Writing Advice I’d Give My Younger Self 4 — Opportunities

Having done my best to guide the neophyte writer me through preparation, drafting, and revision, I’m ready to move on to how to handle opportunities. (I suspect that reckless version of myself is now looking for a polite way to exit, but I thought ahead and glued his shoes to the floor.)

Opportunities — It’s a charming word for distractions. If only opportunity really did knock once… and then go off to pester someone else. I get offers for contest, fellowships, publication, and gigs every day. The problem is not finding chances to get published, paid, or recognized, it’s selecting opportunities that actually matter. Even among those that aren’t bogus (as many competitions and publishers are), which ones fit me as a writer and will bring me further along the road in the career I desire?

The younger me probably didn’t think this way. At one point, just seeing my name in print anywhere was worth cheering about. And I have no regrets about that.

Additionally, I came up in the world of shrinking markets, self-addressed stamped envelops, and ruinously expensive long distance phone calls. Type out a work. Mail it off. And wait. I see today’s writers’ workshop attendees hanging together through social networks, with connections that would have taken all my grocery money to maintain at a similar level.

The challenges for my younger self were very different, but a few things I know now would have benefited him nonetheless. In particular, how to judge opportunities.

• Don’t limit your opportunities based on your credentials, unless there is a explicit requirements. Writing is mostly learn by doing. Make them say no.
• Do narrow opportunities to those that are in your wheelhouse. Building your portfolio in an area where you have a flair is a good thing. Credits aimed at showing your versatility are often a waste of your time. There is a vast difference between “I can do this” and “I should do this.” Two key exceptions: 1) Explorations are cool. Write in a new genre. Try a new form. Just don’t invest a lot of time in these experiments. No novels of feature-length scripts as experiments. 2) Bend the rules to work with people you want to get to know or learn from.
• Look for opportunities that build your network. Building a writing career is a social activity. Watch for (or create) chance to collaborate with smart, experienced, knowledgeable and talented people. Then maintain the relationships.
• Feel free to earn big paychecks. I once had a horrible opportunity presented to me. Instead of rejecting it, I multiplied my typical price many times (six, as I recall). That paid for a lot of self-addressed stamped envelops. All work is honorable. If it pays well, even better. Just don’t get sucked into spending more time on mercenary projects than dream projects.
• Look for what might be a good addition to your portfolio. Creating a body of work that fits a specific market improves your chances of success. One of the great questions a writer gets is, “Do you have anything else like this?”
• Read the fine print. Don’t get yourself caught in contracts that claim future work or rights that have nothing to do with the publisher/producer’s business. (Nowadays, you can look online for help in analyzing contracts and to find out who the real scoundrels are. You can even look at previous work they’ve handled. Feel free to reject a publisher based on his lousy Web site.)
• Be careful of really great ideas. Sometimes, they are not so great. Sometimes, you are not the one to use them.
• Don’t take on too many opportunities at once. Have just one Work In Progress. And maybe one work that allows you to draft something while revising the WIP or vice versa.
• Don’t take on an opportunity unless you intend to follow through on it. Yes, some works don’t come together. Some cannot be finished. But make these experiences rare in your career. Get to "The End" most of the time, even if it becomes drudgery. It’s the only way to learn all you can from the project. And it probably will make you more selective in choosing projects.
• Find projects that will move you forward on your career path, even if that path is still sketchy.
• With every project presented to you, see if you can identify one way in which you will be forced to stretch and grow as a writer. Be sure to choose more than what is easy.
• Choose projects that fit your time budget (or, for which, you’ll find the time). Especially in the beginning, it is better to get to “The End” often than it is to create the Great American Novel (unless it truly IS the Great American Novel.
• Go with your passion. If there is a project you MUST do, do it. Even if it seems to have no market. The one caution is to be careful about writing something inspired by a recent emotional episode. Just take notes for later. For most people, putting time between a life event and an artistic rendering of it improves the work.

One more thing: Always know why you're writing what you're writing. Note down your reasons. Then go back, when you are finished, to see how valid those reasons were.

Years ago, I would have found four or five places to publish a science fiction short story. Today, there are scores of paying markets, easily found with Duotrope’s search engine. In addition, I can create my own opportunities. Self-publishing is the obvious example, but it’s possible to reach further.

I have many friends who have made their own short films, and a few who have self-produced feature films. Costs have gone down, and a good crowd-funding campaign can bring even budget-killing projects within reach. And, with more ways to connect with other talented people (and maintain those contacts),  it’s much easier to get attached to a project. I got the chance to work on a writing team for a Web Series earlier this year, and I ended up writing the first episode.

