The Professional Writer (or: Better Sex, Part 1)

How does one go from being a professional-something-else (in my case, a veterinarian) to becoming a professional writer?

The answer: It Depends.

On what, you ask?

The journey depends entirely on the type of writer you want to become.

If blogging is your thing, the path is simple: Study your target audience (a.k.a.-future revenue source), decide on the best topics to attract said audience, create a killer web platform, then compose-measure-refine your message based on the results.

Repeat until you're sick of blogging or have become the next Pioneer Woman.

If you're a left brain sort, maybe your future lies in non-fiction. Say you're an expert at growing garlic the size of baseballs or a whiz at organizing socks. Perhaps you've produced eleven children and delivered them into adulthood without so much as a single detention slip or snotty eye roll. If so, condense those wisdomy pearls into something called a book proposal, then query agents who represent your particular flavor of non-fiction. Based on what I'm seeing on the grocery store racks these days, you shouldn't have much trouble selling.

Kicked your embarrassing butternut squash addiction? Lost half your body weight on a diet comprised of dill pickles, kale, and Diet Mt. Dew? Tell us how you did it in 1200 words or less (don't forget the bullet points) and send it to Men's/Women's/Kid's Health magazine.

Want a sure thing? Use the words 'Better Sex' in the title, regardless of topic.

Don't get me wrong. I understand how difficult it is to blog regularly and successfully. How tough it is to write (and sell) non-fiction books or magazine articles. In my veterinary practice I devoted long hours to writing client brochures and how-to handouts. In deciding to sell my practice to write full-time, I considered writing articles for equine publications in order to pay the bills. (And even now haven't completely ruled it out.)

But if you really want a tear-your-still-beating-heart-out-of-your-chest thrill, try becoming a professional writer of fiction.

To start, you find--and fall hopelessly in love with--characters who exist solely in your imagination. Maybe (like me) your first book begins as a lovely, vivid dream you can't shake. Just to clear your head, you write the scene down in a ratty spiral notebook. When it's done you shove it under the bed, then get up the next day and go back to your real job.

But when you come home that night, you can't wait to dig out the notebook and see what happens next. Soon, you're stealing moments to work on your story: sick days, lunch hours, that magic time in the morning before the kids get up. Your characters feel real, as if they're telling you what to write.

Before you know it, you've bought two more spiral notebooks and a package of really good black pens. Then, like a junkie with an ever-worsening need, you spring for a used laptop and download Word or Scrivener to keep track of all your chapters, character descriptions, and plot points.

At this point it hits: You don't want to just write this story. You want people to read it...and thinks it's good.

Problem is, you don't actually know how to write a book. Sure, you're a voracious reader, but appreciating a thing isn't the same as knowing how to do it. (Karaoke, anyone?)

Enter the next phase: Soaking-up-information-like-a-Brawny-towel-on-steroids.

(to be continued)

Five Tips for Overcoming Writer's Block

Yesterday I spoke with a Paranormal Romance writer friend who was struggling with the dreaded 'Chapter Seven Blues'.  What happened, she asked, to the easy thrill of seeing her scenes appear on the screen as if by magic? She'd been in butt-in-chair, hands-on-keyboard mode for days, yet had written nothing.

Was her Muse on vacation--or had she left for good?

While my friend is an accomplished woman--successful in everything she's attempted in life--she's fairly new to writing. Her first book came easily. She got tons of requests at her first conference, has sent manuscripts to several agents, and will no doubt sell very soon. She'll be a success--as long as she keeps writing.

But the worry in her voice was bone-marrow deep, and it was real.

I can relate to that fear. In the five years I've been writing, I've had moments of soul-grinding doubt: About my writing ability, about the story I'm working on, about my willingness to keep going as the rejection letters pile up.

It's impossible for me to be creative when I'm fearful. For me, fear is the underlying cause of writer's block.

Oddly, the rejection letters provided a great lesson on how to regain creativity. Which brings me to my first tip:

1) Write what you're excited about.

After the first rash of rejections I nursed my wounded ego for a few days, then emailed a well-known author, asking for her take on things. Should I begin the second book in a series I hadn't sold yet? Spend my time revising the rejected piece? Keep everything the same and send it out to more agents?

She wisely advised not to give up on the first piece, but to set it aside temporarily and dig into a project I'm really excited about.

