On writing resolutions, Sarah Allen said:

Wonderful resolutions! I like the finding a new voice one. There are certain forms or characters I don’t feel comfortable with, but I think I might experiment with them anyway just to stretch myself and see what happens.

Thanks, Sarah — new voices can really stretch our writing abilities in my opinion. Some writers make it a regular challenge to write each book in a different voice or style — it can force us to learn new words or even empathize with new perspectives.

mary said:

We’re not supposed to keep stopping projects when they get tough & relegate them to that file or drawer you speak of–we don’t learn anything that way.

So, as you suggest, I’m going to pull out those moldering first drafts & see how I can MAKE them work. I know there is something there–I read parts aloud to others who were very POed when I said, “And that’s all I’ve got so far…”

Actually,several are complete drafts, but I just dread “re-write.” Still, it must be done. Perhaps this will be the Year of the Rewrite for me–& that is a big enough goal, for sure.

Thanks, mary — you’ve put it better than I have for sure. Not every story will end up being our best, but we can learn something from every imperfect story and the struggle we go through to make it work. If we give up the moment a story becomes imperfect, we’ll be left with a drawer full of coulda-woulda-shoulda stories. And the Year of the Rewrite is a noble goal! Best of luck with it.

After the jump: more inspiring responses.

Mela said:

My writing resolution for this year? Get back to work. Life’s ups and downs have sidetracked me for the past year or so and, much to my chagrin, I have let them. Ain’t happening no more! Also going to start getting my work out there by whatever means available.

Admirable goal, Mela! It’s true that life tends to come between us and our work, but only because we tacitly let it. Writing can potentially happen anywhere, even in the midst of most crises. And we should all focus more on getting our work out in the public eye — there will be plenty of posts about tips I’ve learned on the publishing trail this year as well.

Eularee said:

Lost my editor in November. My Dad passed away. A published author, life long reporter he died before finishing his deadline. Rather than have him haunt me from the grave, I finished his deadline. Having a tough time finding my voice again. After writing this month’s column, I realized it was the first time he would not be there to edit my copy. New Year’s resolution is to get a calendar and fill it with writing deadlines. I think my editor is smiling.

Thanks for sharing this, Eularee. We all have mentors or heroes who got us our start or helped keep us on the hard, rocky road to writing success. When we lose these mentors, it may seem impossible to continue on, but we should remember what our mentors would have wanted for us. As you write, it sounds like your father would have wanted you to stick to a deadline. There’s something almost holy to a writer about the pure honest work of getting a piece done in time — so honor that impulse and keep working until the voice returns to you.

Now let’s see a few comments on my post about the best writing tools of 2011. Some of my favorites included Ommwriter, Simplenote, and Kusmi Tea.

Drew said:

Thanks for writing this! I definitely will try out some of these for my own writing. Simplenote seems like a god-send for my random spurts of creativity.

Thanks, Drew — and best of luck with your own novel in progress! As you say, creativity can often come in fits and starts — and Simplenote is my favorite techie way to keep my frantic isolated notes organized. No longer do I have scraps of paper or three different notebooks to keep track of!

mary said:

Can you come up with anything for a Luddite with a non-Mac laptop computer? This Luddite does not have a smartphone, either. She barely will use a dumb phone.

Good point, mary — a lot of my reviews are tech-centered, but there are always non-Mac or non-tech solutions that I should be reviewing more often. For that, I’d direct you to my earlier review about my favorite kind of notebook, from Bookbinders Design. There’s also an online text editor for anyone with a web browser that I’ve heard good things about, called DarkCopy. It is an online version of the great software WriteRoom. Try it out if you like!

Hope you enjoyed the recommendations, writers — I’ll see you back here soon!

On choosing the right subject, Savanna said:

This was fun to read, I’ve had similar experiences in Creative Writing groups, or classes. I’ll admit that I’ve never taught one, but upon sharing work I find that I’m listening to a multitude of pleasant (boring) stories regarding the beach.

Personally, I’m a big fan of conflict. Without some form of conflict within my own stories, I get bored with my own writing and move on to something else. I think that it’s a key element in short fiction.

Thanks, Savanna! I don’t know why people seem to think that their vacations will be interesting fictional fodder for others to read — it’s like telling other people our dreams! But I’m just as guilty — for some reason, I often find myself shying away from that most essential story ingredient, conflict. It’s true that without conflict in my story, even I’m likely to get bored with it.

Margaret said:

I’m 65, and there are still experiences in my life I don’t want to write about for publication. Perhaps the students are suffering from “my God, I can’t write about that. People will know that…” Self-revelation, which is IMO what happens when we write about subjects that matter to us, is inevitable in such cases.

