Well, I guess it's a week ago now, but I just returned from Westercon 65 in Seattle. I can't say that I've been to a huge number of conventions myself. All of three, counting the most recent, but this one was, shall we say, different. I think it was either happy drugs in the air ducts or some sort of subconscious trick with the patterns on the walls and floor, but everyone was nice. Quite nice. Unbelievably nice. So nice that I did not want to leave, and that's a rarity at a convention. It was very nice, and very clean.
You see, at most conventions, there's this sort of deep divide between the pros and the fans, as though the fans are thoroughly unworthy and the pros are royalty. Not here. Here, we actually had dinner with the prose. You could stop in the halls for a long while and have a conversation with a professional. You can sit in the hospitality suite and have breakfast with fans and pros, at the same table. At any other convention, that wouldn't be a possibility, I promise you that.
Maybe I'm wrong. I would love it if this was the new convention atmosphere: no superiority complex, nobody looking down any noses, nothing of the sort--just a good, honest rapport between two parties that aren't that different. Maybe the scene as a whole is finally going to take a leaf from the fans. Writer fans, reader fans, costuming fans, gamer fans--we all can sit down together and talk, or play a game. Maybe, just maybe, in this strange, new world of writing, we'll finally see the barriers broken down almost entirely. I can't honestly hope for an entire breakdown, and I don't think I would want one, but this last convention opened my eyes to what could be.
And I like it.
Voss
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Breath of Life
Oh dearie me. Between Camp NaNo, dial-up internet, and the new Blogger formatting update, I haven't been able to post nearly as regularly as I properly should. My apologies.
Now that we have that all out of the way, let's get into the thick of things.
We're writers. That term means so much more than someone that writes any more, though. A writer has to be an editor, beta reader, marketing specialist, and quite often a soothsayer in today's market. All of that incredibly important stuff--estimating word counts, thinking about markets, writing professional synopses, et cetera, ad nauseum--leads to one thing.
Death.
The death of your creativity. Unless you're already under contract and have to stay within a certain word count limit, chuck that out the window. If you're already thinking about markets, fine: think about them, write them down, and move on. And lord only knows what could potentially change, so why bother trying to write a synopsis, or a cover letter, now?
That creativity that these wonderfully important things stifle takes the form of character quirks, subplot twists, allegory--all of the things we worry so hard about putting in to begin with. If you let everything go and allow the story a little room to breathe--it doesn't take a lot, I promise--you'll realize something. You already know what you're doing. How many books have we read, shows have we watched, movies have we seen? Plays, operas, skits--they all taught us by osmosis what needs to go into a story.
Just a little breathing room. Try it. If you don't like it, then feel free to abandon the idea entirely. It won't hurt me.
Voss
Now that we have that all out of the way, let's get into the thick of things.
We're writers. That term means so much more than someone that writes any more, though. A writer has to be an editor, beta reader, marketing specialist, and quite often a soothsayer in today's market. All of that incredibly important stuff--estimating word counts, thinking about markets, writing professional synopses, et cetera, ad nauseum--leads to one thing.
Death.
The death of your creativity. Unless you're already under contract and have to stay within a certain word count limit, chuck that out the window. If you're already thinking about markets, fine: think about them, write them down, and move on. And lord only knows what could potentially change, so why bother trying to write a synopsis, or a cover letter, now?
That creativity that these wonderfully important things stifle takes the form of character quirks, subplot twists, allegory--all of the things we worry so hard about putting in to begin with. If you let everything go and allow the story a little room to breathe--it doesn't take a lot, I promise--you'll realize something. You already know what you're doing. How many books have we read, shows have we watched, movies have we seen? Plays, operas, skits--they all taught us by osmosis what needs to go into a story.
Just a little breathing room. Try it. If you don't like it, then feel free to abandon the idea entirely. It won't hurt me.
Voss
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
World Takeover
By 2028, I think the Office of Letters and Light (the people that bring us NaNoWriMo and Script Frenzy) will be able to stake a claim on every month of the year. look at it now--we're one third of the way there with NaNoWriMo/Young Writers' Program, Script Frenzy, and two session of Camp NaNoWriMo.
Not that I'm complaining. I love NaNo. Hence the reason my bags are packed to go to camp next month. I can already hear the cicadas humming and smell the bonfire. Plus, I hear they've upgraded the inner editor stables after last year's mishap--higher voltage, more guards, and a shark-filled moat.
There is one thing I miss about the real deal, November event--the worldwide hum is gone. Or it hasn't arrived. I'm not sure which. Last year, around October, I posted about the hum. When all the people in the world start getting ready to write novels and novellas and what have you, all that unified thought creates an energy that hums and resonates with everyone else about to jump into that bushel of crazy.
