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Plan the Story, Meet Your Characters.

I used to believe that my best writing happened while under pressure and without a plan. Pick a prompt, jump on a first line, go.That strategy still works for small projects, but when I approach a longer, more complex story – like a novel – I find some planning helps.

During the last several months, before I kicked off with the first paragraph of a novel I wanted to write, I tampered with outlines and notecards and concept maps, trying to wrap my head around the heart of a story (this particular novel requires research and a definite sense of direction). I also spent time with my characters.

In the past, I would begin a story with a fuzzy vision of a main character, his or her name, a hint at what they wanted. But this time around, I dug deeper. I gathered a pool of resources for character development and probed into the lives of a few people the novel would spotlight.

If you peruse Twitter or Facebook or your favorite author’s blog, you’ll find plenty of character worksheets. The questions on the worksheets vary, but they all read like an application. I’ll print off these sheets from time to time, especially when they come from an author whose work I appreciate, but no one sheet or exercise works well for me. Maybe they’re too rigid for this panster at heart. So, instead of relying on one specific form of character development, I pulled ideas from a few different places and gave myself a variety of prompts from which to draw.

1. The Character Sketch

From the presses of Writer’s Digest comes a great publication, Write Your Novel in 30 Days, complete with worksheets like the ones mentioned above. This simple form (one of many within the workbook) guides you through the basics, like name and birth date and physical descriptions. It also prompts you to consider character role and internal or external conflicts.

2. Characterization Exercises

Cathy Day (author of The Comeback Season and the blog, The Big Thing) spoke on a panel at the AWP Conference in Chicago this year. I couldn’t make it into the conference (though I got close), but I did find access to a document, compiled by Day and her group of panelists, on the best practices for teaching a novel workshop. I’d love to take one of these classes, but since I can’t, I’m especially grateful for the few writing exercises listed within:

  • “Describe each of your primary characters in the novel…their psychology: likes/dislikes, hopes and fears, odd predilections, good and bad habits…friends and nemeses.”
  • “Let’s hear them. Write representative speeches…for each of the primary characters.”

3. Character Visualization

From the files of Glimmer Train, Yelizaveta P. Renfro’s article about “Creating the Fictional Family” focuses on several directions writers can take, questions to ask or exercises in visualization:

  • “Visit your characters at home. Family often have specific places that are important to them…. Spend some time mentally visiting the places that are important to your characters, and write down everything you can.”
  • “Picture your characters. Having a physcial picture of your characters can help you get to know them. Find a photo or a painting of your fictional family. . . . Once you have your picture, put it at your side and write everything you observe in the image.”

Renfro suggests stopping into an antique store for pictures of real people. I’m suggesting another idea: the Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Online Catalog, where you can search for and find thousands of images. Little treasures, like this one:

Photos that make you want to tell a story.

Do you plan? And, how do you get to know your characters?

* photo credit: Alvimann @ morgueFile.com
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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

 

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In the spirit of NaNoWriMo

Thirty days, 50,000 words, one first draft. That’s a sure-fire way to jump-start a novel.

In a few weeks, writers from every walk of life will crack their knuckles and punch out that dreamy first line of a story that will carry them through a mass, online write-in. Coffee shops will break out the extension cords. Families will go ignored. Stories will get written, dammit, no matter what.

National Novel Writing Month.

I’m not participating this year. Several other projects demand my attention, one of those being the rewrite of a novel draft born during my first NaNo experience. Though, I won’t be a slave to the purple word-count bar this November, you will find me hunched over my laptop – crazy – this October.

That’s right. I’m doing all my mad writing this month.

I joined up with a group of authors on an anthology project, and I have it easy. I just have to write a 10,000 word story.

Just.

I’ve been sweating over this story.

So, in an effort to accentuate the “fun” part of this project, one of the authors spearheading the anthology suggested our own mini-NaNo: 10,000 words in thirty-one days. And, in true NaNo form, someone sent out a rally cry from the discussion board. I’m holding fast to that cry each time I sit down and open my file: No looking back.

. . .

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m sort of looking back. But only to recall the spirit of my first NaNoWriMo experience, in which I made it all the way to the 50,000 mark. If I could do that then, I can do this now. Here’s my plan (tips that apply, really, to any first-draft writing spree):

1. Start once, and stick with that beginning.

I’ve restarted this short story three times, and each restart kills my confidence. Restructuring the beginning can come later. When I get to that point, I know exactly what resource I’ll turn to: the October 2011 issue of Writer’s Digest, page 52, where Les Edgerton, Nancy Kress, and James Scott Bell talk about the first 50 pages. Their articles mainly address the novel writing process, but successful short stories and novels have a lot in common, one being powerful beginnings.

2. Write a scene at a time.

If the scene I know should come next  absolutely won’t come forth, from my mind to the screen, I’ll write whatever scene is formulated in my mind. Reordering can also come later. . . . I’ll be honest here. Practicing this tip is more difficult than it sounds; I want desperately to write in a linear way. But, I also want to reach the end of the story.

3. Don’t worry about where the story is going.

Not yet. There’s plenty that must be written in order to discover the roots in a story, which keep all the characters bound together. Will Boast said it in his essay for Glimmer Train (the link to which I found on Jane Friedman’s site):

Give yourself a good deal of raw material to work with before you begin to edit.

My friend, E. Victoria Flynn, spoke of a similar idea in her comment on my most recent post, where we talked about the amount of writing we put down on paper in relation to the writing we send out into the world:

My stories wouldn’t exist…if it weren’t for [all] the chaff.

Write the chaff. Trust the process. No looking back.

I’m not kidding.

Scroll down, not up.

Forge ahead. Whether you’re about to embark on a 50,000 word journey, or are in the middle of a 700 word blog post that’s choking your muse, remember a first draft isn’t the be-all-end-all of your writing career (…this I will repeat to myself in the mirror tomorrow morning, you know).

If it’s the 50,000 journey you’re on, leave your Twitter handle. I’ll cheer for you. I have pom-poms.

Now, get moving. Get to writing.