Mindset

I have a psychologist friend who claims it's impossible for one generation to understand another to any great extent. Being raised in different times means we just don't react to things the same way. We've all seen the lists that chart those differences: events and objects that mean a great deal to fifty-somethings (phonographs, first man on the moon) that twenty-somethings think of as ancient history.
For the historical writer, that adds another layer of problems. Not only to do we have to get the clothing, the events, the characters, and the dates right, we have to imagine interactions between people who are far removed from us in how they lived their lives. Things that were of concern to them, keeping their homes warm enough to prevent frostbite, for example, don't even occur to most of us.
I have two coping mechanisms when I write history. First, I remind myself that people are people and always will be. The concerns outlined by Maslow in 1943 hold true, pretty much. So while beliefs and attitudes have changed greatly, people will always want to be fed, safe, loved, etc., and they will work to become so.
Secondly, I imagine that societies organize themselves in similar ways, no matter the age. I can't visit an Elizabethan palace and observe, but I was for years part of an organized group that probably operates similarly: a school. There were many people there, some I got to know well, some I knew only in passing. Relationships developed for various reasons: schedules, tasks to be accomplished, interests, previous relationships, and personality. The schedule meant that I shared free time with certain people, so I got to know them. Tasks I had to accomplish meant that I worked with those who supported those tasks or shared them with me. Interest made me seek out those who understood my aims and frustrations. People I knew in other venues, relatives, former students, even fellow Methodists, were already close, so working together was natural. As for personality, I spent time at work with some just because I liked their company. Of course there were those above me, who controlled the process and tried to make it run smoothly. Sometimes I was close to them; sometimes I just worked within their guidelines. And there was the support staff, who had different schedules and tasks but were often good friends and invaluable to every success I can lay claim to.
Knowing the workings of that group, I imagine that at Court the same principles applied: the layers of rank, the tasks to be completed by cooperation, the personalities that affect the process. So when I write about Tudor palaces, I picture a small-town high school. Same dynamics, different day.

How Does That Happen?

I know not what path others may take, but as for me, it's the same path, over and over. As I write, I leave big holes, but as I edit, again and again, they fill themselves in almost as a matter of course. As big problems are solved, smaller ones come to light and get their turn for my full attention. It's the fourth time through that I see a tiny event that deepens the bad girl's motivation and makes her more realistic. On the sixth time it might be an incident that, added to the main plot, diverts the reader and allows for a bigger surprise at the end. And it's the tenth time through that the phrasing smooths out, making each character sound like himself, different from all the others.
It's how I work, and it's how I know I'm no Mozart, just a writer who has to work really hard to get better.

Gimme a "D" (eadline)

I've given myself a week to get it all together. I've long nown that I do best with a deadline. They're natural for teachers, because every hour of the day is at least one. For a writer, there are plenty of deadlines as well, but not always when you need them. I've got plenty going on: two books coming out soon, one edited and in need of promotion; one whose editing hangs over my head like that sword in mythology (When will they send it back? How much will they want it changed? How much time will they give me to get it done?)So I know I should be finishing the WIP, getting it into some sort of shape for readers to begin gnawing at its edges. And there's the rub: I have no deadline for that. I can set it aside for a dozen reasons...especially when the going gets tough.So there: I'm announcing to the world that I WILL finish it this week and present it to my first reader next Tuesday.Stay tuned for a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Nebulous Characters

Had a character in my WIP who would not let me pin her down. She's evil, but that's all I could see in her. Did I want her to appear to be self-absorbed, slightly dumb, or tooth-aching sweet? Should she know she's evil when all is said and done, or should she suffer under the all-too-common murderer's delusion that she did what she had to do? I tried all the usual methods, letting her talk, letting others talk about her, but in the end I went ahead and finished the story without a clear picture of her. And yes, that was hard to do.
But it worked. Once the story was complete and I knew what had to happen, I saw how her character should affect things and how she could (and will a few days from now) hide her evil ways from others. I know it's backward and it shouldn't succeed, but what I've found in this mess we call writing is that whatever works, works.

