Posted on

Becky Levine on Research & Finding your Story in the Details

I’ve mentioned before how much I love Becky Levine’s book, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. If you just joined a group, if you’re thinking of starting your own group, or if you’re wondering why the writing group you’re in works (or doesn’t), you should read this book.
Becky Levine’s expertise stretches well beyond writing groups. She’s an editor and freelance writer who also writes picture books and young adult fiction. When she speaks, I pay attention. Not long ago, she posted on Facebook about one of her current projects, a historical fiction, and I asked if she’d be willing to stop by and talk about research for such a project. I’m thrilled and honored she said yes.
Welcome, Becky!
~

When Christi asked me if I’d write a guest post about research in historical fiction, my first reaction was pretty much: “But I SO haven’t figured that out yet.” Then I remembered that a lot of my favorite posts are ones where I sort of think things through, so I checked with Christi if that would work. Luckily (?!), she said, “Yes.”

The first thing you should know is that I am a fan of historical fiction that does not cover the page with heavy layers of historical detail. I much prefer books that use as few words as possible and still manage to give me a strong sense of time and place. (For some examples, see Sherrie L. Smith’s Flygirl, Joyce Moyer Hostetter’s Healing Water, and Kathryn Fitzmaurice’s A Diamond in the Desert.) Basically, I want more story than history.

The second thing you should know is that writing a historical-fiction novel that stays light on details does not, as far as I can tell, cut down the amount of research you have to do. Obviously, you can’t know which details are the perfect ones until you’ve found them. Which, on some days, makes me sigh.

Because, honestly, I have a love-hate relationship with research.

I love falling in love with my world. My current WIP is set in 1910ish Chicago, with threads of Hull-House, a possible cameo from Jane Addams, and questions about carving out a life in America as the daughter of immigrants, especially an immigrant mother who lives in constant fear of that world out there. Let me tell you, Chicago at the turn of the last century was an amazing place. If something was happening in America, it was happening in Chicago. And, probably, it was happening at Hull-House. Change was thick in the air, and, yet, when I stand at a distance and look at 1912 and 2012, it seems to me that too little has changed.

Which Way?What’s the hate part? Okay, hate is probably too strong a word. Confusion? Lost-in-the-maze-itis? A strong feeling of Not-in-Kansas, anymore? Research can be a matter of looking for one specific fact that you’re sure you need to know. (Should I tell you how many pages I read trying to figure out whether, if you went to Hull-House, you knocked on the door or just walked in?) It can be a process of reading an entire book about one narrow subject. (Hey, I’ve got a great read for you on how electricity came to Chicago!) It can be trips to the library, browsing through their catalog, tapping your neighbor’s shoulder, and asking them if they can think up another keyword for your search on hospitals in 1910. (Forget cellphones: how did you get hold of an ambulance before there was at least a payphone on every corner?) There are days, truly, that the research is overwhelming.

So why do it? Because you never know what you’re going to find. (That’s the love and the hate part!) I’ve read several books on Hull-House and Jane Addams, and the details I can choose from are plenty. Hopefully I’ll use the right ones. They’re not, however, the most important thing I’ve learned from all that reading. What is? The feeling of the settlement house, the sense of women who really cared; who pushed their own limits to find a job where they could be useful; who made sacrifices so they could surround themselves with like-minded, intelligent, creative thinkers. The sense of a place where, if you did knock on that door, someone was going to open it, draw you inside, put you to work, and give you a home. A better one than the one you’d left behind.

So you turn pages, you browse the Internet, you read letters and diaries, you talk to people at museums. Gradually, piece-by-piece, you come to an understanding of the world you’re writing about. An understanding that I think, I hope, will seep into the pages of your story and create that feeling of a distinct, unique world. Without burying your reader in detail after detail after detail.

Yes, it’s important for me to know the facts about what happens at the Hull-House door. It’s even more important for me, and my reader, to feel the energy and excitement that was going on behind it. And research—whether you love it, hate it, or (most likely) both—is the path to it all.

Becky Levine is a writer living in California’s Santa Cruz mountains. She’s currently working on a young-adult historical novel, as well as her first picture book. Becky is the author of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide (Writer’s Digest, 2010) and works part-time as a grant writer for a local art and history museum.

