by Mayumi-H | Feb 27, 2013 | Process, Uncategorized
One of the great aspects of sharing our work on the Internet is the tremendous community of people available to see it. Many of these folks can provide valuable feedback, insight, and advice, and they do it for free.
But, just because something comes free doesn’t always make it good. Good critique comes with a price. Often, it’s a monetary price. Make no mistake: that monetary price is worth it, if you’re genuinely interested in getting sharp, honest critique of your work, especially with an eye toward eventual publishing. Not all of us are looking for that, though. Some of us just want to get some more in-depth feedback than, “This is great!” or, “Post more soon!”
For those of you just getting into the tricky business of giving free feedback, here are a few (hopefully helpful) tips.
El editor enmascarado! (public domain image)
- Check your ego at the door.
Whether critiquing someone else’s work or having your work critiqued by another, you must swallow your pride.
For the critic, ego-checking should be pretty easy to do. You’ve been asked to do a job, and your goal should be to complete it to the best of your ability. However, try to rein in any impulses to create a mini-You. Each artist has his own style and story, and trying to rewrite that to fit your own won’t help him become a better craftsman.
For the artist, ego-checking can be slightly more difficult, as our stories often feel like part of us. We’ve invested time, effort, sweat, and tears in them, and to hand them over to another person may induce fear and anxiety. But, whomever we trust with critique, we should listen with open ears to their feedback.
Read that last sentence again. Feedback. Listen. Trust. These are not given – or received – easily, which is why you should also remember point number 2…
- Critique unto others as you would like to be critiqued.
If the critique is genuine, there’s no reason to fear the red pen. Any artist who asks for your help will want you to point out what works and what doesn’t. Because learning where we make mistakes should make us more aware of them in the future, and help us hone our craft.
That being said, remember this is a person who has asked for your help. By nature, people are fragile things, artists often more times so.
When you strike with your red pen, do so honestly. But, be helpful, too. If it’s an error you’re marking, illustrate a corrected example. Issues with the plot, characterization, or pacing? Define them for the artist: let him know where you thought the story slowed down and how he might compensate for that. Tell her why you found the plot meandering and what she might consider changing to pick up the pace. If you don’t like a character but you’re supposed to do, tell the author what traits or scenes counteracted their intentions.
The Golden Rule applies to all interactions, though. Work your red pen as you’d want others to do to you. We all come from different walks of life, and we’ve all got different styles. Which brings me to point number 3…
- Assume nothing.
There’s an old saying that goes, When you assume, you make an “ass” out of “u” and “me”.
Avoid assuming anything before you go into a situation or story. Your artist probably comes from a different background from you, so her story will be different from any perceptions you may have at the outset. Which is why you should try to keep those perceptions under control.
Certain aspects of storytelling will hold true unilaterally, across the board: solid plot, good characterization, proper grammar and formatting. Beyond that, though, you need to let an artist find her own way.
Now, an author should do their own research into the subject about which they’re writing, at least to the point of it being reasonable. I wouldn’t expect someone to get a degree in astrophysics just to write a few lines of dialogue, after all. If something doesn’t seem right, mention it. But keep in mind the geographical, societal, even temporal boundaries of the author’s story. Coffee may be the most popular drink where you are, but if in the story it’s tea, then it’s tea. Live with it. If, on the other hand, the author mentions how Kansas is in South America, you need to correct that. An author looking for guidance will thank you for your attention…or, he’ll have an opportunity to explain his choice. Either way, you’re doing your job as a critic.
So far, I’ve been blessed to have readers who have been equally honest, straightforward, and supportive with their critique when I’ve asked for it. I hope you’ll be so blessed, too, either on the sharp end of the pen or not.
What are your tips for critiquing others’ work? Or, for having your own work ready for critique?
by Mayumi-H | Jan 30, 2013 | Process
Many artists – sculptors, poets, fantasists of all kinds – attribute inspiration for their work to what they call their Muse.
“Hesiod and the Muse” – public domain image
Not to be cruel. Because, as artists, we’re all rather flighty individuals, with our minds dwelling at least a little bit in the clouds. That’s okay. Without dreamers, society would be pretty boring. Actually, it likely would have died away by now, without any high thinkers, who wrote some of the most important words of our civilization, from “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “We hold these truths to be self-evident….”
But ascribing your talent to some sort of divine guidance is – oh, I’m just going to say it. It’s kooky. More than that, though (and I’m going to catch a lot of flak for this, I know), it’s lazy.