The Poet and the Prose-ist, II

Some things that came to mind as I listened to Billy Collins talk about being a poet and writing in general:
Poets start from scratch more often. Whether that's good or bad I can't say, but the novelist has a thread to follow for months, even years, while the poet faces a blank page every day or two.
Poets are allowed to break the rules of writing (such as they are). Playing with language in encouraged. Novelists have more of a job to do, a goal to reach, less time for wordplay, even with more words.
Calling yourself a writer is difficult, possibly more so for poets than for other writers. We feel compelled to wait until someone else defines us with terms like "author" and "poet" before we are comfortable using them.
And finally, I got the same sense from Collins that I get from others I would label "true" writers: they can't not write. It isn't the money (HAH!) the fame, the chance to become Poet Laureate, or even the satisfaction of saying, "I'm a novelist/poet/whatever." It's a lot like an addiction: we recognize the perils, but the attraction overcomes all.

The Poet and the Prose-ist

I went to hear Billy Collins speak yesterday. Imagine yourself listening to an hour and a half of poetry...and then imagine something not boring at all. His combination of self-effacing humor and intelligent, fresh play with language made the time fly by, and my friend and I agreed that we're jealous of his talent with words. But that's why he was Poet Laureate and we never will be.
Mr. Collins made some points about writing that apply to all of us, though, and I plan to write about them this week. He talked about finding your voice, about how the implication is that you have to crawl deep inside yourself and search your guts for it. That's not it at all, he claims. Voice comes from outside a person, from your synthesizing all the writers you've read and admire. We emulate (copy) what we like but combine those likes into our own version, which becomes our voice. Collins claims that what we call "literary influence" is simply our jealousy (his word) of someone's talent. Since there is nothing new under the sun, he is probably correct. I'm glad to hear it, because I was getting tired of all that introspection!

Ruined, I Tell You! I'm Ruined!

I've said it here before, so stop me if you've heard it: writing has made me into a very picky reader. Once upon a time I could enjoy a mediocre book: let myself slide into disbelief, allow a few terrible sentences to pass, ignore a character who has no flesh whatsoever. But now that I'm tuned in to the "how" of writing, I'm offended by writers who slack off, the way good doctors and good lawyers must be embarrassed and insulted by the Medicare-cheaters and ambulance-chasers in their professions.
The saddest part is that so many readers don't care. Editors who can sell a zillion copies certainly don't care. And agents who get the significant-deal commissions don't care. There's no Supreme Court of Writing where the case can be argued ("But Your Honor, LOOK at this paragraph, State's evidence 3B!") and sloppiness fined or even given jail time. ("Mr. Author, you are hereby sentenced to solitary confinement until you demonstrate the ability to show a clear antecedent to all pronouns in a paragraph.")
My only recourse is to refuse to finish those books that I used to devour in a day on the beach or during a dim, snow-stormy day off from school. Bad writing is like H1N1, better to avoid exposure, lest I catch it.

How Many Characters Is Too Many?

I lunched with a fellow writer yesterday and we discussed that topic, which is about as useful as "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" The answer has to come from the story itself, and the author has to make intelligent decisions as things progress.
Another friend in the business made the point recently that mystery is a little different from other genres, since "extra" characters are needed to create red herrings and give the reader alternate guesses. So the question becomes "How much time should an author spend on those extra characters?"
Some authors are good at sketching a realistic portrait in a few sentences then bringing that character into the story just enough times to make him a viable suspect or an interesting sidelight to the main story. Others get bogged down in creating backstory for every single character, which slows the pace and becomes irksome to the reader. I've found myself muttering something like, "I don't care how funny you can make this woman, just get on with the plot."
Like so many things in writing, choosing the number of characters you will include and how much you will tell the reader about them is a balancing act. For me, concentrating on the main characters is crucial, especially at the outset, and keeping tertiary characters intriguing but brief throughout is a good idea. Maybe the next book can expand on the secretary's humorous personal secrets.

Bad Dialogue

Often it begins with "As you know..." followed by a character telling another character stuff the author needs the reader to know. That's bad.Dialogue reveals character and advances plot. Characters can make observations about the past if it's done well, "I never did agree with the king's decision to close the monasteries last year." There, we got some history, a timeline, AND a character snapshot.And, by the way, keep it short.

