May 22, 2013 · 12:58 pm

On Writing: What Stymies You?

nowritingI’m doing manuscript critiques for the Backspace Writer’s Conference, which I’ll be at tomorrow and Friday. As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I love going to writing conferences. I love having the opportunity to interact with writers, giving them feedback that I just don’t have time to give  when answering queries. I also get very inspired to write. I am, after all, first and formost (at least in my own mind, if not in actuality) a writer. I had lunch the other day with my client Joe McGee, who is not only a very fine writer himself but also teaches writing to others.  Joe and I were discussing writing, inspiration, and how difficult it is can be to get out of our own way.

As an agent I’m constantly reading other people’s work and assessing their writing and ideas to see if they have legs for publication. I see many of the same mistakes or weaknesses in writing over and over and over and over again. Information dumping. Descriptions of things/events/thoughts/etc… that do nothing to move the plot forward or illuminate a character. Lots of throat clearing. Lots and lots and lots of telling (versus showing) of a story. Tons of wiggling eyebrows, noticing of something suddenly, and thoughts conveniently crossing a main character’s mind. And let’s not forget dream sequences, staring into mirrors, and remembering one’s childhood or dead mother/father/grandparent/sibling/best friend/boy or girlfriend.

So as I critique these pages for the conference, I’m mostly saying the same things to these authors. Does this make them bad writers? No, not really. Actually, some of them are darn good writers. But the repetitiveness of my critiques points to how difficult it is to overcome these pitfalls, regardless of one’s skill level or innate talent.

So how does doing this affect me as a writer? Well, it actually stymies me. I find it excruciatingly difficult to get out of my own way. Joe’s (excellent) advice, and the advice of so many who have commented on the blog, is to just write the goddam first draft. Write it without revising. Write it because it wants to be written. Write it without thinking too much. Write it for yourself, not for anyone else’s eyes. Just write it.

Although I know many of you are eager to give me your advice, honestly I don’t really need more advice. As my kids say to me, “I’m good.” I mean, we all know what to do about it: Just write anyway. What I’d love to know though is what stops you. What stymies you when you’re writing and why do you think it does that? 

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May 20, 2013 · 5:00 am

Five Lovely Things About Today

images-11. Reading on the train.

2. Having coffee with an editor friend, just for fun, to catch up, laugh and hear baby stories.

3. Taking a client out for lunch, to meet for the first time, and dance a little happy dance.

4. More reading on the train.

5. Coming home to lilacs and viburnum.

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May 17, 2013 · 6:00 am

Friday Ramble: Adventures in Not Writing Fiction

blue typewriterHa! So there I was, all inspired by the fabulous keynote address given by Sharon Creech at the writing conference I was invited to. I come home, all jazzed. I’ve got an idea! It’s middle grade. Lots of boys and dads and problems to overcome. I have characters. I give them names. I work out the relationships in my head. I ask a couple of folks I know some researchy kind of questions, just to make sure I’ve got a viable story . I download Scrivener. I think: I. Can. Do. This.  I can write one page a day, until I have a manuscript!

Or… I can write one page a day for three days and then be so riddled with doubt about whether I even have a story  that I stare at the blinking cursor on my computer screen and wonder why I thought this was ever possible. I can happily dive back in to editing some of the client work that’s waiting for me, read some of the manuscripts that are piling up, answer queries. Anything so I don’t have to face that blank page.

Holy crap, people. How do you do it?!

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May 15, 2013 · 10:02 am

Writing Queries: What Should You Put In Your Bio?

imagesPerhaps you have 25 published articles in a gardening magazine and you are submitting a romantic paranormal YA thriller. Maybe you’ve never published anything in your life, but have been writing stories since you’re 6. It could be that you’ve self-published a previous novel in the same genre for which you are querying. Perchance this is the very first thing you’ve ever written, you’ve never taken a class, attended a conference, or had anything published anywhere ever. So WHAT should you put in the bio of your query letter?

This is what I like to know:

If you have a degree related to writing, or in the field in which you are writing, include that information. If your job relates to your manuscript or writing, tell me about it. If you are previously published through traditional channels, let me know the what, when, and with whom of it. If you are self-published, let me know about it, and include how successful/unsuccessful that’s been (i.e. number of copies sold). If you’ve had stories published in magazines, journals or online sites, let me know about that, even if it was a long time ago. You don’t have to list everything, but you should mention that it’s happened. If you are a member of any writing organizations (SCBWI, RWA, SFWA, etc…) please let me know. And if you attend any kind of writing conferences, let me know that, too. If you’ve won awards for any of your writing, even if it’s in an unrelated field, tell me (but if it’s in an unrelated field, don’t go into detail, please).