But then again, maybe it's not gone. Maybe those cicadas are the hum. Maybe it's been set free from its normal bonds, left to roam through the summer like we all are during camp. maybe it really just wants to run naked through the hills and take us along for the ride (I promise, I'm not stoned). I'd like to think that's what it really is--just something different. But, if you focus on it, you can find it, even in Camp NaNoWriMo season. By May 31st, we'll all be singing about deer and antelope typing away at their manuscripts, I think...and then the world will be silent but for the rat-a-tat-tat of thousands of typing fingers.
Sorry. NaNo makes me emotional.
I'll be off, then...but listen for the hum...it should be coming to a neighborhood near you soon enough.
Off to rewrite 'Home on the Range,'
Voss
Not that I'm complaining. I love NaNo. Hence the reason my bags are packed to go to camp next month. I can already hear the cicadas humming and smell the bonfire. Plus, I hear they've upgraded the inner editor stables after last year's mishap--higher voltage, more guards, and a shark-filled moat.
There is one thing I miss about the real deal, November event--the worldwide hum is gone. Or it hasn't arrived. I'm not sure which. Last year, around October, I posted about the hum. When all the people in the world start getting ready to write novels and novellas and what have you, all that unified thought creates an energy that hums and resonates with everyone else about to jump into that bushel of crazy.
But then again, maybe it's not gone. Maybe those cicadas are the hum. Maybe it's been set free from its normal bonds, left to roam through the summer like we all are during camp. maybe it really just wants to run naked through the hills and take us along for the ride (I promise, I'm not stoned). I'd like to think that's what it really is--just something different. But, if you focus on it, you can find it, even in Camp NaNoWriMo season. By May 31st, we'll all be singing about deer and antelope typing away at their manuscripts, I think...and then the world will be silent but for the rat-a-tat-tat of thousands of typing fingers.
Sorry. NaNo makes me emotional.
I'll be off, then...but listen for the hum...it should be coming to a neighborhood near you soon enough.
Off to rewrite 'Home on the Range,'
Voss
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Wrap-Up
Okay, I had one-more A to Z-ish post left in me.
I gave a lot of rules this last month, and I'm now going to share the most important rule of all. But first, let's talk photography. In photography, they give you a whole slew of rules: the rule of thirds, the rule of negative space, and the whole stack of rules about eyes. But after that, they always tell you one thing, no matter what: now that you know the rules, you can break them.
So that's the really important rule for writing, above all the other 'normal' rules I told you before. This is the secret one you get to learn when you slog through the swamp: once you earn the rules of writing, you're more than welcome to break them all. On purpose.
That's all,
Voss
I gave a lot of rules this last month, and I'm now going to share the most important rule of all. But first, let's talk photography. In photography, they give you a whole slew of rules: the rule of thirds, the rule of negative space, and the whole stack of rules about eyes. But after that, they always tell you one thing, no matter what: now that you know the rules, you can break them.
So that's the really important rule for writing, above all the other 'normal' rules I told you before. This is the secret one you get to learn when you slog through the swamp: once you earn the rules of writing, you're more than welcome to break them all. On purpose.
That's all,
Voss
Monday, April 30, 2012
Zills and Zebu
Whiles words like zill, zebu, bo, panabas—they're all perfectly acceptable words and have perfectly useful meanings, but how many people actually know what they are? Not a whole lot, would be the answer. They're actually very specific things (For those dying of curiosity: zills are finger cymbals used during belly dancing, zebu are a small species of yak, a bo is a six-foot long staff used in combat, and a panabas is a variety of long-handled sword from the Phillipines.) and it's great to know them, but that doesn't mean that your reader will know what they are, and most dictionaries won't have them all.
There's a bit of a tendency, when you put research into something, to pick up specific words—and you should. However, among less experienced writers, there's also a tendency to use those terms, and that can be far more dangerous than you might think. When a reader sees a whole lot of terms that they don't know, two things happen. A: they feel stupid and B: they feel like the author is showing off. Neither of those things is desirable, I'd like to add.
If you use the term and explain it, that's better, but you could most likely still avoid the word all together. You can call a bo a staff or call zills finger cymbals and even the people that know the proper term probably aren't going to care, and if they do then don't you think they're just a wee bit stuck up?
I've done it too—my very first manuscript (which was never completed, as I was only in seventh grade) was full of those kinds of things, because I was very proud of my intellect and...I try not to remember that story too often.
Of course, this applies to writing fiction. In non-fiction, the idea is to instruct, so go ahead and use those technical terms in non-fiction—I'll gladly read it. But, for once, mixing the chocolate and the peanut butter of fiction and non-fiction isn't so good (But if you want to talk creative non-fiction with me, I'll pour you a cup of coffee and we can dish.).