I’ll turn that approach around and bring people into my own project — a fiction podcast series — in the next few months. I actually tried to do that a few decades ago. A test show was ten minutes long and took almost two hours to download. My poor younger self.

Writing Advice I’d Give My Younger Self 3 — Revision

Let’s assume my younger self has prepared according to the suggestions of current me and completed a rough draft of the epic work of his dreams. Well, it’s probably more like a nightmare. It’s so bad, he probably hates me and wants to give up writing forever. Or go back to pushing words around aimlessly.

Now is the time to sit my youthful doppelgänger down and tell him the truth. All first drafts suck. The real work is rewriting. Put the work away for a time (six weeks would be good) and get to work on something else. Maybe a short story or a novella. Don’t despair. Things are on track. Even if this work turns out to be unfixable.

You don’t become a writer if you aren’t committed to learning. What is gained by finishing a work — even if it ends up being tossed — is invaluable. Painful, yes, but part of becoming really good at this job and writing things worth reading.

I know. It feels unfair. In a make-believe world, the muse shows up, whispers achingly beautiful prose in your ear, and frames out a classic story. And maybe that happens sometime. You become the Mozart of Amadeus, filling pages with no corrections needed. Celebrate when that happens (or even if it just feels like it has happened). Don’t count on it. Because, sooner or later, the editor in your head you shut the door on during drafting has to be let in. And here’s his advice.

• Your draft is not good. It might be okay. But it probably sucks. In any case, it can be a lot better. Good enough is not good enough. Think of it like a job application. Your work has to be near perfect, not abandoned.
• Break up the revision work, especially rewriting, into tasks. It is amazingly inefficient to cut chapters, fill holes, connect to theme, sharpen dialogue, trim beginnings, fashion hooks, and correct typos in a single pass. Expect to return to the work repeatedly, each time with a different focus. Have the task list at hand as you begin. Be eager to make it a better list.
• Imbue even light projects with emotional authenticity. The bar to reach or exceed is set by your own, real-life emotional experiences, so dare to write out a few each year for private use.
• Your words aren’t precious. Lots of good stuff belongs on the cutting room floor.
• Learn how to invite, accept, and judiciously use criticism.

If you can, learn to love revision. Change up your approach to keep it fresh. Listen to your characters. Write new scenes, even if you won’t use them. Find a new level for the story. Review your reasons why this work MUST be done. Or just take pride in creating the best story you can.

[Note: I know the younger me hates revision. The older me only hates it a little less. If you love revision, some of the advice here is not for you. Enjoy your superpower.]

This was to be the last of this series (which all came out of me in one weekend), but I came to realize how much my younger self needs to handle opportunities well. So I’ll add one more post in this series next week.

Writing Advice I’d Give My Younger Self 2 — Drafting

In my last post, I covered preparation for writing. Below is my advice for drafting a manuscript.

I often do blank-sheet evaluations of my writing (and my life) by literally covering the kitchen table with a piece of chart paper and scribbling ideas, lists, and figures on it.

This time, I just tried to remember who I was when I first got serious about writing, and then imagine what I’d tell that person if I had the chance. (The naive perspective often breaks away the preconceptions and reveals something fresh and new. Perhaps that the emperor has no clothes.) I formulated my advice without reference to previous posts, but I’ve dug through and found links where they were available. I hope those provide enough to pursue tips of interest for anyone who might need them.

• Imagine the audience for the work. If possible, think of one individual (not yourself). This will add specificity and make decisions easier.
• Be extreme. Going too far can be fixed in the rewrite. It’s easier to pull back than to get crazier.
• Write more than you need. It’s easier to cut than to embellish.
• For any big project (novel, screenplay), create a list early on (by the third chapter for a novel) of why you MUST finish this project.
• If it stops feeling fun, find a part of the project that you can enjoy and stick with it for a while.
• Purposely experiment with at least three scenes you won’t use for each major work. This will force you to look at new options. 
• Stick to your Work In Progress until you get to “The End.” This means, for five days a week and fifteen minutes each day, text is added to the manuscript, moving it to completion. Don’t quit until it’s finished and you have a story. Even if it’s so bad it makes you squirm. No dithering.
• Set a timer. It makes a great starting gun for a writing sprint.
• Don’t rewrite along the way (looping). Get the story out.
• Find your pivotal scene(s). The climax would be one, but any big scenes (at the ends of acts, ends of sequences) may have concepts that suggest exploration.
• Know what you need to write the next day.