So what do you do if you don’t have any of the above? Just tell me! For example, “I work in the beauty industry, have a degree in Sociology, and THE TEENAGE SUPERHERO LOVER ESCAPADE is my first manuscript.”

Please don’t tell me you’ve been writing since you were 6 or that all your friends and family say you are the next Harper Lee/John Irving/Stephen King/Barbara Kingsolver. Just about everyone who queries me has “wanted to be a writer” for a very long time (or only since yesterday). It doesn’t make a difference or really mean anything. And the opinion of your family and friends (or even your critique group) is also kind of meaningless. I mean, if Harper Lee, John Irving, Stephen King or Barbara Kingsolver have read your work and given you a blurb, you can certainly mention that. Otherwise, just leave that stuff out.

Any questions?

 

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May 13, 2013 · 10:48 am

Writing Queries: Three Tools for Success

1245687934448019525Minduka_Present_Blue_Pack.svg.medHere are some things you can do to give your query its best chance at doing it’s job!

1. Start by writing an impeccably good query letter. Um, really? That’s not such helpful advice. Yes, really. Here’s how to do it: Address it to the correct person (without anything smarmy, like “Dear respected agent”); include a snazzy intro paragraph that includes genre and word count; write a clean, quick synopsis with no spoilers and which leaves some unanswered questions; make sure your bio is short, sweet, and inclusive; sign off professionally and make sure all your contact information follows your name. Yeah, well what constitues “snazzy”?

2. In your intro paragraph, have that first sentence start with a fantastic hook. What’s a hook? It’s a one to two sentence teaser or elevator pitch. Like a Tweet, you know? Minus hash tags, of course. Something that will catch an agent’s eye (but not in a weird or scary way). How do I know if I’m being weird or scary? I’m not answering that.

3. Write a great manuscript. Aw, come on! You always say that! Yes, yes I do. Because honestly, even if you write the most kick ass query letter in the world, if your manuscript isn’t great (not just good… great) it’s always going to be a pass. No matter who you query. What matters is the manuscript. So don’t send your work out until it’s complete. That means it’s been through a number of drafts. Complete doesn’t mean you finished writing the story yesterday so you’re ready to send it out into the world today. Fine. Be that way.

You’re welcome.

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May 10, 2013 · 6:00 am

Friday Ramble: On Dead Mothers in Fiction

153568-425x267-Mother-monumentMy colleague Marie Lamba wrote an excellent blog post about all the dead mothers showing up in her queries. As mother’s day weekend is upon us, and as I’m an actual mother, I’d like to say here and now that I don’t really like all the dead mothers either. And yet…

I started writing a manuscript this week after being very inspired by the keynote addresses of both Sharon Creech and Grace Lin at the New England SCBWI conference I was at this weekend.. Creech remembered thinking (many years ago, when writing one of her first novels) that if she just wrote one page a day that at the end of a year she’d have 365 pages, and basically… a book length manuscript!

“Hmmmm,” I thought to myself. “I could do that. I could write ONE page a day. How difficult could it be?”

But as I started to spin out a story in my mind, a potential thing to actually write down I remembered that not only would I have to create the great characters that were already starting to whisper their stories to me, and place them in an interesting, believable place, but there would also need to be a conflict.

Again I found myself saying, “Hmmmm,” and for a fleeting moment it occurred to me that I could easily do it. I could kill her off and all the characters could be sad or hurt or angry or whatever. Voila! Conflict! But I came to my senses very quickly. That would just be too conveniently easy and too already done.

So anyway, I’ve started writing. Wish me luck, everyone! I’m very good at starting stories but I don’t have a great track record of completing them. But I believe (or maybe it’s hope?) that you all will keep me honest. So do it! Keep me honest. And honor your mother!

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May 8, 2013 · 6:00 am

Flash Fiction Contest Winners!

contest-winner1

Ok, after much deliberation and discussion, judges Joe McGee, M-E Girard and R.L. Saunders decided the following people have won the Flash Fiction contest posted here two weeks ago.

First place goes to T.P. Jagger

Runner up is Phil Dwyer.

Congratulations!