Good point, Margaret — I think many of us want to avoid writing about personally traumatic or disturbing events. The fun of fiction, however, is that we can make our characters suffer — though if the subject hits too close to home or we get too attached to our characters, we may feel like the events are happening to us anyway. As commenter mary brady points out, why would people want to read all the darkness and turmoil that made us miserable? What’s important to remember, however, is that fiction can be a way of taking control of a subject, of making sense and order out of it, or at least shutting it away, safe on the page. Students who are afraid to put fictional conflict in their stories should remember that we read to learn about conflict — and sometimes, we read to learn how to resolve conflicts of our own.

After the jump: responding to and writing after trauma.

On my post about finding words after trauma, Margaret said:

I found that writing in my journal was the most helpful to me. I was able to journal when I couldn’t write anything else. No matter if I wrote about trivia — cafeteria food, cold coffee, the sunny weather — it helped unstop the words (and the emotions). Everything else — poetry, fiction — had to wait until I had a certain amount of distance and have gained some perspective.

Thank you, Margaret, and thank you for the well wishes. I agree that focusing on small things and just keeping the old writing muscle limber can often be wonderfully soothing — and it’s a perfectly reasonable way of staying prepared for when real inspiration returns. Write small until the big urge comes!

mary said:

I second what Margaret says. To force any words too soon won’t help at all. And frankly, you ARE doing something when you space out watching TV or whatever–you are letting time pass. Deep, deep inside you are absorbing whatever is happening. You’re not conscious of it, but it’s going on.

Thanks for this wise observation, mary. Time does have a remarkable way of carrying us forward through grief and softening the edges of our emotions. The saying goes that comedy is tragedy plus time, and while not all tragedy turns into comedy, there are ways that we’ll be able to see warmth and kindness and normalcy again. We keep breathing, we keep thinking, we keep writing, we keep being ourselves.

Brooklynn said:

I understand. That feeling down in your fingers, the itching to write, but then sucking it inside by some mindless task till the desire goes away. Because it seems so much better to hush your way through life or maybe if you write it on paper it could suddenly make it true and you don’t want that. stop. Don’t write.

And later, Brooklynn added:

Even writing that small blog helped me. You should try writing small things even if they don’t make sense. try even just writing words so it helps get your mind working

Thanks, Brooklynn, for making such a compelling point — and proving that writing can help us, even if it’s just commenting on a blog! Now that the new year is here, I find myself newly committed to my writing goals — and every day that I write is a much better day than the ones when I don’t. Even a paragraph or two makes me feel like I’m creating something with meaning and purpose.

Phil South wrote:

Obviously it’s a personal choice. If one gets catharsis from writing about your life to make sense of it and it’s why you do it then one should write through grief or trauma. Of course.

For myself I have still not written about my own personal trauma, despite being a professional writer for 20 years before and 10 years after the events. I’m just not ready. Not in a horrible, ooky, “can’t think about it” kind of way, because at this stage I can think about it, the loss of a loved one to insanity, freely and honestly. It doesn’t make me feel great, but I can face it and imagine ways I could fictionalise it and potentially make something truly moving and transformative. It’s bound to be powerful because my feelings about it are powerful. But I’m not ready to commit something so personal to the page. Not yet.

Thanks for sharing your own writing struggle, Phil. The fact that you’re able to think about these events in terms of story and structure to me seems like what a writer needs for catharsis. Writers need to give their lives shape and order, and when we lose this sense of an internal structure we feel despair. But there’s always a way to turn something into a humanizing story — even if it’s not a story that ever ends up on the page. Good luck in your work.

Thanks for such kind, thoughtful, and thought-provoking comments, readers — keep writing in, and I’ll keep responding. See you next week!

In response to “Should Books Be Social?”, J said:

Um, I never thought about that. Goodreads on the contrary is where I met my “tribes”. There are lots of groups dedicated to “trashy” books you can join. You won’t be judged. If you are self conscious you can create several accounts and have one for your book snobs friends and one for your guilty pleasures. I read all over the map, respected books and trash but I have no shame so I keep everything in one account.

Thanks, J. I love the prospect of a community that judges a little less and simply enjoys the wonderful pastime that is reading; but this fracturing you suggest into separate accounts is precisely what I’m worried about. Who has the time to separate oneself into all of these different selves? I like the enthusiasm and community behind Goodreads — I just think many online social networking sites end up making us perform our lives rather than live them.

mary said:

Anyway, GR sounds like a goldmine to me. As it is, I turn only to my county library for monthly ‘picks’ of good books in various genres. But they are quite good at giving you several reviews from Booklist, etc. Plus, they always say: “if you like such & such an author, you’ll probably like this.” And those quiet little librarians can have pretty out there tastes, too.

