take note of what made you feel that way. It’s not always easy to do, but the more you do the exercise of pulling apart a story to understand how the pieces fit together and work, the better you will get at writing a great one.    

Reading slush to see the other side of short story publishing and choosing to provide authors with feedback accelerated my growth as a writer. If you’re serious about breaking into the craft, I recommend volunteering to read slush. There is a lot of need out there. You will probably be able to make a connection pretty quickly on your own, but email me if you want me to put you in touch with an editor in need.

-James

Can a fiction writer stand out in today’s sea of competition?

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I saw somewhere that The New Yorker gets half a million unsolicited submissions per year. Let that sink in for a second.

 Half a million.

That’s a serious slush pile.

But I did notice that famous people are constantly getting published in the magazine.  This makes sense for The New Yorker. No matter how good the piece is, why take a risk on an unknown when you can tap celebrities whose names will draw in readership.  We are all beholden to someone or something, publications need content, but they need readership first and foremost.  And this strategy worked on me. I ordered some old issues of the magazine on Ebay and saw that Bob Odenkirk had a piece under their Shouts and Murmers section. Bob is a very funny actor and comedian. I loved him in Better Call Saul.  His piece in The New Yorker, entitled A Biblical Rough Draft, was just OK though. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were some incredibly funny phrases, like one part where he refers to biblical storytellers as those who “tromped from village in floppy sandals, swatting at flies, sipping beads of dew from the undersides of donkeys, and fighting dogs for scraps of meat.” That donkey thing—that’s my kind of humor. But overall, the piece was not nearly as funny as I would have expected. 

I can’t help but think that Bob’s fame played a significant role in him landing that piece. If a complete unknown (like Yours Truly) had written the exact same words, I am sure it would have been rapidly rejected.  We could rebel and shout “The world isn’t fair!” and “They should evaluate the story on its own merits, no matter who wrote it!”  And while I do agree with the idealism of the latter, my belief is that the world is fair. Bob worked hard to obtain fame. Having an inside track to publication is one of the fruits of his labor.  And can you blame the magazine for using the tactic of publishing the work of celebrities? Bob is a very safe bet. Prestigious literary publications, places like The New Yorker, The Atlantic, or The Onion have reputations that could be damaged if they publish writing from an unknown author and it turns out that person is a white supremacist, or a cannibal, or worse yet, a cannibal white supremacist racially-biased to eating only Caucasians.

Okay, so maybe “just get famous” isn’t practical advice. To be honest, if I had this completely figured out, you would have already heard of me before stumbling across this post.

So, what am I doing to stand out?

My strategy is to go wide and deep — but with quality! I am writing every day to generate content, working hard to refine it so that it stands out when it is eventually considered, and submitting all the time. Right now, I have ten stories out for consideration. I figure if my name starts to look familiar to the editors, they will know I am taking my writing seriously.

As a tactic I mentioned in a previous post, I am also targeting a specific market: Points In Case. I am tailoring my writing to fit that market. It will be interesting to see whether this strategy improves my acceptance rate.

I will keep you posted as to how well this works — at least until I get famous and don’t have to worry about silly things like having a “strategy” anymore.

Let me know in the comments below whether you have a strategy for standing out in today’s sea of competition. I am interested to hear your thoughts!

-James

Changing the approach

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I’ve heard that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity.  For fiction writing there is truth to that, as you have to be a bit insane to pursue fiction writing with an expectation of getting paid to do it.

The saying has me thinking about changing my approach to see if I can a few more land sales.

My current process is:

  1. Wait until inspiration strikes (if ever) and write a story
  2. Find a market that the story might fit and submit
  3. Get a rejection then GOTO step 2

A better approach might be to:

  1. Target a market that suits me
  2. Write something appropriate for the market and submit
  3. Get a rejection and GOTO step 2

The new approach requires me to abandon that whimsical, spur-of-the-moment, writing that occurs when an idea for a story hits me.  There is fantasy in my head that all of the great fiction authors operated by writing whatever the hell they felt like. It feels wrong to force myself to deal with the hand-cuffing constraints of catering to a specific market. My creative side wants its freedom, dammit!

But there is also an analytical side of me that likes this surgical approach — dissecting the stories they have bought, feeling through the structure, the language, looking for the fingerprints in the tales that made those first readers and editors salivate like Pavlov’s dogs.

So who is my victim target market?

I have picked out Points in Case. They do funny well and I do like me some funny.  They publish funny lists and I feel like a funny list is a reasonable bar to hurdle; the word count is relatively low so my thinking is that I should be able to come up with list stories pretty quickly.

In practice, however, making a funny list is harder than it seems. As the individual “funny” items are added to the list, you start to question your ability to determine if something is funny or not.  Sometimes things I think are funny are just weird, or worse yet, offensive.

I have already submitted one list story to P.I.C., which was promptly rejected. I currently have another one sitting with them that I like a lot better. Whether or not it gets accepted is up to the fiction gods at this point (and we know how finicky they can be) but, then again, that’s all part of the craft.

Have you tried writing to specific markets before? If so, let me know in the comments how that worked out for you.

-James