T.P. Jagger has won a first page manuscript critique and Phil Dwyer has won a query critique.
Please email me privately (linda dot p dot epstein at gmail dot com) by May 31st to claim your prizes.
Originally, Joe McGee wrote the following, and then we’ll see how our winners finished the saga…
“Honey, it’s a boy,” said Helga.
“I’m so happy, I could raid a village,” Wolfgang said.
“Good, because we need milk.”
***
“Are you serious?” said Helga.
“Completely serious.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I’m serious,” said Wolfgang, “I drank all the milk…and ate their cows.”
***
“Wolfgang?”
“Busy!” He planted his axe in the giant’s foot.
“That’s no excuse,” said Helga.
“No excuse? I’m fighting a giant!”
“And I’m nursing a baby.”
“But-“
“Milk. Now,” said Helga, slamming the shutters closed.
***
“So…” said the giant. He looked down at the axe in his foot. “Here we are.”“
Here. We. Are,” said Wolfgang. He smiled up at the massive creature. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help me with my axe? It appears to be stuck.”
“In my foot,” said the giant.
Wolfgang nodded. “Yep.”
“Not particularly,” the giant said. “I’d much rather squash you.”
“Understandable.”
 
As finished by 1st place winner T.P. Jagger…
“But…”
“But what?” asked Wolfgang.
The giant smiled, revealing teeth the size of large sheep. “I have a proposition for you.”
Wolfgang scratched at his beard.
“Prop-a-huh?”
“Proposition. A proposal. A plan. An offer.”
“Um…of course. And what might your…prop-a-thingy be?”
The giant bent down and pinched the sides of Wolfgang’s head between one huge hairy thumb and a forefinger.
“I don’t pop your head like a boil, and you fetch milk for my baby too.”
Now, Wolfgang didn’t care all that much for the giant’s prop-a-whatever-it-was. But as his helmet crumpled under the giant’s ever-tightening, two-fingered grip, he decided he might not be in a favorable negotiating position.
“Sure. Milk. Your baby,” he said. “No problem.”
The giant released Wolfgang’s head, and Wolfgang staggered a moment, his ears ringing. He then thought as quickly as a Viking could who had nearly had his head popped. He pointed to the giant’s foot.
“Of course, I’ll need my axe.
”The giant frowned and squinted at Wolfgang. “What does an axe have to do with milk?”
“Good question, my friend,” Wolfgang replied. He leaned casually against the stone wall surrounding his longhouse.
“I don’t suppose it’s necessary. I mean…my baby will be fine.” He shrugged.
“Though I’d hate to risk a giant baby drinking uncut milk.”
The giant’s frown deepened.Wolfgang cupped his chin in his hand and tapped a finger against his nose.
“I don’t suppose the scarring would be permanent….”
“Scarring?”
“Never mind,” Wolfgang said. He turned toward the road. “I’ll just—”“
Wait!” The giant yanked the axe from his foot and thrust it toward Wolfgang.
“Take it. No uncut milk!”
“You’re sure?” Wolfgang asked. “If it’s too much trouble, I—”
“Take. It.”
Wolfgang sighed. “Okay, if you insist.” He plucked the axe from the giant’s fingers.
“But you also know I’ll need ear hair, right?”
The giant tugged at his ear. “I don’t—”
“You’d let cut milk be hairless?”
“But—”
“Why I never…” Wolfgang gaped at the giant and shook his head. “In all my years of milk delivery, I—”
“Here!” cried the giant. The ground trembled as he flopped onto the road, his head thumping down beside Wolfgang. Dust billowed into the air. The giant cocked his head so Wolfgang could peer into his ear.
“Take.”
Hair sprung from the giant’s ear like the quills of a frightened porcupine. Globs of reddish-orange earwax clung to the hair, and puss oozed from underneath a scab the size of a well-fed badger.Wolfgang hefted his axe.
“Ear hair removal can hurt.”
The giant pounded his fist on the ground, toppling three nearby saplings and causing one side of Wolfgang’s longhouse to sag.
“I. Want. Cut. Hairy. Milk.”
“Fine, fine,” said Wolfgang. “No need to worry. Just wanted to warn you. But if it feels like I’m ramming my axe through your brain, please don’t—”
“HAIRY MILK!”
Wolfgang needed no further invitation. He charged, plunging his axe into the giant’s ear.The giant bellowed, his whole body quivering. But he didn’t raise his head from the road.
“HAIRY! MILK!”
“Almost have it,” Wolfgang said. He charged again, his axe bursting through the eardrum and gouging into the giant’s brain.The giant shuddered once. Twice. Then lay still.Wolfgang laughed and tugged out his axe, using his sleeve to wipe clumps of brain and blood and earwax from its blade.
“Hairy milk…,” he muttered. “Stupid giant.”
Suddenly, something smashed against the back of Wolfgang’s helmet, knocking him to the ground. He rolled onto his back and looked up.
“Milk,” Helga said, dropping a wooden bucket at Wolfgang’s feet. She crinkled her nose and sniffed then hoisted her own axe onto her shoulder. Little Sven gazed down from his sling on Helga’s back.
“And if you darken my doorway without bathing, you’ll be footless.”
Wolfgang heaved himself up from the road and sighed. He hated bathing.
 