It never occurred to me Book Snobs existed, but of course they must–it’s human nature (though I do not believe any person has finished “Infinite Jest” except maybe its late author. I know that NO one has honestly read “Pale King” all the way through–and I am a CPA who prepared tax returns for decades ’cause I LIKED doing them!

Definitely, the algorithms that sites like Goodreads and Netflix offer are truly useful and downright revolutionary — they allow you to enter the collective brain of millions of people and extract recommendations uniquely tailored to what you’ve liked. I’ve appreciated Goodreads’ recommendation feature greatly.

And I have finished The Pale King, mary, or what exists of it — though of course, it is itself unfinished!

After the jump: more comments, more responses.

On my post about plugging into a new world, Margaret said:

I’m a huge sci fi and fantasy fan, and one of the things that I find interesting as a writer is how writers work back story into their novels. Tied up with this is how confused/not the author “wants” the reader to be at the beginning of the novel. Heinlein, for example, lays everything out. Murakami, by contrast, doesn’t. I find following the second type of author requires a certain leap of faith and the willingness to be confused for what may turn out to be a significant portion of the book.

Thanks, Margaret — interesting observation about how backstory ties into all of this. It’s true that introducing your reader to a new world can be done gradually or by throwing him/her into the deep end — and sometimes it’s far more exhilarating as a reader to jump right in and be discombobulated for a while. Though I’ve discovered not everyone reads like I do — I’m a “go with the flow” reader, content to read for great stretches without fully understanding what’s going on, while many like to stay on top of everything as they go. Either approach can work!

Thanks, commenters — hope to see you here next week!

Jonna said:

Giving this kind of detail and attention to your writing does not only add to your work and make it better for other people read but using emotion can make you want to write more because now there is more behind the writing than just words there is connection to the writers emotions as well.

Good point, Jonna, and one that I didn’t think of! If the writer is more emotionally engaged in the work, she’s far more likely to see it through to the end, and give it the treatment worthy of her emotional attachment to it.

mary writes about another writer’s experience:

With the help of one good teacher, he discovered the secret: conflict. Not only that, but BIG exciting conflict. The hero must need/want something but must go through obstacles to get it. And the more the stakes are raised by things like violence, anger, betrayal, etc., the more you access the emotional excitement you’re talking about.

When he felt a story flagging, he went back to his pages & forced himself to pinpoint conflict/obstacles. If they weren’t there, he rewrote the pages and included these features.

It’s amazing how simple the recipe can be in an exciting story, and yet how often we shy away from those simple ingredients! People aiming for literary fiction in particular often avoid the very things that make stories interesting, as though they’re embarrassed to have more plot than meta-drama. We can all take a lesson from potboiler fiction and throw some conflict into the stew.

After the jump: more comments, more responses.

I recently wrote a post about The New Yorker’s somewhat harumphing survey of IKEA and its affordable but somewhat blank furniture. After all, must we all carefully choose the perfect furniture to represent our inner selves? Can’t we just be ourselves, and have furniture that gets out of the way of doing that? Readers agreed. Eva said:

The New Yorker must have run out of people to denigrate if they’re going after IKEA buyers! Geez. The stuff is relatively sturdy, functional and fits well in small spaces.

I agree with you. As long as you’re comfortable, and the furniture is affordable, buy it.

Thanks for the opinion, Eva! Absolutely — do we have to be wary of every big box store out there? For once, IKEA seems to be a company that doesn’t aggressively harm the planet, and it does what it’s supposed to do better than many other companies. Let’s get behind it, for goodness’ sakes!

mary said:

I thought the New Yorker article was snooty. Personally, I cannot believe what Ikea can produce for a buck fifty. Their designers are amazing at producing things like gorgeous pitchers for that pre-set price.

One point that hit me is the criticism that everything must be assembled–so that Ikea can ship ‘flat’ boxes cheaply. Those same ‘flat boxed’ objects make it easier for the consumer to get a ton of furniture INTO their cars & up the stairs to their apartments! It is a major hassle to round up the Friend With The Truck to load & unload a solid oak desk or the like from some flea market.

Good point, mary! For those of us without cars or without the funds for moving vans, IKEA is really the only option when setting up a new place. There’s simply no way around it — and in two trips to IKEA, I was able to carry home enough furniture to outfit most of an apartment.

Thanks, commenters! See you soon — and keep sending in your wise words.

On point of view, mary said:

Recently, I’ve been watching many improving science programs about animals in the wild. It’s all the rage to attach cameras to them, then experience “Life–POV Badger!” YOU get to experience small dark burrows behind a little dirty nose, YOU get to be stuck in the maw of a giant cobra, and so on.

These programs have expanded my ideas for POV. Why not tell the story of the politician from his dog’s viewpoint? How many times have we thought the dog was asleep near the fireplace when, in fact, the dog heard EVERY word of the clandestine meeting that was being held? How many badgers have been witness to MURDER in an otherwise empty field?