The Gift of Murder

I've probably mentioned I'm part of this year's Toys for Tots anthology from Wolfmont, titled THE GIFT OF MURDER. Now I can tell you that I recommend it, since I finished in this morning over breakfast.
I'm pleased to have been included in the anthology, an entertaining mix of holiday crime stories. A great gift for the readers on your holiday list, since you get 19 chances to please instead of just one, and you support a worthy cause at the same time.
Nice work, Tony Burton and editor John Floyd!

That Wonderful Bottom Drawer

In my writing workshops, I always advise letting a piece "rest" in a drawer or file somewhere for an extended time when it's finished, and I just proved to myself once more the value of that practice. There's something about stepping away that clarifies things: plot flaws solve themselves, characters solidify, and bits that nail the thing together grow between the cracks and almost insert themselves.
My WIP for October is the sequel to HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER, which has been resting since May. Now I'm ready to go at it, and I believe that the project and I now work together; it's no longer man vs. manuscript.

I'm Puttin' on My Top Hat...Sorta

Fred Astaire aside, I've scheduled a library talk tonight, so I've been doing all that silly stuff we do before presenting ourselves to strangers. Not sure why it matters if my nails are polished, but it makes me feel like I have done my part. The thing is, one never knows if it's going to be worth all the effort. I pack three tote bags with handouts, giveaways, book I hope to sell, etc., and then drive whatever distance I must. And sometimes nobody shows up. Sometimes three people. Sometimes thirty; those are the good nights. I once did my schtick for the librarian, her mother, and her sister, and I've seen embarrassed library staff whispering to patrons who wander in to use the computer, trying to interest them in the speaker who isn't famous enough to draw a crowd. The fact that I offer programs that people always seem to enjoy isn't apparent until afterward, when the "crowd" of four murmur things like, "X will be sorry she missed this!" or "We'll have to have you back" with the unexpressed, "...now that we know you're good." It reminds me of that old country song, "Did I Shave My Legs for This?"
And then my friends say, "It must be cool to do all that author stuff."

Deferred Gratification

I had a professor at the U of M(ichigan...she hangs her head after Saturday's humiliation) who was always on about deferred gratification and how Americans had lost any grasp of it in modern times. It's hard to argue the point after seeing the newly touted sports channel that lets you "see every touchdown in every game" on a Sunday afternoon. Jump from game to game, just watching the highlights? How long would it take to be totally lost as to which team you were watching? And what's the attraction? The ability to brag at the office on Monday that you saw all the big plays, whether you cared or not?
Writers wrestle with fans' "need for speed" in getting into a plot or getting through a book. Murder comes on page one, paragraphs become chapters, and forget about character development or, God forbid, scenic description. Some blame Sesame Street and the thirty-second commercial; some the Internet with instant access. Whatever it is, there often seems to be no place in genre fiction for writers who choose a leisurely pace. Yet I know readers, lots of them, who are discerning, patient, and intelligent. I wonder just what is the mood of the everyday mystery reader: have we misjudged them, or do we really need to write like our chairs are on fire?

Immersion

Once upon a time I worked in a bakery...for about three days. It was kind of fun, kind of funny. One task taught to me by a kind but verbally challenged worker was the process of what she called "emerging" the doughnuts. It involved a screen that pressed them under the hot oil, and they did eventually "emerge" from it completely cooked.
I do my best writing when immersed in the story, but sometimes it takes a lot to get there: a lot of time, a lot of silence, a lot of freeing my mind of other things. It's a little like meditation in that it takes practice and persistence to reach the state I need to be in. It can't be forced, and it's extremely fragile. Every ring of the phone, slam of the door, and demand of the cats is a block to Nirvana.
I know people who write in bits and starts (like Jon, with his 70-hour-a-week teaching job), and I wonder how they find "the zone" with limited time and tons of distractions. I applaud their efforts, but I need to be immersed before my best work emerges.

The Never-ending Edit

I believe that I could edit eternally, and I have to be very stern with myself about it. I edit in layers, so for example, I might start editing for character, checking to be sure I've been consistent and interesting and all that. But then I see a phrase that isn't quite the way I'd like it, and pretty soon I'm editing something else entirely.
Now that's not all bad, because it probably will improve the piece, but WHERE does it STOP? Maybe when I'm so sick of the whole thing that I can't stand to read it one more time. That doesn't mean it's how I really want it; it just means I've made myself accept that edit # 30 or #50 or whatever is the final one. And this time, I really mean it!