And then as finished by runner-up Phil Dwyer…
The giant stared at his foot. “See, this is what I hate about the Iron age. This wouldn’t have happened back in the stone age.”
“That’s progress,” Wolfgang said, wrestling with the axe. “Can’t hold technology back.”
“Oddly, I’m struggling to view the burial of your axe in my bunion as in any way progressive. If I wasn’t a strict vegetarian I’d have you half chewed by now.”
“Vegetarian?” Wolfgang sat, anchored both feet against the giant’s boot, and put all his weight on the haft of the axe. “That must be inconvenient in a hunter gatherer milieu.” The axe gave a little. Wolfgang worked the handle back and forward vigorously. “Is it an ethical choice?”
“It’s the blessed flavour. Can’t stomach Viking. Too rancid. Must be all the raping and pillaging. Gharsh! Careful with that axe you perishing savage. You’ll have my toe off.”
The giant leaned forward and picked Wolfgang up between his forefinger and thumb.
“Don’t suppose you’d accept an apology? If I’d known you were vegetarian I’d never have cleaved you.”
“I don’t mind that. I’ve been cleaved before. You lot are obsessed with it. Can’t walk a half-mile round here without some hot-head sticking something sharp into you. What I objects to is your attitude. You think we’re all thick as planks.”
Wolfgang shrugged. “You have to admit, your educational standards aren’t high.”
“How would you know? You’re illiterate ain’t you? Can’t even count higher than two.”
“That’s a common misconception. Actually, we have a highly developed runic alphabet, and a sophisticated measuring system that embraces abstract phenomena like the empty set.”
The giant laid Wolfgang on the ground, gently placed his good foot over him, and leaned over to pick the loosened axe from his other foot.
“Now then. Shall we resume? This time without the cleaving.”
He lifted his foot. “Oh dear,” he said. He poked a forefinger into the mud, searching for the submerged Viking. Finding a leg, he gently pulled him free, and laid him in his palm.
“Ere you. Giant. What you done with my Wolfgang?” said Helga.
“Seems like I’ve squished him,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was useless. Always prattling on about narrative and normative social theories. Wanted to be a professor, bloody fool. Won’t be a university around here for another 500 years at least. I should’ve listened to mother. She told me not to marry a foreigner. ‘Nothing good’ll come of mixing good Viking blood with Goth’, she said.”
“What do you want me to do with him?” the giant said.
“Eat him if you like. Can’t waste good protein. Not in a subsistence-mode society like ours.”
“I can’t eat him. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Give him ‘ere then. I’ll eat him.”
The giant laid Wolfgang’s body on the ground at Helga’s feet.
“I didn’t know Vikings were cannibals.”
“We’re not, but I’ll make an exception in Wolfgang’s case. You don’t happen to have any milk about you, do you?”
“Not on me, no.”
“Only it’s the baby see?”
The giant squatted on his haunches and leaned close to the infant Helga was nursing in her arms. A smile spread over his face. “They’re sweet when they’re little ain’t they?”
Helga took a backward step and turned her back to the giant, shielding the baby. “No they ain’t. They’re just as sour as the grown-ups.”
“Aww, I didn’t mean that. I’ve been a veggie hundreds of years now. I’m not turning carnivore for a morsel like that. I just meant he’s cute. Anyway, you can’t feed him cow’s milk. Their little bellies can’t take it.”
“No milk?”
“No. Nor any meat, eggs or cheese.”
There was a moment’s silence between them while they both contemplated the sleeping child.”
“What you going to call him?” The giant reached out and chucked the child under its chin with the very tip of his little finger.
“Vegan,” Helga answered.
 

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