Thanks, mary, for a lighter take on the possibilities different points of view can give us! It’s true — thanks to a process of democratizing point of view in the last century, we’ve become newly interested in the perspective of the lesser heard, the voice of the voiceless, including the animal voice. It’s often a way to comment on the larger tensions at work and to critique the failings of a society. Consider Black Beauty, which is generally considered responsible for starting the modern animal rights movement thanks to its story from the point of view of a long-suffering horse.

E said:

In a long story (over 50,000 words), is multiple POV ok? I can’t tell the story through one POV because of the various places where the story is happening…

Is there a general rule in this regard?

Sadly, E, there’s no hard and fast rule about this, but I can tell you that far shorter great books have used far more points of view. Faulkner’s classic As I Lay Dying using at least eight or ten perspectives, with each chapter the speaking voice of a different family member. It’s a fascinating take on the death of one southern mother whose sons, husbands, daughter, and neighbors all view the death differently. At one point, we even get to hear from the mother herself — and in that case, different points of view can even act as a source of suspense in the novel, as we eagerly wait for Darl or Dewey Dell’s perspective on new events.

Margaret said:

One thing I’m mulling over is how many points of view I can use in a novel. I’ve got a potential story with two four-way relationships .. I’ve written a YA sci fi about one of them, first person POV. I’m tempted to write about the second — but I’d want it to be third person.

Sounds exciting, Margaret — and a great idea. Often we get to know side characters so well that we wish we could see the story from their perspective. Many novels have played with this burning need of readers, such as Wide Sargasso Sea, which re-tells the story of Jane Eyre from the perspective of the madwoman in the attic. There’s also The Wind Done Gone, which gives us Gone with the Wind from the perspective of the slaves. The possibilities of point of view are endless!

After the jump: responses to psychology in writing.

I also wrote a post recently about a troubling trend I’d been seeing in fiction lately; it was all about how to use psychology in writing. More and more, as writers and the general public become more informed about common mental disorders, writers are using symptoms as a substitute for character or personality.

mary said:

Excellent essay, BLH! As Tolstoy said, happy people are all alike, but each depressed mental case is unhappy in his or her own special way. I’m paraphrasing, of course.

Seriously, EACH individual sees life a different way. Whether we are labeled ‘normal’ or ‘otherwise,’ we have a unique set of experiences, & memories of those experiences, that result in who we are this minute, this ‘now.’ (That’s my opinion.) And if this is so, characters in our stories become who they are the same way.

Good quotation, mary! Yes, we forget that depression is not a person, but rather a disorder that an individual person has. As a result, giving us typical symptoms in a story isn’t going to give us a sense of the character. That’s a problem that doctors must struggle with (or avoid struggling with) when prescribing anti-depressants — the goal is to make each individual person feel more like him or herself, but the effect is often just to even out moods into a blank, dull version of a person.

Ekaterina said:

A bit of misunderstanding here. Normal psychologists don’t diagnose, that’s clinical psychologists’ and psychiatrists’ job. Psychologists explore and help their clients find what they’re looking for.

I can recommend a very nice blog on Psychology Today site:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/psychology-writers

It could be interesting for many writers.

Thanks for the fine-tuning of my lingo, Ekaterina! Thanks also for the resource — as you say, it is important for writers to have some insight into human behavior and psychology — as long as the psychology itself doesn’t become the story.

Elemarth said:

I find that learning my character’s hopes and needs that are not related to their mental illness is difficult, but I don’t want my book to be entirely about selective mutism or whatever disorder I’ve given them. There has to be another, probably external, obstacle to happiness. There has to be another theme in the book besides overcoming a disorder. If I wanted to write a book about mental illness, I’d be a psychologist. I need to write about a person who’s trying to become who they want to be.

Well-put, Elemarth! I couldn’t agree more. Having the disorder is not in and of itself acceptable as a plot device — we need to have some real events transpiring. Just look at The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time — it was a novel about an autistic child and the very different way he looked at the world, but it needed the mystery of a disappearing dog and other conflicts to be self-sustaining as a novel.

Thanks, commenters! Stay tuned for more mailbags and other posts here at Writerly Life.

It’s that time again, readers — time for me to catch up on your thoughtful comments. This week I’m responding to my post about studying a face for inspiration, as well as a post in which I wondered what makes an American story American. Let’s hear some comments!

On studying faces, Gary said:

Faces! Ah, an excellent source of material. The deep lines in a face of someone of advanced years … the smooth complexion of the young … what stories they tell! When we describe our characters, how much attention to we give to aspects other than eye color, lips and nose?

And if you, like me, live in a city like Boston and don’t want to be caught staring at faces on the subway, try Googling “faces photo” and try that! You can take one face and write an entire short story about why it looks the way it does.

