the layered word

Self Editing

layer — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 00:53:16 +0000

The hardest part of writing for me is never the writing. It’s transforming the writing into something that other people might actually want to read. Editing, as an art form, uses an entirely different set of mental and creative muscles than putting new words on an empty page. It takes objectivity, discernment and no small amount of self-support. Not every word we write is worthy of being read. Likewise, not every word we write is crap that should never see the light of day.

Of course you can enlist friends to read your work, and editors to give feedback. Both will help give you some level of perspective on writing quality and whether the story works or not, but when it comes down to it, we all inevitably find ourselves facing the printed page and wondering what to do next.

In his article “Five Lessons for DIY Line Editing,” writer Bradley Robb shares some good advice on how to get started and what pitfalls to avoid when self-editing your work. It won’t do the work for you, but can definitely help make what editing work you do as effective as it can be.

Grains of Salt

layer — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 00:56:32 +0000

I’ve learned, over the many years I’ve been writing and having my work reviewed, that often, people’s feedback tells just as much about the reviewer as it does the work. Each person sees the story and its characters through their own lenses, interprets them through their own exeriences. Each has their own loves and loathes. There is almost always something in any review that sparks debate between readers — a phrase, a scene, a turn of plot.

The trick lies in how you sort it all out. It’s not just about recognizing each comment’s truth, it’s about recognizing its place within the story’s truth. In the case of my current project, the need for a more apparent and linear plot is straight truth in both cases. As for the rest, that’s going to take a little more sorting. Probably more like a lot.

My Own Worst Critic

layer — Fri, 08 May 2009 21:51:29 +0000

I, like many writers I know, find it hard to like my own work. Every time I look at a piece, from first edit through finished and sometimes even published product, I can’t help but focus on all the things that need to be fixed. Unlike many of my writer friends, however, this actually makes weathering critique easier for me. Usually their critique is less harsh than my own so I come out feeling pleased that the work is better than I thought.

Not so for my novel Anatomy. Unlike nearly everything I’ve ever written, I love this novel. I love the structure. I love the writing. I love the voice. I love the story and all its glorious plotlessness. All of which makes me way too invested.

Because I feared having my illusions of novel loveliness shattered, it took me five years to show it to anyone. Her response convinced me that it might be okay to share it with others, so last night I workshopped the first third of the novel for the first time.

The week between sending it out and receiving feedback I was a mess. Does the structure work? Does the choppy writing style work? Is the main character sympathetic, despite her extreme limitations? And most importantly, will they like it?

The good news is, the group believes the answers to all those questions is a resounding yes. The better news is that the feedback they gave, some of which was relatively major, a) rang true and b) did not tarnish my love for the book.

The second third is due to the group on Monday, so I need to get polishing and try to incorporate the feedback they gave. I also need to do some serious thinking about that lack of plot. Regardless of whether the story actually needs it spelled out, I at least need to know what it is to make sure the story is true to what it needs to do.

Commitment

layer — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 20:16:18 +0000

My father has written a pair of horror novels and has been shopping the first diligently since its completion last year. After many rejections he just secured agent representation — proof once again that hard work pays off and that you can’t sell something unless you pull it out of the drawer, dust it off, and send it out into the world. Guess I better get dusting.

Query Fail

layer — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 18:51:16 +0000

Querying is tough work. It’s hard enough just to finish the novel, much less have to sell it (and yourself). Add to that the need to get an entire story across in a very short amount of space, give the agent or publisher a taste of your writing voice AND stand out from the crowded slush pile… it’s a wonder we get queries written at all.

So today one of my writing group cohorts sent me this really funny blog link on how not to land an agent. Give it a read. Not only does it give laugh-out-loud examples of what not to do, it gives a very concise outline of what to do.

Critique Groups

layer — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 01:30:46 +0000

Recently I joined a new critique group after years without one. I had loved past groups but quit each one because of time or energy or some other reason that made sense at the time.

After I quit my last group I stopped writing for a while, probably for the same reasons. That while stretched into years. Those years ended May of last year. And with my return to writing I found myself missing connections with other writers. I didn’t know how much until I had it back.

My new group is fun and smart and engaged. We all write very different styles of fiction in a variety of types, but that’s what keeps it inspiring. And best of all, thanks to the deadlines, I have finally made progress on editing a novel I absolutely love that has been sitting in a drawer since November 30, 2002.

Many of the writers I know are an introverted lot and often prefer to write and edit and submit alone, but there is nothing quite like belonging to a community of like-minded people working toward the same goal — helping each member hone their work to an irresistible, shining gem that an agent can’t help but pick up and show off.

If you’re new to writing groups, here are a few tips to get you started:

1. Choose people you trust and whose writing and taste in reading you respect.
2. Agree on rules and process up front but don’t be afraid to change them if they don’t work.
3. Meet regularly enough that you don’t lose the continuity of the work you are reviewing but seldom enough that attendance doesn’t become a strain.
4. Groups should be large enough that you don’t wind up having to complete a new novel every 6 months to have something to review, but small enough that you can actually get through feedback within a reasonable amount of time (i recommend about 90 minutes).
5. Remember, your co-members are there to help you by pointing out places and ways to strengthen your work, but it up to you to decide what to do with their feedback. Your story has to remain true to your vision, just be sure to review your preconceptions before you reject any feedback. That line you love really may be the cornerstone of the whole story, but it could also be the precious but troublesome thing you cling to that keeps your story from reaching its highest potential.

Writing Through Distraction

layer — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 00:32:30 +0000

I know this has already made its way around the internet, but this month’s locus magazine has some great advice from Cory Doctorow on how to remain productive in the midst of ever-mounting distractions. The first one, to adhere to a moderate daily writing goal (he suggests 20 minutes) is so simple and powerful and yet so easy to forget. Even one page a day adds up quickly to a novel or more a year. The same is true of editing. Tackling one page is so much less daunting than facing an entire first draft of a novel.

Anatomy is awaiting edit. And even just one page is one page closer to done. I’ll start now…

Hello, my name is Lauren and I am a writer…

layer — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 19:25:54 +0000

I write. I love the puzzle of building a story, an article, a website, a world. I love playing with words. Many of those words I hide away on hard drives and in drawers. That is beginning to change.

I also love to help other people find their literary voice, and the courage to use it.