Tag Archives: getting started

Inside the Writer’s Head: July 17

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As promised, I’ve got the second section of our June 23 workshop below. You can talk to me in the comments. Or email me your questions: emmabernay@yahoo.com. I’m here.

June 23 WIR Workshop: This Won’t Hurt a Bit: Part 2

The Opening

I’m not going to try to be the guru of all book openings. I’m a writer, like all of you, and I struggle with what is arguably the most important part of the book: the first page. No, strike that. The first line.

“Where’s Papa going with that ax?”

 “If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all that before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going to into it, if you want to know the truth.”

No pressure or anything, right?

(The first was the first line of Charlotte’s Web, the second the first line of Catcher in the Rye, in case you’re stuck.)

The opening is your first chance to make an impression on the reader. It’s a door you’re holding open. And all the axioms you may have heard are true. A good opening plunges the reader right into the story. You’ve done a lot of thinking about your story, and it may be tempting to start the reader where you started – way back at the beginning. But your job here is to lift the reader right over the top of all that lead-up, all the lead-up you’ve prepared in your mind and thrust them right into the story.

A good opening will have

  • Action
  • Dialogue
  • Your protagonist

As I’ve been working with writers this year, and reading a lot of your work, I’m seeing something that I often notice in myself: many openings – let’s say the first five pages—have a lot of explanatory information crammed into them. Maybe family history, explanation of the world the author’s created. And here’s the thing: you will have time in your manuscript to get all of that out. But the opening is not the time to do that. There’s a certain anxiety among writers, myself included, to make sure your reader knows as much as possible, as soon as possible. And one thing I’m working on myself, is relaxing a bit. The reader is on your side. They want to read your story. They don’t care if they don’t know every detail of everything right from the start. They just want a good story, and they trust you that you’ll let them know what they need to know to understand the story. We want to emulate a confidence that this world is real, these people are real, and that this story we’re telling is so compelling, the reader will follow us into it. I know that’s a bit philosophical.

The opening is like having a cup of coffee with someone. It’s interesting, stimulating, fun, but it’s not a board meeting. The opening is the place for you to introduce your protagonist. How does she talk? How does she react? What kind of a place are we in? What is around us? And – a hint that there is going to be a problem approaching.

All the other history and rules of the world or backstory—those things will come out. They have to. And you’ll make sure they do—this is where letting go of the anxiety comes in. You’ll weave them in to the first three or four chapters. But if you’re writing a book about an orphan train, let’s get on that train right away. Let’s be on the train when the story opens. Or let’s be on the platform, watching the train roll in. Or let’s be standing in the farmyard as the wagon jolts up to take you and your brother away to the train station. All the explanation, you’ll get that later. Right now, bolt your reader into the story. Don’t bury the lead. Don’t hide the story. Get the essence of the story out in the first page. All the rest is details.

Inside the Writer’s Head: June 27

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Thank you, thank you, everyone, who came downtown, and parked, and made your way to the third floor of the Main Library, to the very, very back, down a hallway to the huge and beautiful light-filled room where we held our Writer-in-Residence workshop on Drafting the Manuscript. Talking with all of you was the best part of my week. I’m already looking forward to being with you again in September.

In the meantime, I’ll repeat my routine from June and will put chunks of the presentation here on this blog for the next three posts. I hope you’ll find the material useful, if you couldn’t come to the workshop. And always, please, reach out to me with questions: emmabernay@yahoo.com. I’m here.

June 23 WIR Workshop: This Won’t Hurt a Bit

The Concept

The concept is the first step toward the manuscript. A concept is very simply, the idea of the story distilled down to – let’s say one paragraph. It describes what this book is about: this is the story of a man’s relationship with a service dog and how each helps to heal each other. This is the story of one night in the lives of five teenagers. Then say what’s going to happen, in the most basic sense, and they read like the back of a book blurb.

But who are you writing this concept for? Unless your book has been sold, the answer is: yourself. This concept is the core of your book, and will remind you what you are writing about. You’ll need to know your concept before you start your book, if you want to finish it. It’s easy to start a book without a concept. It’s hard to finish it.

To Outline or Not to Outline?

You’ve got your concept. It’s the core of your book. From here, we just start expanding – we expand the concept into an outline, and the outline into a manuscript. So, let’s talk about the outline.

An outline is your friend, your guide and your map.

I think that outlines feel intimidating to some writers – we’re having terrible visions of incomprehensible list-like things with Roman numerals, and letters here and numbers here, all in a very specific order, that we probably had to do in “Library” in middle school – at least, that’s what I had to do.

But a story outline is different—at least the story outlines I use. There are entire books devoted to book maps and outlines, but the outlines I use are simple.

And I love them.