Great idea, Blair!

Thanks, Gary — and great idea. The internet can help us indulge in our inner gawker without embarrassment these days; looking at photos of various scenes on Flickr, as you can see from my weekly photos, is a continual source of inspiration for me. A chance to study a face without fear of interruption is a great opportunity. And yes, I’ve always found it interesting how young adult novels in particular are obsessed with eye shape, eye color, and eye clarity — perhaps because young lovers are obsessed with the idea of staring into the beloved’s eyes.

mary said:

I read a poem by a woman who happened to glance into a ‘foreign mirror’ while traveling & saw herself for the first time: her head crooked on her spine from too much reading, her scored cheeks, & her suspicious eyes.

“And then, where the surface wavered,
I saw surprise–a sweating, older woman, her coming
printed in faint lines around my mouth—and loved
the old bitch, whole, as if she were my next-door neighbor.”

I think I may write about my own face for this exercise.

Thanks, mary, for this reminder that a well lived-in face can inspire love and understanding — particularly for our own faces. Women in particular can have very fraught relationships with their faces; they are trained to start hating them by age twenty-six or so, which is downright tragic. So it’s a great idea to take a critical, understanding, look at your own face and tell your story that way.

After the jump: comments on what makes stories American.

I also wrote a post around this time about what makes an American story American. I’m currently teaching a course with the theme of “American Stories” and it’s gotten me wondering about what the quintessential feel of an American story actually is. Readers had plenty to say on the issue as well. Margaret Fieland said:

One of the enduring myths of American society is the idea that we are all equal before the law — patently not true, but nonetheless an ideal to which we all aspire.

I think many of us remember that great speech by that great fictional American, Atticus Finch, who reminds us in To Kill a Mockingbird that equality before the law is the greatest dream of every American — and possibly the most fragile. It’s certainly one of the heavy, complex issues that comes up again and again in American literature, and that is often challenged. As long as the ideal exists, though, I think we can keep striving for it.

mary notes:

I find I use The Marlboro Man in a lot of my stories, except he is older and doesn’t smoke. Well, he doesn’t smoke Marlboros, that’s for sure. But tall, thin, craggy-faced Texan-types are always showing up in my stories.

Definitely an American icon, mary! I did spend an entire week in my class on the trope of the American cowboy and how it continues to define what we expect in an American hero. The thing I find interesting about the cowboy character type is that the cowboy typically lives outside the law of man. He is either a bandit or someone who does not easily abide by the petty laws of the governments around him. Instead, the cowboy obeys a higher law — the law of nature. His best companion is his horse; his favorite place is the open prairie under the stars; and the only things that can tame him are natural forces like tornadoes or flash floods. He is the quintessential rebel.

And John wrote:

I long for an opportunity to use this, which I read in a newspaper several years ago, in a story: a tornado tore through Mississippi and caused some damage. Among other things, it knocked a mobile home into a catfish pond.

John, I love it! It’s a perfect slice of Americana — and it says something that we’re able to instantly recognize this as American and belonging to no other country. What does that say about us as a culture, exactly? I’ll leave you all to mull that over, and I’ll see you next week.

About images in fiction, Margaret said:

Blair, children’s fiction often has illustrations, and I think they add a tremendous amount to any story. As to my own work, while I have a clear picture of my scenes in my head, I don’t feel confident trying my hand at illustrating them.

Good point, Margaret — I, too, often imagine what my scenes and characters are looking like, but I definitely don’t feel that I have the talent to capture them in paint, charcoal, or any other graphic medium! Drawing is a talent and a skill that takes a great deal of discipline, work, and natural aptitude, and I simply don’t have the aptitude (or the patience to make up for that with hard work). I do, however, think it’s useful to imagine our scenes in a visual way. Even if only in our heads, we can paint pictures.

mary wrote:

Curiously, I put very little description into my writing. I use tons of dialogue and action, but NO character description & very little ‘place’ description. I NEVER describe what a character looks like.

Yet, when I ask my vast reading public (all 6 of them) what certain characters look like, they give me wildly detailed descriptions–and insist it WAS in the story! Isn’t that odd?

I’ve heard that before as well! The interesting and wonderful aspect of fiction is how a novel can become a different world for every single reader who encounters it. Unlike a movie, a book leaves room for the reader’s imagination. That’s the beauty of it!

Ekaterina said:

I get lots of ideas about my characters when drawing them. Whenever I’m stuck I take a pen and draw. I also listen to inspiring music while drawing, I guess it helps as well.

Thanks, Ekaterina. I also listen to music — a little cross-fertilization in these different art forms can really help enrich our creative process, I think. I’ve written about this before, and I imagine I will again. Professional writers are often heavily influenced by music — just look at Murakami’s 1Q84, which plays with the classic song “It’s Only a Paper Moon” throughout the novel.