I have a toolbox of techniques to keep myself writing (switching from typing to speech recognition or pencil, writing scenes in the voice of favorite authors, writing dialogue only scenes, etc.), but I probably would not bring those up to a new writer unless he or she were stuck. Making things too complicated and trying to work with too many ideas at once is the bane of rookie authors.

Drafting is about telling as story you love to someone you imagine would love it just as much. With a lot of forgiveness thrown in.

Next time, I'll look at revision advice for the callow youth I once was.

Writing Advice I’d Give My Younger Self — Preparation

What do I need as a writer? I decided it would be good to know, so I took the perspective of talking to my younger self. I did this in terms of Preparation (this post), Drafting (next week), and Revision (in two weeks), and I decided it might be worth sharing here.

As you look through, you may experience what I did. Some advice, I discovered, is already cooked into my writing habits. In a few cases, the gap between advice and practice needs some closing. Some is more honored in the breach than the observance. 

You might think of this as a menu of possibilities, with lots of opportunity to customize. (I actually printed the list out and annotated it as a step toward incorporating some of these into my practice.) For many, I've added links to provide more details than would fit here.

• Understand what (4-7 things) you want most as a writer. (For now. These can change later.) Align your efforts to enable or achieve these desires.

•  Create a short list (3-5) of doable objectives (enter a contest, not win a contest) for the following year in October. Fight through each to the end. Do not worry about missing other opportunities.

• Build a network. Writing is solo, being a writer is a team activity.
   
• Spend more time writing than talking about writing.

• Budget at least twice the time you think you’ll need.

• Aim education toward mastery. Own the aspects of craft, one piece at a time.

• Challenge yourself. Do at least one project each year that scares the hell out of you. Know why is frightens you.

• Write down ideas in full sentences. Unless applied the same week, sort these into categories. 

• Choose a project and stick to it to the end.

• Be exquisitely selective about projects to which time is devoted. Have explicit criteria for choosing these. Know that some of them will not work out, but try to complete them in some form anyway.

Character Relationships 9 - High contrasts

Compare: The curtain goes up. Two middle-aged men in dark suits stand next to each other. Or… The curtain goes up. An ancient woman in a robe and a six-year-old boy stand next to each other.

Which engages your curiosity more? Probably the second. In general, differences and contrasts intrigue us. They promise more in terms of variety and conflict.

Consider: The curtain goes up. One character wears grubbies and a baseball cap. He chews a cigar as he builds a sandwich that spills over a plate. The other is dressed impeccably with a perfect haircut. He dons an apron and tends a Cornish hen in the oven.

You know the audience would already be interested. And you probably recognize this Odd Couple (sort of). Both middle-aged men, Oscar and Felix approach life from opposite perspectives. Which is why it was so much fun when Neil Simon bound them together.

When you create character relationships, especially those where the characters can’t simply move on and find someone less “weird,” you set up situations where conflict arises. It may be that accommodations will be made. Or one character might kill the other one to resolve the situation.

Note: It’s important to bind the character together in a way that the audience accepts. Danny Simon said The Phil Silvers Show worked because the characters could not escape the army, and it lasted for almost 200 shows. The New Phil Silvers Show put the characters to work together in a business, which any of them could escape. It lasted ten episodes.

The first examples demonstrates physical differences. The second, differences in interests and perspectives on life. Contrasts can also come from differences in power, wealth, values, morals, and skills. Flaws and virtues can also create engaging juxtapositions. In fact, powerful stories can be created by comparing these as world views (greedy Potter and generous George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life).

Dramatic opportunities are endless. The writer can have a character moderate a flaw (or a virtue) by taking on approaches of the contrasting character. Both characters might move toward each other. In An Officer and a Gentleman, secondary characters, one too generous and the other too selfish, flame out and that helps the main characters find middle paths. Or, one character can kill (or defeat) the other. 

If there is no contrast, dramatic possibilities are limited. If there is a big contrast, more possibilities arise. Good romances have always demonstrated this, with the guy and the gal separated by an important difference and held together by some plot device. For larger groups, types are often used. I haven’t researched it, but I think Hollywood figured out how to do this with war movies where each soldier in the troop had easily recognized traits. Cowboy movies (The Magnificent Seven, Silverado) created similar teams.

Probably the most recognizable and obviously diverse group in a shared relationship is Star Trek’s crew members. A still photo is enough to see their differences. But the variety of perspectives and concerns, once they move into a story, is impossible to miss. Note that they are all trapped together on a five-year mission, often confined to the bridge of the Enterprise. 