Now, before my ever-dwindling group of blogging and writing friends decides to pull out the lynch ropes, let me clarify.
I’m not talking about artists who decide they need to step back from their art and re-prioritize; those folks know they’re just putting a muzzle on their Muse for a bit. Nor am I talking about the artists who simply know themselves well enough to decide they’ll make their art when it suits them, all in good time.
I’m referring to the people out there who complain they have no inspiration to create…while they can still pick up a videogame controller for hours on end, or head out to the pub the whole weekend long. That has nothing to do with the attention of your Muse.
Now, I completely understand the charm of having some seraphic creature looking over your shoulder, telling you which way to move your pen. And I, myself, believe that – in the throes of a story – a character or characters can take over, using their voices to weave new and intricate tales I’d never even considered while I was in the plotting phase.
But, don’t be misled by the flowery notion of a Muse. Those character voices are your voices. Any new paths toward which they may pull you are functions of your own creative subconscious. It’s a wonderful experience, to guide a story in an unexpected direction, based on the whim of a single word or phrase. But you have created that word, those phrases, that heretofore unknown story arc that turns your hunter into the hero, or your princess into the warrior demon. It didn’t come from any outside force.
What are you waiting for?
It’s not the idea of the Muse with which I take issue. I take issue with the idea of waiting on a Muse to move your pen (or hammer, brush, bow, or lens). That takes the power of creation away from the artist. Even worse, it takes away the responsibility for that creation. When an artist whines, “I’m waiting for my Muse,” that’s just an excuse for being lazy.
You cannot wait for some capricious, aetherial harlot to come knocking on your door, tapping at your shoulder, whispering into your ear that now is the time for you to make real all your hopes and dreams. No outside force is going to make your art for you. You are the only one capable of that. You. Or, I. Nobody else.
Blaming a Muse for lack of inspiration or failure to produce the story, the music, the picture you want is a cop-out. When you call – when you make the choice to apply yourself to your art, whatever it may be – your Muse will come. And, if she doesn’t, you go get her. You grab her by her flowing toga, and you drag her over to your workstation. Because you can’t afford to wait for her.
Because you are your own Muse.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C3poU_0sK4]
Now, for those of you still with me after that little tirade, tell me: How do you motivate yourself?
by Mayumi-H | Jan 16, 2013 | Process
Before we begin, when I say, “Good things happen in the dark,” I’m not talking about those fade-to-black sexy-time moments that occur between two consenting adults. (Though, those can be very good, make no mistake.) No, I’m talking about story, and when you (might) want to keep your readers in the dark.
Lance Henriksen
Sir Ian Holm
[Spoiler warning!] In ALIEN (1979), Holm plays Ash, an android. The tricky part – that “terrible place” to which Henriksen refers – is that the audience is not aware Ash is an android until rather late in the story. In the moment, the reveal is a surprise. Yet, on repeat viewings, with the luxury of knowing what’s to come, the audience can watch Holm’s performance and see the “secret” well in advance.
There’s an art to this, in writing as well as acting. (They are, after all, two ways to tell a story.)
Personally, I’m a fan of keeping my cards close to my vest. I believe story details should occur organically, in dialogue or description, without the reader feeling like they’re being hit over the head with a mallet.
Showing your hand too early?
Scott paused. “I’m not going to be here forever.”
“Why?” Ross asked with another offhanded snicker. “Where you going?”
“Truro,” Scott answered, the tone of his voice much more definite than simply conversational.
In the abrupt silence between them, they both slowed their pace, until they were standing in the sand, facing each other.
“Truro?” Ross said at last. “You mean, you’re leaving?”
Scott shrugged again, more naturally this time. “Venus’s job is there,” he said, “and the commute is brutal on her. Sometimes, she works twelve- or even fourteen-hour shifts! We had to rent a flat down there just so she’d have a place to crash when things get hairy.”
“What about the school? I thought you were going to take over for Pennington?”
Scott smiled wryly. “The only way he’s leaving that classroom is feet first. Besides, I can find a job anywhere.” He sighed. “Emma needs to be with her mum more. And we both miss Venus like crazy when she’s not at home.”
Ross blinked, then smiled, too, a bit sadly. “Well, I’ll miss you, mate. The girls, too.”
Scott chuckled, still melancholy but with a renewing trace of his usual humour. “You lads are rather like family, as well.” His stance relaxed as he gave another sigh. “But, we do what we have to do.”
The main point of the dialogue above is that, sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the people we love; that’s the primary theme of the chapter from which the snippet is taken. But, I also put a tiny detail in there, one that doesn’t come to fruition until four chapters later.