After the jump: more comments, more responses.

I next wrote a post about the problem we all face occasionally — reader’s panic. That’s the panic we feel when we realize how many books there are in the world and how we’ll never read them all.

Margaret said:

LOL, Blair, I experience “reader’s panic” when I think I’m running out of things to read. As to simul-reading, I’m in the middle of two books at the moment. One is a fantasy by Jayne Castle — pretty good — and the other a romance I’m not liking. I’m also reading a couple of poetry books, one by Carol Muske-Dukes, “Applause” and the other Dylan Thomas’s “Collected Poems.”

Glad to hear from another simul-reader, Margaret! I stopped simul-reading this past month because I was reading the mammoth 1Q84. Now that I’ve finished it, I will return to the Virgil that’s on my kindle, along with the Faulkner classic Absalom, Absalom!. But I know what you mean — another form of reader’s panic is the antsy feeling I get when I realize I’ve got nothing new to read in the house! That usually leads to frantic over-purchasing on Amazon.

Magaly A said:

I completely understand this blog. My goal this school year is actually to read a book a week, I’m already a step ahead of the game! Don’t worry, I am enjoying my books though. There are some great tips, thank you!

Thanks, Magaly. That sounds like a terrific goal! I used to maintain that rate before I went off to work full-time; during college, school assignments kept me reading about 300 pages a week. Now I have a lot of papers to grade, but I’ve read 36 books this year and I hope to get up in the forties or fifties before the year’s end. Read on, Magaly!

vickib said:

Working full time as a nurse and with a husband, 6 kids and 8 grandkids, my life is never boring. I am reading several books at one time. The Real Live Journal of a part time Indian, in my
bathroom. Escape in my purse. To Kill a Mockingbird in my
work bag and The Scarlet Letter on my Nook. I read in small
pieces whenever I get time.

Thanks, vickib. I know what you mean — life demands much of us, and with your large family, I admire that you find time to read at all! It’s great that you always have a book with you — in today’s commuting age, we need to grab every available moment to consume words.

Until next time, commenters!

With regard to the first post, David Abrams wrote:

I’m finding I’m drawn more and more to the Books of My Youth. For the last five years or so, I’ve been collecting editions of the stories which held me in thrall as an early reader–from the Jim Kjelgaard dog books (“Big Red,” etc) to the Three Investigators mysteries. I haven’t re-read as many of them as I’d like (too many contemporary adult literary fiction titles clamor for my attention), but just looking at them sitting there on my shelf brings back a headful of memories. I can remember smells, tastes, and the scratchy feel of a certain branch of our backyard tree–all of which take me back to what it was like to discover these characters and plots as a kid.

Thanks for this thoughtful comment, David. I agree — the books of our childhood have a powerful, often sensual grip on our memories. I remember the smell of my favorite books’ pages, as well as the exact paper texture. I remember some of my favorite passages spatially — that is, I can picture what quadrant they are in on the page (e.g., that great paragraph from The Grapes of Wrath about the “zygote” of revolution is on the bottom left and continues to the top right onto a page that ends halfway down). This spatial memory of the books is important to me — and makes me feel particularly attached to the books I reread endlessly and adoringly as a child. That includes pretty silly books, including a long line of fantasy novels and horse books!

mary brady said:

When I hit your mention of “Franny & Zooey” I was thrown back to my first year attending pagan public high school (having been expelled after 9th grade from the all-girl Catholic HS on account of my ‘bad attitude.’) I adored “F&Z” along with “Raise High the R, C.” I liked them much more than “Catcher I T R” but maybe that’s ’cause I’m female. Plus, “Catcher” is pretty much a downer.

The books that we love often bring up the people we were or the places we were in when we read them. I not only remember those books on my five star list, but as you point out, Mary, I also remember what I was thinking then, what I was worried about, and where I was. Memory is wonderfully associative, and books have a particular power for maintaining those complex webs of existence in our brains.

After the jump: more comments, more responses.

I also wrote a post about getting down the skeleton of your story first. Wendy wrote:

This is precisely how I work when I write. Thank you for posting this. ^.^

Thanks, Wendy! I had the feeling that a lot of writers do this intuitively. It’s also the way many painters work — there’s a structural layer of sketching or charcoal to put down, followed by richness and detail, color and shading. Similarly, we start with the bones of a story, then add flesh — the pauses, details, character backgrounds — and finish with skin (pretty language).

Margaret said:

I tried this with the novel I wrote last year for Nano, and it worked very well. I didn’t have time before I began for a lot of filling in, unfortunately, and the story took a different turn than I’d expected – -but still, the structure help a whole lot.