This is not to say that such stark differences are necessary to creating a good story. Think of The Dead Poets Society. Seven of the characters (the ones who comprise the Society) are male, intelligent, students at the same school, white, about the same age, and (eventually) absorbed by poetry. The even dress the same.

It had to have been a challenge to differentiate these characters early on and to find ways to highlight how they helped each other come of age. (Something similar is done with female students in the film, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.) But the writer (who won the Oscar for is work) did it. The contrasts are there, and put to use for drama, but the subtle exposure of the differences is done with power and grace. It’s worth exploring. 

Character Relationships 8 - Grand gestures and sacrifices

I’ve written about betrayals in this series, but I haven’t looked at the opposite behaviors — grand gestures and sacrifices. As any fan of romances knows, a grand gesture is the sure proof of true love. The cliche is of the hero (or heroine) running through city streets (or an airport or a wedding party) to make a public declaration of love and commitment. Often, there is an element of humiliation or sacrifice.

A great example of this is Bridget Jones (in the film), who finds her diary open and her true love Mark missing. She runs through the streets in the snow to apologize for her diary entries. Note:  As much as I like that example, please no more running lovers. Provide another task at the ending. Do something fresh. At least have the hero or heroine parachute in as a Flying Elvis (Honeymoon in Vegas).

Sacrifices may appear even when romance isn’t the main point. War movies often include sacrifice sometimes with a soldier giving his life, but often including the loss of almost everyone (Saving Private Ryan) or  the whole team (Glory). Saints give up their lives for a greater good in films like A Man for All Seasons. In It’s a Wonderful Life, George Bailey gives up his dreams to tend to the needs of the community and face down a greedy villain on their behalf. And, of course, in a sort of reverse grand gesture, Rick sacrifices his love in Casablanca, watching Ilsa leave with her husband.

To bring power to a sacrifice or grand gesture, consider these:

Make it big - Though the smaller sacrifices, such as those in It’s a Wonderful Life and I Remember Mama can add up for emotional impact, coming up with something that really matters and shows how a character has grown (like Rick in Casablanca) can be more dramatic.

Articulate the human needs - All sacrifices involve a level of privation. Life itself is lost in many stories, but Bridget suffers cold and humiliation. George Bailey gives up his honeymoon and the experience both a special time with the woman he loves and a taste of life beyond Bedford Falls. The exact loss may be stated directly in the story (and often is since this shows it’s meaningful to the character). But, even if it isn’t made explicit to readers or audiences, the writer should be able to articulate it. Maslow’s pyramid can be useful in clarifying the unfulfilled need.

Choose between public and private - Witnesses may be valuable, especially when a declaration is involved. But some sacrifices are more noble if no one (except the reader) knows about them. Test to see which might have the greater impact.

Motivate - If it isn’t clear to a reader why a hero is making a sacrifice, it can be confusing or even appear to be done out of weakness or masochism. Don’t be shy about showing the motivation on no uncertain terms.

Set it up - Big moments in stories need good foundations. The factual information must be provided so they can be understood. They need the time, steps, and reasons. They also need to be presented in emotional depth, which may demand pacing, setting, and even devices like comic relief.

Explore a revelation - If Bridget Jones wrote her diary entries as a blog posts, the ending wouldn’t work. Instead, it’s secret. And it comes to bite her at the last second, forcing her to reveal her heart without reservation. That doesn’t always work in a story, but it’s worth exploring as a possibility.

Make it consequential - Yes, a sacrifice can fail to achieve anything (which might be used for ironic effect). Or it can be unrecognized. Or partially successful. But it has to matter to the character. It has to reflect something real and important in terms of self-understanding and connect with readers emotionally. It’s easier if there are big consequences (like winning a war) beyond the character, but a sacrifice means nothing if it doesn’t impact the character’s identity.

Tie it to the main plot - Most of the examples above do more than cause a shift in the character. They move the plot forward, provide turns, or even create the story’s climax. If you can do this AND tie in the emotional arc in the same scene, you’ll create something unforgettable.

Make it surprising but inevitable - Make a list of why the character could not possibly make the sacrifice in question. Make another list of why the sacrifice is unavoidable. Play with your lists to make the sacrifice come as a shock but be completely believable.

Lots of stories (usually in novels) attempt to transform or deepen relationships between characters through decisions or insights or realizations. That approach tends to fall flat. Sacrifice in a story is usually compelling and convincing. It makes it clear that the new relationship is earned.