I did, and after a week or two something strange happened: While immersed in the new manuscript, I realized what changes would strengthen the earlier piece. With my new perspective, revising the first piece is a snap. This week I'll finish revisions, query more agents, and then get back to the new manuscript.

2) Skip the (blocked) scene and write another.

If a scene isn't flowing, maybe it doesn't work. (More about that here.) Rather than pound against a brick wall, I've found it helpful to skip past a scene that won't cooperate and write the next one in my head. The skipped scene might be wrong, or it might be 'filler'; a scene that conveys information without adding to the story.

Some editors recommend identifying your weakest scene and finding a way to delete it. Better, perhaps, not to write the darned thing in the first place!

3) Write a scene you won't let anyone see.

If this sounds weird, you're probably right. But sometimes I'm so focused on writing for my perceived 'audience'--usually an imaginary agent or hypercritical editor--that I play it too safe and get bored. And if I want to write bored, I'll go to work composing insurance brochures (and make a lot more money.)

But what if I throw caution to the winds and write that graphic death scene? (Ewww...the blood dripped where?) What if I get inside my killer's head as he plans his next abduction?

If I have the courage to write what I'm afraid to, chances are it'll be exciting. Maybe I'll use the scene, maybe I won't. But at the very least I'll jumpstart my creativity--and maybe find it's fun living n the edge.

4) Put a (limited) moratorium on writing.

I don't know if this works for anyone else, but when I'm writing a lot and accomplishing little, I'll sometimes force myself to close the lid and step away from the laptop. This may be terrible advice for those with twelve unfinished manuscripts under the bed, but if your problem is fear (and it's ugly twin, perfectionism) a little fresh air and perspective might do wonders for your Muse.

For me, trail running opens a channel to the infinite possibilities in the universe, and when the (short) moratorium is over I'm eager to capture all the great ideas flooding my brain. Obviously, the only way to become a bestselling novelist is to FINISH THE NOVEL, so these enforced breaks have a definite start and end time (or date.)

Speaking of overcoming writer's block by not writing, here's my next tip:

5) Read a book by a great author in your genre.

If my Muse is out to lunch, I feed her beautiful words by authors I admire: Elmore Leonard's amazing dialogue, Harlen Coben's strong emotions, Dean Koontz' ever-tightening coils of suspense, Dick Francis' condensed, twisting plots. And for dessert: Scott Turow's multilayered characters, whose backstories melt on your tongue like sweet creme brulee.

When I read wonderful writers, I try not to compare my own crude attempts with theirs, but instead to appreciate the variety of voice and style; to celebrate how each of these authors succeeded by getting very good at being themselves. And when I finish a good book, I'm somehow inspired to pour myself into my own manuscript, to listen to my characters and tell their story to the best of my ability.

If fear is the poison that causes writer's block, the antidote is love. Love of story, love of my characters, love of the process of telling the stories inside my head. And there's one truth that works when fear keeps me frozen.

By writing today, I'll be a better writer tomorrow.

Cheers...and Happy Writing!

-T

The knife bit into Lara's skin, and a trickle of blood seeped...

Now what?

I stare at the screen, drawing a blank. The cursor blinks mockingly, as if to remind me I'm supposed to have something brilliant to say right now.

But I don't.

'Okay,' I think. 'Forget brilliant. Shoot for pedantic; mundane, even. Just get something down, quick, because you've got to finish this scene to stay on schedule. You'll juice it up later.'

Half an hour passes. No words appear.

I look around. Certain there's an external cause, I run through the 'Perfect Writing Atmosphere Checklist'. Lighting: Good. Noise: Absent. Temperature adjusted, candles lit, dishwasher loaded: Check, check, check.

At this point the committee in my head chimes in, offering helpful things like: 'I'll bet James Patterson doesn't waste time like this,' and 'Dean Koontz wrote LIGHTNING in seven weeks, from first word to final revision.'

I pour another cup of coffee. Feed the cat. Let the dogs out, then back in. Light a third (or fourth) candle.

Then, I settle back in the chair, open the laptop, and glare at the stupid cursor some more.

Finally, I delete the last line, and write:

Lara wrestled the knife away from Maxwell and tossed it into the river.

"I don't feel like being murdered today." She wiped the dirt from her Yoga pants and retrieved her lost flip-flop. "Better scram, before you find out how dangerous a pissed-off soccer mom can be."