*Blog photo credits: Dru Bloomfield on flickr.com and Cohdra on morgueFile.com

 

 

Posted on

The Writing Critique: Sign Up and Show Up and Stick Around

“This is your writing. It’s important. I’m not advocating shoving yourself into the middle of someone else’s discussion or waving a red flag in the bathroom line, but put yourself out there.” ~ Becky Levine, in The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide.

One Sunday afternoon, it took all I had to get out of my house and into the car. It would be my first time, walking into a circle of strangers, sharing a short story that I had worked on for too long, putting my work and myself out there. Giddy and nervous, I worried I might talk too much or not at all. I wondered if I would leave elated or deflated. I was tempted to rest the fate of my whole writing career (what little there was of it at the time) on this two-hour experience, sitting in the basement of a mall at table with other writers. Luckily, the words of Becky Levine pressed on my conscious.

This is your writing. It’s important.

At some point in every Writer’s life, we enter into the critique zone. It’s inevitable and necessary, because, while most writing happens in isolation, our stories rarely succeed without others. So, we sign up and show up. And, some of us fret every time we traverse the stairs and walk into the room. 

Critiques aren’t easy. Never mind the vulnerability factor, when our work goes under the eyes of our peers. Critiques take skill, in giving them as much as in receiving them. A couple of books I’ve read have helped me survive moments with my writing groups in one way or another: Toxic Feedback: Helping Writers Survive and Thrive by Joni B. Cole and The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide by Becky Levine. Both authors make clear that how we give feedback is as important as how we receive it, because we learn from each side of the experience.

In the writing group in which I participate right now, critiques happen on the spot. The author reads his or her story, and we listen, write our thoughts down in the moment, share our comments right away. I much more prefer to read a story, let it digest, and then give my feedback a day or two later. The challenge for me then is, while I know when a passage or a character bumps me, I don’t always know why. Not immediately. Enter Becky Levine again, this time with her excellent article in the February issue of Writer’s Digest: “Critique Your Way to Better Writing.” Becky’s insights in this article on giving and receiving feedback hit home for me again..

“…[T]hink about the elements that make up our projects…such as character, explanatory narrative, scenes, dialogue, description and voice. Pretty much every weakness in a manuscript is a weakness in one of the big elements….”

I might not be able to pin-point exactly what throws me off during a writer’s reading of one story at a single critique session, but I can go home and think on it, even after I’ve submitted my comments. Then, in subsequent weeks, I will be more prepared to offer valuable feedback.

“Home in on the story element that’s creating the problem. Then…analyze what is and isn’t working. The more you critique, the easier answering these questions will become – and the more those answers will reveal themselves in your own work.”

That happens to me all the time. The more specific I am with my feedback, in things as simple as dialogue tags or as complex as creating more tension (or stretching out that tension) in a scene, the more I return to my own work and see areas that need the same kind of attention.

Writer’s reciprocity in its most genuine form. We learn from each other.

If you’re new to a writing group, stick around. If you haven’t joined a group, find one (even a soiree of writing friends will do). Pick up a copy of Joni B. Cole’s book on Toxic Feedback and one of Becky Levine’s Survival Guide. Better yet, pop over to Becky Levine’s webpage. She’s soliciting guest bloggers to post on their writing critique experiences, and she’s offering up copies of her book in return. Even if you don’t have an essay to submit, you can still enter to win a copy of her book by leaving a comment on these guest posts.

Want to read more on critique groups? Here are some other blog posts to check out:

“Getting the Most from a Critique” Lisa Hall-Wilson (on Girls with Pens) talks about the tone of a group, setting goals, and strengths and weaknesses.

“How Writing Groups Can Work for You” Susan Bearman (on Write It Sideways) highlights two important points: make a commitment to show up consistently and don’t minimize how much you can learn from hearing the work of writers outside your preferred genre.

How about you? What’s the greatest lesson you’ve learned by sitting around a table with other writers? Or, do you have a favorite book on surviving critiques?

“…[W]riting is a solitary effort, but it doesn’t have to be a lonely one — and
that is the real gift of feedback” ~ Joni B. Cole