I mentioned that sacrifices and grand gestures are the flip side of betrayals. The list above? You may find it useful to consider if you’re including a betrayal in your story.

Character Relationships 7 - Emotional arcs

Emotional arcs deepen our involvement with characters and their stories. When carefully constructed, we go through the emotions in an authentic, memorable way. But the construction is key. It must feel true, without jumps and reversals that we instinctively know are wrong. When a character arrives in a new emotional space in a way that doesn’t feel right, it’s as troublesome as a plot that defies logic or relies at a deus ex machina.

I recently participated in a workshop with author Mat Johnson. He spoke of providing a foundation of authenticity by exploring our own emotional arcs. Most of us can think of emotional events in our life, many of which point toward genuine emotional arcs, hearts at work.

A personal example, not a template, was provided in the workshop, but I played with abstracting it. I’m not sure I’ve got it right now. (I need to delve into some examples to improve it.) Nonetheless, this may be enough to spur some thought. And, just as your personal examples of emotional arcs will be the most powerful in your work, this unfinished series may help you create your own template that will support better emotional arcs for your stories.

Discomfort - Contentment or indifference is shifted into something that feels odd by the comments, actions, or even just the presence of another person. This could be a compliment, a slap in the face, or an attractive person sitting down at a nearby table. We have this experience all the time and let it pass, but the story begins to happen with the character does not let it pass.

Awareness - The incident with the other person registers in some way. It draws an acknowledgment through body language, comment, a gut feeling, or an action. If your character nods his or her head at an attractive stranger, that might signal awareness. What happens next in real life can be simple or complex. The arc may end with a middle finger response that sends a person away as a stranger, a meet cute fumble (like spilling a glass), a suave pickup line (accepted, rejected, or parried), and more. In a story, for an memorable arc, the relationship begins and/or begins to change.

Observation - We are always looking for cues. Think of the endless discussions of teens about slight (even imagined) clues about sexual interest. This is gathering data to assess and reassess the relationship. In this case, it is likely to lead to emotional shifts that may be small, but move back and forth, or may crash toward bigger possibilities (and more risks).

Testing - One of the revelations of the workshop was how — even when we have it all wrong or are barely aware of emotions on the other side — testing occurs in the arc. Chances are, one character will deploy an arsenal of tests to resolve the initial discomfort with an emotional understanding of the relationship (or a bid to change it). The other character may respond consciously or unconsciously.

Articulation - This may happen repeatedly from Awareness on. Often, it will be objectively incorrect or incomplete (complicating this arc). It can also be part of the culmination, with, for instance, a declaration of love or “Prepare to die!”

Choices - For a realistic arc, it’s always valuable to include choices along the way. These can be explicit or the options may only be obvious to the reader/audience (irony). Clearly, these can be choices about action/confrontation, but they also can be choices in terms of what might be explored, questions, alliances, and prioritization.

Culmination/Resolution - At some point, the emotional arc is completed. We should travel to the end with the protagonist, in my opinion. I understand there are artistic reasons to leave things open or complete the arc “off screen,” but usually that’s a mistake. I’d recommend at least writing it down before deciding to leave it out. 

The above is a relationship template — fitting the man vs. man conflict model. I have not explored man vs. nature (which could be a mountainside, an incomprehensible alien, or a disease). I have not explored man vs. himself, either. These might suggest more useful templates.

If you have trouble coming up with examples of emotional arcs from your own life, look toward moments in stories that touch you deeply. The likelihood is that these high emotion scenes that easily come to mind are parts of emotional arcs in the stories. Go back and re-experience them. (For a movie, you might want to look at the scripts.) Then look for changes in the emotions and see if you can name all the steps that helped make the emotions real to you. Don’t be afraid to look in both directions (earlier or later) in the story, even if it seems like the scene that captured you is the beginning or the end of an arc.

Once you’ve done this, you may find it easier to look more closely at your own emotional history, and that’s likely to show you why you responded so deeply to this story you care about. It also will provide you with something more fundamental to work with as you develop your stories.

One warning: The better you do your job, the more a character in your story will resist the presentation of the full emotional arc. Scenes are likely to remain incomplete, and the temptation will be to not use all the steps in your template. Look closely, and you may find the character is protecting himself or herself. Get out a microscope, and you’ll probably find you are protecting yourself. Press on. Get it all on paper. Even that which you don’t need or don’t want. You’ll end up with a deeper story.

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A (nearly) month-long e-course I teach begins on Monday. It's Flash Fiction, and includes lots of hands-on exercises.