Thanks for reminding me, Margaret, about NaNo! For those of you trying NaNoWriMo’s epic quest this year, the skeleton technique is strongly recommended to keep you on target and reaching a conclusion by the end of the month.

I also wrote about that trickiest aspect of character, morality. Margaret said:

Blair, interesting post. I’m working on a sci fi novel, and thus had to work out not just my character’s values, but the values of the society of which he is a part and how those values relate to that. I “see” my characters move and talk in my head. I’ve found enneagrams http://www.enneagraminstitute.com/
to be useful when creating my characters.

Thanks, Margaret. The site seems interesting — for other readers, it’s one of the many personality type tests you can take for free on the internet, and see which types you fit into (including types such as “the reformer”, “the loyalist”, or “the enthusiast”). You make a good point about creating new worlds — we have to realize how subjective morality really can be, and how it has changed over time and in different societies. Some virtues, however, we expect to be objective in all societies, even alien ones, and we won’t sympathize with societies that have no moral common ground with us.

Until next week, commenters!

One problem I foresee is the ever-changing nature of digital storage. We’ve gone from floppy discs to the Cloud, & there is no guarantee an “old” Kindle or Nook will be compatible with some new technology in 5 (or fewer) years.

What I’m really asking is whether books on a digital platform are ‘collectible’–i.e., something you can keep for years and years in the original format you purchased? What if the Kindle ‘breaks’? Where is your book collection then? Will the makers gladly reload every book you (swear) was on it?

Thanks, Mary. Now that I’m the owner of a Kindle, I can say that Amazon does protect your texts; anything you buy can subsequently be downloaded to any new future kindle, which, I must admit, does better than paper books, which are generally are on a one-copy-for-your-money basis. But there remains the problem of changing formats. Amazon has its own format, which is incompatible with what seems to be the emerging standard, ePub. When will things get standardized? And will we have to rebuy the White Album again? Who knows?

Michael Washburn said:

In this connection, I would like to paraphrase (and expand upon) some of the points made by Epstein in his articles. He points out that an electronic medium, i.e., a “slim hard drive,” is an infinitely fragile, tenuous medium for preserving one book, let alone a library. At the push of a button or the click of a mouse — or with some other mishap that might erode a drive’s memory — the book or books stored there are no more…

Traditional (print) books may be less technologically sophisticated, but they have inherent advantages over e-books, which, again according to Epstein, do not and for the forseeable future will not represent more than a small fraction of publishing houses’ income. I think that all the above bodes well for the survival of the traditional medium.

Thanks, Michael. I agree: there are certain advantages the paper book has that the ebook has yet to match. I’m reminded of a New Yorker cover from a few years ago that has an alien landing on the surface of a clearly deserted future Earth. There among the broken and ruined trash of past e-readers, the alien is happily cozied up with a paper book, clearly the only thing capable of surviving for the long term. I also still feel that paper books have a “specialness” that can’t be matched. I recently bought two books I was eagerly anticipating, The Marriage Plot and 1Q84, as hardcover books merely because I wanted them in their physical form on my shelves.

After the jump: responding to questions and comments about happy endings.

I also wrote a post explaining Why happy endings are killing your story. Happy endings can be a menace; they give the sense of cessation, of an end to motion and growth.

Elemarth said:

I like to lead my character to the correct path, where they see how to get to happiness, and they have the ability to do so. Of course, this can only work in certain books and genres. Another way you could make the reader feel like the story continues after the last page is to point out the next adventure.

Thanks, Elemarth. Life at its best is a continuing adventure, so we should definitely imply that more adventures are on their way. When we stop acting curious or adventurous, we stop being ourselves — and what, then, is happy about that?

mary brady said:

I think it is fine to have an ‘upbeat’ ending, just not a cliche “happy ending.” My characters & their situations tend to be rather quirky. Ending with a small incident that implies (modest) hope for their future works pretty well for me, I think.

I also like using a small concrete ending that implies hope for a better future. To me, unhappiness is often the state of being still, of being “stuck” in some unhealthy way of thinking or feeling. Happiness starts to return when we get “unstuck.”

Kristen said:

I really appreciate and agree with this post, especially with the big “happy ending” punch in the gut that was the Harry Potter epilogue I was reminded of recently.

The idea of a pleasant resolution is much more appealing than a happy ending. Leaving the characters on the up and up, even if every problem in their lives hasn’t been resolved is still very satisfying. I would rather see a character set on the right path with the right motivation to continue improving their situation than for everything to be conveniently resolved.

I also liked the Harry Potter ending, Kristen, but I’m going to be a little controversial here and say that I think the movie handled it better than the book. We get “all was well” in the book, but in the movie we get our grown-up characters looking after their children as they leave, clearly with slightly furrowed brows, worrying about their children as parents will do. The point isn’t that all is well; the point is that they have finally been allowed to grow up, and to have the concerns and cares that come with adulthood. It’s the strange, paradoxical freedom of responsibility.