Goodbye all,
Voss
------------------------------------------------
I'd like to say, also, that I've had a blast on this blog challenge. I've met some awesome people, written my way over one-hundred posts, and generally just had a good freaking time. Hopefully it wasn't too boring for y'all, either.
There's a bit of a tendency, when you put research into something, to pick up specific words—and you should. However, among less experienced writers, there's also a tendency to use those terms, and that can be far more dangerous than you might think. When a reader sees a whole lot of terms that they don't know, two things happen. A: they feel stupid and B: they feel like the author is showing off. Neither of those things is desirable, I'd like to add.
If you use the term and explain it, that's better, but you could most likely still avoid the word all together. You can call a bo a staff or call zills finger cymbals and even the people that know the proper term probably aren't going to care, and if they do then don't you think they're just a wee bit stuck up?
I've done it too—my very first manuscript (which was never completed, as I was only in seventh grade) was full of those kinds of things, because I was very proud of my intellect and...I try not to remember that story too often.
Of course, this applies to writing fiction. In non-fiction, the idea is to instruct, so go ahead and use those technical terms in non-fiction—I'll gladly read it. But, for once, mixing the chocolate and the peanut butter of fiction and non-fiction isn't so good (But if you want to talk creative non-fiction with me, I'll pour you a cup of coffee and we can dish.).
Goodbye all,
Voss
------------------------------------------------
I'd like to say, also, that I've had a blast on this blog challenge. I've met some awesome people, written my way over one-hundred posts, and generally just had a good freaking time. Hopefully it wasn't too boring for y'all, either.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Young Adult VS Adult Fiction
When I pick up a book, I normally don't pay much attention to which audience it's intended for. Sure, I don't really go for, say, straight up romances, or historicals, or westerns, or even horror, but it doesn't matter to me whether it's young adult or straight-up adult. I'll read it and I'll either like it or I won't.
So, of course, I got to thinking (I do that a lot, don't I?) what the real differences are between young adult and other fiction. The obvious one occurred to me, of course. The intended audience is different. But what does that really entail for the author? I mean, read some more modern YA, you'll find things that I never expected to see in books for teens. Not that I have a problem with it—I think it's about time people present more adult themes in a format for teens—but it never occurred to me that it would be all right to put gruesome death, actual drug use, rape, or sociopolitical meltdown in YA. It might just be my conservative town, where we didn't get to read those things, but it blurs the line a little, if you ask me.
Well, I think I've pinned down, if not the entire equation, at least a few of factors. I could be wrong but, should I ever decide I want to write YA, I figure it can't hurt to try and apply them to the writing.
Most obvious, and easiest to apply, is toning down. An occasional, full-blown issue can work in YA, but you pretty much want to keep things a little sedate. Nothing terribly graphic, as a rule. Not necessarily because of the audience—today's teens and young adults are some pretty twisted little souls, and those that aren't pretend to be—but for the publisher, and the parent. If they find out there's a graphic murder or some other such thing they deem appropriate, you're not going to see the same number of readers as if you straddle that line between too much and not enough.
How? Put in teenage and young adult issues. No matter who your intended audience may be, they want to see relevant issues to them. That's why YA books are so often set in a school setting, since that's familiar to the audience. Deal with grades, teachers, parents, budding romance, drinking, drugs—all the things you remember worrying about and having to deal with as a teenager, those are fair game for YA books.
The third one is a little more intangible. People want to be able to reread a book for years and years. If you look at all the really great YA books out there, they grow, they have layers of conflict that unwind themselves the older the reader grows. The best YA books hold their appeal through the years, because they grow as the reader does. It can be tricky to pin that ingredient down, but when you've got it, you've got the reader.
That's just my insight. I'm less a YA writer than an avid reader, but let's just call that research.
I'm off and away for now,
Voss
So, of course, I got to thinking (I do that a lot, don't I?) what the real differences are between young adult and other fiction. The obvious one occurred to me, of course. The intended audience is different. But what does that really entail for the author? I mean, read some more modern YA, you'll find things that I never expected to see in books for teens. Not that I have a problem with it—I think it's about time people present more adult themes in a format for teens—but it never occurred to me that it would be all right to put gruesome death, actual drug use, rape, or sociopolitical meltdown in YA. It might just be my conservative town, where we didn't get to read those things, but it blurs the line a little, if you ask me.
Well, I think I've pinned down, if not the entire equation, at least a few of factors. I could be wrong but, should I ever decide I want to write YA, I figure it can't hurt to try and apply them to the writing.
Most obvious, and easiest to apply, is toning down. An occasional, full-blown issue can work in YA, but you pretty much want to keep things a little sedate. Nothing terribly graphic, as a rule. Not necessarily because of the audience—today's teens and young adults are some pretty twisted little souls, and those that aren't pretend to be—but for the publisher, and the parent. If they find out there's a graphic murder or some other such thing they deem appropriate, you're not going to see the same number of readers as if you straddle that line between too much and not enough.