Readers who were paying attention should recall the detail upon gentle reminder in that later chapter. Even if they don’t, I still give some brief explanation. But, it doesn’t come completely from left field…and, I don’t need to waste precious plot development time relating facts I’ve already put out there. Or – potentially worse – slowing down the drama or excitement of the moment by breaking away into exposition.
[Caveat:] Of course, different genres can approach this dilemma in different ways. Agatha Christie, for example, would dump so much information to the reader, in order to make her mysteries trickier to figure out before the end. (I’m guessing this is what happens to a real detective: they’re given lots of different facts, without easily knowing which ones are worth following. So, they have to pick and choose…or, follow them all.) This can certainly build tension and create red herrings, making for a fun – if not terribly straight or succinct – ride. But, a romance writer who wants to drop a baby-bomb on their main character may wait for a particular moment to make such a plot point known, to maximize shock or drama value, then go back and illustrate supporting details as a follow-up. This practice, too, can create opportunities for emotional growth.
So, there’s no one way to weave the little details of your story, or to let them known to your reader. But, what are your favored storytelling techniques for divulging information?
by Mayumi-H | Oct 31, 2012 | Uncategorized
Wednesdays in this blog’s schedule are reserved for fiction pieces…but National Novel Writing Month is all about writing fiction, so it sort of fits.
To those writers attempting NaNo, whether for the first or fifth time: we’re going to need dedication to the story, support from families and friends, and lots of caffeine, energy drinks, or whatever your wakey-wakey consumption of choice may be.
![Photo by: Andreas Gronski, 2004 [from Wikimedia]](https://mayumi.amorphous.press/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2012/10/kaffeemaschine.jpg?w=224 "Kaffeemaschine")
The inspiration for HG Wells’ time machine?
And all along the way, we’ll be writing one big pile of crap.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JFfN5pKzFU?rel=0&w=420&h=315]
You know what, though? That’s okay. Because all first drafts are crap. (Many second and third drafts are crap, too, but that’s a post for another day.)
NaNo is about helping us see we can meet a deadline, write to (or past) a wordcount, and – in many cases – realize we can, in fact, tell a story. Most likely not a great one by November 30…but one that may just grab us by the shirtsleeves and make us keep going, to dip down into further drafts and deeper edits, and make a better story, one worth sharing with the world.
Or, maybe not. Maybe we’ll be satisfied with what we cranked out in those thirty days, and we’ll be inspired from there to take on another project, knowing now that we can do it. That’s okay, too.
So, let’s grab our pens and get comfortable behind our keyboards. We’ve got writing to do!
Are you participating in NaNo this year? Want to buddy up?
by Mayumi-H | Oct 20, 2012 | Process, Uncategorized
Part of what makes stories so much fun is the drama involved: Will the hero conquer the villain? Will the princess find her true love? Will the puppy make its way home? But, what happens when we find our characters strive more for realism than for drama?
Every story needs some kind of emotional resonance for it to have impact, whether it’s about war or heartbreak or family experience. Sometimes, though, our characters become so much their own people that they end up dictating where their own stories go. I’ve written scenes – necessary ones – for their dramatic effect…but I’ve also had to rewrite other scenes because the characters’ voices had developed so much since my initial plotting that their actions (or reactions) as I’d originally envisioned simply no longer held true to their natures.
What do you do in this situation? Do you let the character take over, possibly sacrificing the drama of the scene? Or, do you follow through with the original idea, possibly sacrificing believability for the character?
It’s okay to play Loosey Goosey in some instances: maybe the hero isn’t in his right mind at the moment and makes a snap judgment against character; maybe the heroine is torn by the conflict facing her and decides on one route over another because her values are confused. Written well, with the associating consequences, those options are totally valid. But, what do you do when your original big conflict becomes significantly less climactic than originally envisioned, because your darned MC has grown up too much over the course of the story?
I’m a big fan of sweeping epics, and last-minute, nerve-wracking climaxes where the audience is led to page after page to see what happens next. But I also believe in, well, believability in a story. The hero shouldn’t overcome the conflict just because the story needs a climax; he should do so because that’s what he has to do, to progress, grow, and change. It may make for less high drama, but it may also make for more realism.
But that’s just my opinion. Which do you prefer: realism or drama?
![Photo by: Andreas Gronski, 2004 [from Wikimedia]](http://mayumi.amorphous.press/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2012/10/kaffeemaschine.jpg "Kaffeemaschine")
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