A Short Story and a Juicy Red Pen

It’s Friday, and I’m giddy.

It isn’t the sunshine, though I hope a few UV rays will cut the glare from my legs the next time I step out in public wearing shorts.

It isn’t the upcoming weekend, even with the anticipation of family, fellowship, and an unorthodox amount of candy.

Really, the fact that it’s Friday has little to do with the butterflies in my stomach or the bounce in my step.

Right now, I hold a short story in my little hands, an old piece of fiction that went out into the submission world and come back. I like the story, well enough that I want to send it out again. But, the place where I want to send it requires that I cut the story’s word count in half.

In half.

Oooo, I love a challenge.

I love the anticipation, the adrenaline, the prospect of conquest. I figure, I have nothing to lose in attacking this story with a juicy red pen. And, at this point, I have everything to learn.

So, with that in mind, I ask:

What are your tried and true techniques to cutting a story? I mean, really cutting a story?

Do you start by circling the scenes that work the best? Or do you start by slashing away at anything that hints of disconnect?

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Camaraderie, whether you want it or not.

On Monday, I read Wordsmith.org’s introduction to this week’s theme. The first line begins, “The German language’s affinity for sesquipedalians….” Ouch.

Tuesday, the word realpolitik popped up in my inbox. I started to sweat.

These exercises are difficult for a variety of reasons. One, the words that come across the Wordsmith radar are rarely used in colloquial speech (the bright side of that being I have a little more flexibility to play with Wordsmith’s choices). Two, I’m always on a time crunch on Wednesdays. The longer it takes me to get a post out, the closer I get to publishing the piece before its time. And, three, I fight my inner editor all day long, pushing away quick-fire insults that usually end with “You’re not up to this. Why don’t you just skip it this week?”

I always have to remind myself: writing is about taking risks.

This morning, I woke up to:

zeitgeist. noun. The defining spirit of a particular period: the general culture, political, intellectual, and moral climate of an era.

Anytime I see or hear politics, culture, and morality in one sentence, the mood in the air shifts. Zeitgeist is a mouthful of a word to take and mold into a quick write, especially on a light, warm, and sunny Wednesday morning.

So, today, after I stared at the word and thought…absolutely nothing, I resorted to free association and wrote out a list:

zeitgeist: “spirit of a particular period”

  • High School
  • Sorority
  • Retirement
  • Prison
  • The Handmaid’s Tale
  • The Shawshank Redemption
  • Footloose
  • A closed community

One line came to mind three times while I brainstormed, so I scratched it into my journal before it slipped away: I had only been gone for three weeks.

I let that be the first line of my story.

Continue reading “Camaraderie, whether you want it or not.”

Becky Levine, Voice and Dialogue

My last post was about balance, and all weekend long I fought to maintain it. Despite the swings back and forth between sane and not, I completed several writerly tasks without driving my family away.

I rewrote a few more chapters in my WIP, I punched out drafts for two posts, and I read more of Becky Levine’s book, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide.

Becky Levine wrote her book with two goals in mind: to share tips and strategies for critiquing the work of other writers and to help the reader apply those techniques to his or her own writing.

I love Becky Levine’s down-to-earth writing style.

Unlike the evil antagonist in my mind, she doesn’t judge her readers when she discusses the elements of storytelling that a writer should know – but might not know – well enough.

Take, for instance, point of view. I know it, for the most part. But when I got to the chapter on point of view and read “close third” versus “distant third,” my personal antagonist pounced on my moment of insecurity.

“You should get this part, easy,” she hissed. “If you don’t you should go back to writing 101.” Then, she skipped off into darkness and left me with my head hanging.

Levine is much more gentle. She doesn’t assume the reader’s knowledge, one way or the other. She simply drops in a reminder about the differences between each point of view and moves on.

She goes on to explain that while point of view helps us determine who narrates the story, voice brings the narrator to life:

When I read a book where [voice and point of view] are strong, I come away certain that, if I met the story narrator on the street, I would recognized him or her. And it wouldn’t be the color of her hair and eyes that would look familiar, it would be her personality. If I stood and talked to her for a few minutes, I would be able to state the book where I’d “met” her before. When I experience this feeling, I know that the author has created a truly distinctive voice (p. 82).

Browse through a host of writer’s blogs, and you’ll find plenty of posts on voice and attempts to uncover the mystery behind creating that strong voice in writing. After reading through more of Levine’s book, I honed in on one way I can strengthen my narrator’s voice in my WIP: dialogue.

Dialogue moves the story along, breaks up long narratives, and aids in character development. Levine calls dialogue “the multitool of fiction.”

When you look closely at [it], you’ll find tools for character, plot, setting, voice, you name it (p. 91).

Voice, there it is. But, Levine doesn’t mean just words bubbling from a character’s mouth. Dialogue beats (as she calls them) reveal meaning behind those words, insights into a character’s personality, or the tone of a conversation.

Dialogue beats are the words and phrases surrounding a character’s spoken words (p. 95).

For example, here’s a piece of dialogue from one of my past Wednesday’s Word posts with, what I think, is a dialogue beat tacked on the end:

“Carry Millie for 50 yards as fast as you can. Whoever crosses the finish line in the least amount of time wins the grill!” Her mother clapped to get the crowd going.

What strikes me about the importance of dialogue beats is not so much how they enhance a narrator’s voice. Misuse of dialogue beats can skew the point of view or clutter the scene with too much information.

My WIP is written in close third person point of view (pow – take that, evil antagonist. Get thee back to thy dark corner). Dialogue and dialogue beats are crucial in creating that strong narrative voice for my story. Which means, as I finish rewriting this draft (and then return to the beginning again), I must keep an eagle eye on every aspect of the dialogue I write.

Looking back, today, through a few old posts of my own to find an example of dialogue and dialogue beat, I couldn’t keep my mind off of voice and whether or not it clearly showed through in each post. As painful as it is to read back through old pieces sometimes, I love seeing the work through a wiser eye. I gain that wisdom through reading the works of authors like Becky Levine.

On a side note, we writers woke up on the same plane of thought this morning, with dialogue on the mind. I saw a few other links to posts on dialogue come across Twitter.  Here’s one on “dialog tags” (Behler Blog’s term for dialogue beats).

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