Thanks, readers. Tune in next week for more responses!

Margaret said:

LOL, Blair, I’m glad you added the bit about paper .. I don’t even own a smart phone. I write things down in a notebook I keep in my purse (or in my desk, or on my nightstand, …). I agree completely about capturing the moment — if something comes to me, I want to note it down before it escapes.

I almost forgot about paper, Margaret, and then I had to go back and add it in! Right now I’m in the process of moving and my desk is a shambles of half-packed papers. My beloved notebooks have been in boxes for months now. I’m very, very eager to get unpacked in a new place next week — but in the meantime I’ve practically forgotten how to write by hand. I’ll be glad to have all my pens and notebooks liberated again so I can get back to basics. The other night I woke up with an idea for my novel, and I had to use an old highliter on the back of a receipt!

mary said:

Yeah, I’m a real fan of papyrus and mud tablets, too. I’ve found telling myself I can write a poem about a feeling get juices moving. Somehow, poems make me–hard to believe–succinct.

State a theme. Add a feeling. Where does it take me? All this on one, count it, one–page of a spiral notepad (8 x 11 (feet) …no, inches).

Also, I still have BILLIONS of unused Post-Its from my tax biz days, & I find I scribble things on them constantly. Periodically, I gather them up & play a sort of Solitaire with them, putting them in columns and rows of spurious logic.

No matter what, I’m reminded of what inspired the scribble & they’ve been a source of great inspiration. And it is true: you show up & the muse respects you for it. I’ve written 12 pages that seemed to flow effortlessly followed by 12 pages that ground their way out letter by letter, hitting the page with a ‘clunk’ each time.

Thanks, mary, for putting it so excellently: “You show up and the muse respects you for it.” When I was reading The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman, I was delighted by one of the epigraphs he chose:

Labour without joy is base.
Labour without sorrow is base.
Sorrow without labour is base.
Joy without labour is base.

- John Ruskin, 1867

To me, this aptly captures the joy and labour that should go hand in hand in writing. Work hard. Work with joy.

After the jump: all about tough love for writers.

At one point I declared, Suck it up and write. Now it’s time to hear your responses. Tammi said:

Excellent Monday morning advice. I struggled with this yesterday – I found myself in the kitchen three times during my freewrite. What? How did I get here? Was I looking for the magic juice? I wish I could type with handcuffs on.

I know exactly what you mean, Tammi. I’ll sit down to write and find myself doing laundry, cleaning my room, eating snacks — anything but writing. It’s a discipline with no master but yourself, and so you let yourself get away with murder. Whenever you catch yourself doing it, don’t let yourself off the hook!

Margaret said:

Ha, guilty as charged. Here I am reading your blog instead of getting down to it and churning out my thousand words — that’s my daily commitment at the moment. Having made the commitment to myself helps, but the urge to procrastinate is still there.

I know what you mean — are you sure you want to be reading this mailbag right now? I won’t be mad if you leave and get to your writing! This site is intended to be inspiration for writers, not a distraction. So choose your commitments carefully and make sure they’re really serving your writing goals.

E said:

Fabulous advice, Blair. I missed my morning writing session this morning (just too tired to get up as early as it takes). But I dragged the computer to work and actually managed to take it out of the case, put it on my desk, put on my headphones and write at lunch.

It wasn’t my best, and it wasn’t even a sequential scene but I did as you recommend: I sucked it up and I wrote something.

And, as Mary pointed out, I can’t really tell the difference either between the inspired piece and the part that I typed out while surrounded in insurance claims!

Good point, E and Mary — sometimes the stuff that we had to sweat blood to get out is better-received than the easy stuff! Just remember, labour without sorrow is base — if it wasn’t hard work, we wouldn’t call it work. But my day always improves immensely if it becomes a day in which I wrote something, good or bad.

Windy said:

Thank you for writing this, BLH. Great advice. Great timing! I was linked to this blog post by my friends over at Wise Women Write. I’ve been neglecting the last draft edits of my WIP because, well, um, it’s hard. I have a super clean house now, with all the manuscript avoidance techniques I’ve implemented this month, even got those cupboards tidied up. Now, it’s time to suck it up and write. Thank you for the nudge!

My dad likes to tell an old joke. He says, “What’s the first thing a writer does to start a new novel? He cleans the refrigerator.” There’s just something irresistible about procrastination when we’re going to start writing. In some ways, it’s less daunting than chores we hate, because there’s so much riding on it. If we do a bad job sweeping, well, we aren’t champion sweepers. But if we do a bad job writing — don’t we call ourselves writers? The risk of failure is so much more frightening. Sometimes a small nudge from someone near us who won’t put up with our b.s. is all we need to get going.