It's not Hemingway, but it's a start. I smile and keep typing, curious where the story goes from here.

I'll make a thousand words today, easy.

Cheers...and Happy Writing!

-T

Three Yards and a Cloud of Dust...

Football (the American kind--with a weird pointy ball made from the skin of unfortunate pigs) is often called an analogy for war. But as a lifelong fan, I think it makes a great analogy for almost anything--especially writing commercial fiction.

Think of it this way: NFL players prepare at least forty hours for every hour they play.

That's forty-to-one ratio.

This means that if I hope to 'win the game,' for every hour I spend creating new material I must devote many (many!) hours to sharpening my skill, and even more to checking, revising, correcting, formatting, summarizing and pitching that new creation.

Sometimes the words grind out slowly, inch by sweaty inch. Each sentence feels like 'Three yards and a cloud of dust.' A paragraph takes an hour, a single page consumes a whole frustrating day.

Then, like the receiver who breaks free and catches a perfectly-timed throw, scenes unfold in flowing detail, and pages appears on my laptop as if by magic. At the end of these 'bursts' I sigh, close my computer, and think, "Wow. Now that the chapter/scene/book is finished, the hard stuff is over."

Except it's not.

Like a long pass that nets huge yardage, a super-productive day simply means there's more work to do. If a completed scene is a successful scoring drive, I still need to play defense and clean up the manuscript. Another score (a polished draft)? Now it's time to run it by beta-readers and see where the thing drags--in other words, to play more defense.

Offense (writing) and defense (revisions) look good? Now we work on special teams, because we'll never sell our beloved creation unless we successfully pitch to editors and agents (or market the thing ourselves, which is probably harder.)

No football team can win the big prize unless they develop all three phases of the game (ask Boise State, who broke my heart last season. Go Broncos!)

I'm headed to the lake this weekend to work on my passing game.

Come Monday, I'll be back to playing defense.

Cheers...and happy writing!

-T

The Wind Howled...Or Was That A Shriek?

My literary crush Elmore Leonard often discusses his 10 Rules Of Writing--all designed to keep the writer invisible in the story.

First on the list: Never Open A Book With Weather.

The reason is simple: Unless you're showing a character's reaction to the weather, the reader will skip over long sections of meteorological blathering. Yet some writers--myself included--have started scenes detailing everything from wind speed to barometric pressure, thinking we're supposed to create 'atmosphere'.

But if the characters don't care about the weather (in which case we'd show their reaction, rather than the weather itself), why should the reader?

In this interview he talks about reading a book that starts with: "The wind howled like a beast in pain." (Tellingly, I thought it was a pretty cool metaphor.) Leonard, however, laughed, then asked, "Whose point of view is that?"

He was kind, though, and suggested that the unnamed author would probably get out of his own way soon enough; that the writer might have been eager to showcase his (or her) abilities, and hadn't yet learned to let the characters tell the story.

But weather can also be a writer's friend, as in this example:

Imagine a newly-hired crime scene technician, unprepared for real-life investigations, trudging through a muddy field in the midst of a downpour to reach the corpse. Just as our poindexter reaches the ditch on the far side, lightning strikes a nearby tree. Startled, he slips in the mud and slides down the embankment on his backside--much to the amusement of the uniformed officers on the scene.

Congratulations! Weather has just provided you with conflict, tension, and--as the story progresses and our technician learns the ropes--a LOT of room for character growth.

If the story is strong enough, who needs atmosphere?

Cheers...and Happy Writing!

-T

With a sickening lurch, Fiona's truck sailed off the...

                                                              Chapter 2.

...curb and landed in the street. "Darn it," Fiona said. "Now I've scraped both the front and back bumpers."

And there, my friends, is what writing consultant and screenplay guru Trai Cartwright, (who gave a bang-up presentation at the Colorado Gold conference) calls a cliffhanger.

According to Ms. Cartwright, cliffhangers are a great way to jumpstart a story that sags in the middle (more on sagging middle here). Put another way, she suggest never ending a chapter or scene on an 'exhale.' Instead, roll back the last seven lines of the scene and start your next chapter with them.