Now, let’s pause for a moment and discuss not outlining. We are creative people, right? And some writers do feel, totally legitimately, that outlining a story stifles their creativity. What if they want the story to go in a different direction than their outline takes them? What if a previously minor character starts seeming much more major and needs more room in the story?

Guess what: That’s fine.

An outline can be just a suggestion

Think of the outline as a security blanket. It’s there, you’ve got it, you know that if you follow it, you’ll have a really excellent and complete manuscript when you’re done. But guys, you made the outline. If it’s starting to feel stifling for you as you write, tear it up. Write a new outline. Write fifty. But here’s the recommendation from me: have an outline you’re working off of.

An outline is your story, in miniature

So what should your outline look like and what information should it contain? There are so many ways to outline and none of them are wrong.

The Chapter Outline

The chapter outline is nothing to get worked up over. It’s where you’re going to hammer out your plot, and your character’s motivations. The motivations will help you decide what plot actions will take place. Make a rough decision on about how many chapters you want to have. I can’t emphasize enough that this is rough. You can change it at any time, and you should. But let’s start from somewhere.

Make yourself a nice plain list that says: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3. Then write a paragraph about what you envision happening in each chapter. Include all the characters, and the basic points of action. And remember that when you write a good chapter, your protagonist should have moved forward from the beginning of the chapter to the end. So when the reader finishes that chapter, the character should be in a different place – physically or emotionally—than when he or she started. This is just for you, so say anything you want. Write little notes to yourself. Make the paragraphs as long or as short as you want, but when you’re done, a stranger could read the outline and understand your book pretty darn well.

The Acts Outline

The other type of outline is an acts outline. This is for people who get nervous with too many parameters. An acts outline is the same as a chapter outline, except that instead of the story broken down by chapters, it’s divided by Act 1, Act 2, Act 3 – chunked up into three bunches. I often start by chunking my plot into actions, and then divide it into chapters once I’ve got it clearer in my mind. When you’re writing from an acts outline, you’ll know that by the time you reach what you think is the end of the first third of your book, you better be at the end of the Act 1 action on your outline.

This will keep you on track, hold you accountable and give you a great chance of finishing your manuscript.

Inside the Writer’s Head: June 7

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On June 23, I’ll be presenting the next Writer-in-Residence Workshop at the Main Library, from 10 a.m. – 12 p.m. Please come. We’ll talk together about your questions and thoughts. Here’s the description, in case you missed it:

This Won’t Hurt a Bit: Everything You Need to Know About Drafting a Manuscript

            You’ve decided to do it! You’re going to write a book. Come to this workshop and get  instruction on every stage of the manuscript-writing process. We’ll cover outlining, creating chapters, story arc and character development, as well as writer’s block and timelines. Discussion will include both fiction and non-fiction. Bring your questions! Will  include Q & A session for all stages of the writing journey.

Starting A Manuscript can be daunting, like climbing K-2. Same fear, same looking up at a great height from the bottom, same sense of dread and breathlessness. If we do it together, maybe it won’t be so scary. We’ll talk about the security of an outline, about breaking up a manuscript into manageable chunks, and techniques to keep yourself writing and away from online shopping. (I’m bad at this one, so someone else will have to teach that part.) Come! Let’s face K-2 together.

Inside the Writer’s Head: April 27

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Door ajarI’ve always been a private sort of writer. I prefer the writing I do to be “not about me.” I write other people’s topics, because I’m a writer who is usually commissioned. Sometimes, my name’s not even on what I write—someone else’s name is, because the work is ghostwritten. And in the past, I’ve preferred it that way. When something personal creeps into my writing, it’s usually well-disguised. A person close to me died many years ago.  I didn’t do much writing about this death. But in one of my novels, I found myself writing the death scene of a young, beloved horse. The scene spilled out of me as I was writing it. My throat was tight. I was writing about my family member, of course. Just in horse form.

Early in my residency, I spoke about a personal story I’d begun and had been unable to finish. Partly this is because writing is hard. Partly this is because I have a lot of other deadlines to meet. But mostly this is because the story is intensely personal and I’m scared of showing it to people. And if I finish it, I’ll have to show it. I mean, I do want to see it published—I guess.

What I’m really writing about in this post is fear. Writing down the scary stuff. Then showing it to people. Turning yourself inside out and letting people look. It’s embarrassing. But whenever I read something like that from a writer—where I can tell the writer is being real with me, not showing off, not cloaking herself in fancy language, but just talking to me real—I feel happy and comforted. And glad I’m reading her piece. And in the end, I feel closer to that writer. So maybe, if I finish this thorny, uncomfortable piece, I can bring a little of that feeling to whomever might read it.

Inside the Writer’s Head: April 5

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Thank you all so much for coming to the writer’s workshop on March 24! To say that I was nervous is like saying the Beatles were cute. But because of your benevolence and not my competence, I managed to get through it without total personal self-annihilation. And I hope a few of my fellow writers left feeling supported and confident.