How? Put in teenage and young adult issues. No matter who your intended audience may be, they want to see relevant issues to them. That's why YA books are so often set in a school setting, since that's familiar to the audience. Deal with grades, teachers, parents, budding romance, drinking, drugs—all the things you remember worrying about and having to deal with as a teenager, those are fair game for YA books.
The third one is a little more intangible. People want to be able to reread a book for years and years. If you look at all the really great YA books out there, they grow, they have layers of conflict that unwind themselves the older the reader grows. The best YA books hold their appeal through the years, because they grow as the reader does. It can be tricky to pin that ingredient down, but when you've got it, you've got the reader.
That's just my insight. I'm less a YA writer than an avid reader, but let's just call that research.
I'm off and away for now,
Voss
Friday, April 27, 2012
X-Raying Your Manuscript
You don't have to be from the planet Krypton to have X-ray vision. I mean, it probably can't hurt if you are, either, but it's not a necessity.
In fact, as readers, we writers have very well-developed X-ray vision, when it comes to others' manuscripts. You can read someone's work and go “Hey, you're kind of a misogynist, aren't you?” or “You must be from Stony Brook, since every single book you write is set there.” and you're probably correct.
The issue comes when we have to do it to ourselves. It's kind of like psychoanalyzing yourself—it's not easy, and all that denial is going to make it even harder. And you will deny unpleasant things, when you find them, but if your reader feels like you're preaching at them about something, even if you do get published, no one will like your book, and that's not good.
So you sit down with your manuscript and you realize, in shock, that you've been subtly hinting at the stupidity of menial labor from word one—of course, it doesn't seem quite so subtle now that you've had it thrust in your face. But what the hell are you supposed to do? Dissect your entire manuscript and fix this previously invisible preaching?
Yes.
You, the narrator, has a duty to be a bit—just a bit—impartial about your world. Now, if you have a character that thinks menial labor, Christianity, quantum physics, or the cell phone is stupid, that's fine, maybe even two characters (although that's kind of pushing it, in my opinion), but all of your characters can't possibly hate the exact same things—that's preachy, annoying, and thoroughly unbelievable.
How the hell are you supposed to fix all of that? Luckily, it's not terribly difficult, usually, just time-consuming. See, this kind of thing isn't really hidden, it's just hard for the writer to see. It's actually, more often than not, a kind of superficial fix, kind of like a snake shedding skin. You remove the offending surface from the entire body, possibly leaving a few little bits—they don' really hurt if they're diluted—and voila!
Will it make your manuscript better? I think so. Of course, if the entire point in writing the book was to preach about one thing or another, then I guess you maybe shouldn't take all of that out of the manuscript, but barring that it kind of needs to be fixed, otherwise you have an issue.
So now I scurry away to write something...not sure what, but here I go.
Tchüss,
Voss
In fact, as readers, we writers have very well-developed X-ray vision, when it comes to others' manuscripts. You can read someone's work and go “Hey, you're kind of a misogynist, aren't you?” or “You must be from Stony Brook, since every single book you write is set there.” and you're probably correct.
The issue comes when we have to do it to ourselves. It's kind of like psychoanalyzing yourself—it's not easy, and all that denial is going to make it even harder. And you will deny unpleasant things, when you find them, but if your reader feels like you're preaching at them about something, even if you do get published, no one will like your book, and that's not good.
So you sit down with your manuscript and you realize, in shock, that you've been subtly hinting at the stupidity of menial labor from word one—of course, it doesn't seem quite so subtle now that you've had it thrust in your face. But what the hell are you supposed to do? Dissect your entire manuscript and fix this previously invisible preaching?
Yes.
You, the narrator, has a duty to be a bit—just a bit—impartial about your world. Now, if you have a character that thinks menial labor, Christianity, quantum physics, or the cell phone is stupid, that's fine, maybe even two characters (although that's kind of pushing it, in my opinion), but all of your characters can't possibly hate the exact same things—that's preachy, annoying, and thoroughly unbelievable.
How the hell are you supposed to fix all of that? Luckily, it's not terribly difficult, usually, just time-consuming. See, this kind of thing isn't really hidden, it's just hard for the writer to see. It's actually, more often than not, a kind of superficial fix, kind of like a snake shedding skin. You remove the offending surface from the entire body, possibly leaving a few little bits—they don' really hurt if they're diluted—and voila!
Will it make your manuscript better? I think so. Of course, if the entire point in writing the book was to preach about one thing or another, then I guess you maybe shouldn't take all of that out of the manuscript, but barring that it kind of needs to be fixed, otherwise you have an issue.
So now I scurry away to write something...not sure what, but here I go.
Tchüss,
Voss
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