But she also reminds us to answer the 'question' we posed at the end of the previous chapter. And, if possible, to provide an answer the audience doesn't want. For example, in a serious attempt to create tension I could write:

With a sickening lurch, Fiona's truck sailed off the retaining wall and landed on the wooden drawbridge. She put the truck in reverse and punched the gas pedal, but the rear wheels spun uselessly on the rain-slick wood. Just as the left tire caught, she heard--then felt--the aging boards creak and bow under the truck's weight.

"Hang on, Letitia," she said, trying to quell the panic in her voice. "Mommy's going to get us out of this."

The child huddled next to Fiona whimpered, and then screamed as the bridge gave way.

                                                                              
Chapter 2.

The icy water swirled around Fiona's waist while she scrambled to unbuckle her daughter. "Hold on to Mommy, honey...."

Would you keep reading? I might--if the writer had made me care about Fiona and her daughter.

But if we had ended chapter one AFTER Fiona and Letitia escaped the flooded truck, a reader might sigh with pleasure, set down the book and go make a sandwich.

Instead, Ms. Cartwright insists we want readers to keep reading long past when they intended to stop. We want to be the author who keeps them up until two a.m. on a work night, who compels them to read our book while they walk to the subway station.

I'm going through my current project to see where chapters end on an 'exhale'. I'm sorry to report there are several.

But they won't be there much longer.

Cheers...and happy writing!

-T

Now the Windup. And Here's the Pitch...

After a fantastic weekend at the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers' Conference, I came away with a new (and better) perspective regarding a task most writers detest: Pitching their story to an editor or agent.

Don't get me wrong--I still don't like it.

Pitching is an exercise in selfishness that usually goes something like this: "Hello. I'm going to tell you about my book and how great it is, and why I'm exactly the right person to write this story."

This weekend I seriously thought: Let me get this straight. I'm seated across the table from a fascinating, connected, knowledgeable insider--a REAL New York literary agent--and we're supposed to talk about me?

Bleh.

So I came up with an analogy (sadly, not one about baseball) to help me understand.

In my veterinary practice I often performed surgery on my patients. Early on, I learned that the most technically perfect surgery--the sexy part, where scalpel parts delicate skin and neat sutures magically bind it back--can be undone by poor preparation.

But maybe a great pitch can be likened to a sterile surgical prep--where one carefully scours each finger to redness at the scrub sink, dons sterile gown, mask and gloves, and finally drapes the patient to avoid a contaminated field. Having the right instruments--in this case a strong logline and clear distillation of theme--is equally critical to the patient's survival.

Not to overdo the comparison (too late, maybe?) but I would never have considered performing surgery without a thorough, meticulous prep. Scrubbing wasn't my favorite part, but I took great care because I wanted the patient to survive--and thrive.

When it came to prep I didn't whine or procrastinate. I just went to work.

So the next time I'm seated across the table from a literary agent, I'll consider my patient (my story) and give my best pitch.

Here's hoping the patient thrives!

Hooks, Crooks, and Liars.

One of the toughest skills I've yet to master is answering the question: "What's your book about?"

Should be easy, right? After all, I've spent HUNDREDS of hours on the project; know my characters' motives, thoughts, gestures better than my own; have the plot laid out in a clear, systematic time line on a whiteboard above the desk.

So why can't I distill the story into a single exciting sentence?

With my first book (which I lovingly call a Dysfunctional Romance) I test-drove hooks like, "Boy meets girl. All hell breaks loose," and "Female veterinarian discovers fame comes at a price." After dozens of attempts I calculated the average time to eyes-glazing-over at 0.8 seconds.

Then I hit on a winner: "Lady veterinarian gets accused of murdering a horse in her practice."

"Ooh, sounds interesting," they'd say. "Love to read it." Sweet music to a writer's ears.

Except that's not really what the book is about. It's a complex love story that touches on themes of control, sexual trauma, and self-acceptance. (Try turning THAT into a catchy sentence!)

So I settled for a great hook--and a small lie.

Then I stumbled upon a hilarious website called Book-A-Minute, where great works ranging from GOLDILOCKS to FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS are condensed into twenty words or less. Notably absent: Adjectives and adverbs.

So I applied the formula to a different (as yet unwritten) project and came up with: "Defense contractor's wife gets abducted, falls for kidnapper, fools everyone and comes out on top." The best part is that the pared-down version captures the essence of the story (and might even give too much away.)

So next time we see each other, go ahead and ask what my book is about.