I’m going to post my PowerPoint here on this blog, if you couldn’t make it, and for the next three posts or so, I’m going to put up chunks of the presentation, in the hopes that you will find it minimally helpful to your own writing process.

March 24 Writer’s Workshop: Killing the Mystery

Part 1: Creating a Protagonist

Creating a main character is one of the most important things you’ll do in creating a story. A main character is your everything—your driving force, your reason for a plot. I know some writers talk about making characters so real that they seem to speak to them and think on their own. I’ve been a writer for fifteen years and created many protagonists and I’ve never achieved this state. It seems pretty exciting, but I’m here to tell you not to worry too much about that. There are entire books written about creating protagonists. But we’re not going to get bogged down in trying to cover every aspect. Let’s just hit a few of the high points:

Your character has to want something.

This is the most important aspect and nothing else matters. What your character wants—and be specific—is going to be the entire driving force. He or she can want more than one thing, but it has to be clear. The plot is going to serve to drive the character toward what she wants-or away from it.

The character has to be active.

No one wants to read about passive. Your protagonist should be active, first of all, and this is something I’ve struggled with myself in my writing. No one wants to read about a character to whom things just happen. It’s much more interesting to read about someone who makes things happen. And this have to be positive—hell, it can be her very destruction. But instead of reading about someone who is kidnapped and rescued, it’s hell of a lot more fun to read about someone who is kidnapped and escapes. I’ve found myself often writing characters who seem to be wading through a veritable obstacle course of difficult other people and problems and I’ve had to ask myself what is she going to do to get out of this? How is she going to actively get what she wants?

Your character has to change.

Likewise, this is not groundbreaking theory, but it’s damn solid. You’re going to leave your readers pretty unsatisfied if they reach the end of your novel and damn if they aren’t reading about exactly the same character, right back in her room, in her bed. How boring. The character might change for the worse, for better, but he or she should be different by the end of the book. And how will he or she change—by the struggle to get what she wants. The process will change the character one or the other

Your character has to be someone we like.

Or at least we sympathize with. This is delicate ground – on the one hand, we the reader are going to be spending a lot of time with this character. So if he or she is irritating or dull or whiny, chances are, we’re going to put down the book. On the other hand, think of all the abhorrent characters in literature who somehow draw us. The ultimate example of this is Humbert Humbert, the narrator of Lolita. The man is a pedophile, a child molester and a total narcissist. Yet, somehow, he cleverly tells us his story so that we find ourselves fascinated by him. So don’t take this to mean that your character has to be Princess Pony Delight. But as a writer, we need to feel a connection with this person you’ve created.

 

Inside the Writer’s Head: March 26

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Depending on what kind of person you are, Beginning A Novel can be either intensely exciting or extremely anxiety-provoking. I tend to steer more on the anxiety side of things, so when I’ve begun stories in the past, I’ve found the following thoughts helpful:

  • First of all, don’t be afraid that your ideas aren’t original. In fact, they are not. All of the good ideas were taken long ago – like since the beginning of storytelling. Great stories aren’t about mind-blowing rethinking of literature. They’re about good storytelling. Think of that friend who can make a one-act play out of filling up at the gas station. On other hand, I once read a book by a Channel swimmer whose name escapes me—she had a great story to tell and yet, this book was incredibly boring. Who can blame her—she’s an athlete not a writer.
  • Then, set a few parameters. I don’t know about you, but I always do better with a few rules up front. It helps me focus my thoughts so I not swimming in a sea of too many choices. So first thing, decide for whom you want to write: age group, genre, and if you are so inclined, for women or for men or girls o boys. Once you decide that, you’ll have a better idea of your scope: how many words, how many chapters– especially if you’re writing for kids, where there are more rules about this sort of thing. You can decide what topic would be appropriate. You won’t be writing a slasher story for six year-olds.
  • Write what you know. This is old advice for a reason. I don’t mean you have write about system analytics—I don’t even know what those are—but I mean you should write what you feel very at home both reading and writing. What do you like to read? I love realistic fiction – all my favorite books are plotless. And I tend to write more introspective books that focus on the relationships between people. Books are plot-heavy are harder for me to write, because I don’t find plot personally as interesting. Think about what you love, where you live, where you work, where your family from, what experiences you have had that have touched you deeply. These are all solid bases for stories and you should never think that your experiences are not worthy of fiction. They are.

Fiction is a constant game of imagination. The key question is What if? What would that person reading on the bench do if I threw something at them? What would happen to me? What if I, a suburban young mom, threw something at this person and was arrested? What would a holding cell be like to a person like me? Why did I throw the loaf of bread at the person? Had I just discovered something about her? What?

Getting the idea in fiction is one of the greatest pleasures in writing. It’s like a giant game of curiosity on steroids and you have to be ready to play.