I'm ready.

Cheers...and happy writing!

-T

Help! My middle's sagging...

With every new plot idea, I struggle with 'what happens next?' In other words, how to correct the dreaded 'sagging middle.'

For help understanding this, I turned to the Master of Suspense, Dean Koontz, who has an uncanny skill for creating page-turning bestsellers.

For instance, in his book, RELENTLESS, Mr. Koontz uses several distinct tools to keep us 'hooked' throughout the story:

• Putting loved ones in danger.
• Shocking revelations.
• Introducing characters or plot twists.
• Foreshadowing.

After the initial triple-peak jolt, there are four separate 'spikes' in tension before the penultimate climax. (Geek alert: Yes, I made a chart.)

With few exceptions, each chapter begins at a marginally diminished 'thrill score' and then builds, with the baseline gradually rising throughout the book. At the end of each chapter Mr. Koontz employs one of his tools to raise tension. Chapters get short, things speed up, and we have no choice but to turn the page.

The overall story arc goes something like this:

• Peaks 1-3: Trouble's brewing.
• Peak 4: The devil breaks loose.
• Peak 5: (Smaller triple spike. We can't catch our breath.) We're losing, winning, losing.
• Peak 6: We've lost.
• Peak 7: No! We're going to make it.
• Peak 8: We showed them, didn't we? Yay good guys!

Again, a general trend is for early spikes to be high/shorter duration and for middle spikes to have longer duration made up of several mini-spikes. The final climax is...breathtaking.

While I dislike the idea of plot formulas, I want my stories to be a thrilling experience for the reader. In my latest project, I've already noticed how using Mr. Koontz' strategy has sharpened the tension.

Someday I'll have to thank him for helping me with my sagging middle.

Cheers...and happy writing!

-T

"Liar!" he shouted dubiously...

O dialogue, how thou dost vex me...

Most writers (and all good editors) insist that 'he said,' or 'she said,' is the only proper attribution to dialogue. My literary crush Elmore Leonard sometimes peppers his with exotic fare like: 'Then Frank says, "No,"' Or 'Frank came back with: "No."' But he NEVER adds an adjective. (In fact, it's one of his Top Ten Rules, which I'll explore in another blog post.)

The truth is this: If dialogue is powerful, the attribution doesn't need an adjective. For example, when a character says, "I disliked Kilroy," rather than add, 'He said angrily,' I can change the dialogue to: "Kilroy deserved worse. So I gave it to him."

Still not sure what he's feeling? How about: "Kilroy's with his family. In Hell."

Another of Mr. Leonard's tricks is short, snappy back-and-forth conversations that reveal clues and plot twists. Sometimes a whole page of dialogue contains only a single attribution or motion tag to keep the reader clear about who is speaking. (BE COOL, pg 7.) The effect is like punching the throttle on a Mustang GT: Pure speed.

But there a caveat: The dialogue has to be good. Really, really good. I'll confess my current manuscript still has a few adjectives that modify attributions--usually to clarify a sarcastic remark.

I'm trying to get up the courage to remove even those.

Cheers...and happy writing!

-T

Throwing Rocks

As a writer I tend to make things too easy for my protagonist. The reason is simple: I fall in love with my characters. I want my heroes to experience happy, productive lives, work out their issues in private, and trip blissfully into a fictional Happily Ever After.

Which is about as exciting for the reader as watching cats sleep.

Face it: Human nature is to focus on the anomaly. We don't notice all the cars safely whizzing by on the freeway--we see the lone nut weaving in and out of traffic like a crazed pinball. At the mall it's the weirdly audacious or scary-seeming person who catches our eye, never the mom in a T-shirt with three kids in tow.

Writers like me need to overcome our innate desire to shield our characters from evildoers, bad decisions, and rotten luck. In fact, like cruel puppet masters, we need to pile these on our beloved heroes with increasing ferocity until readers simply cannot look away--at least until they know whether the hero triumphed.

So when my instincts say: "Rescue her, quick!" I must type, "She hung there, breathless, fingers clawing for purchase on the crumbling ledge. A fist-sized chunk broke off in her hand and suddenly she was airborne, tumbling backward over the abyss, eyes wide with terror..."

As a very helpful editor once stated: We need to chase our characters up a tree--and then throw rocks at them.

Happy writing!

-T