Writing Tip #17-Counterintuitive Edits

I love writing. I love teaching. I love teaching writing. I love listening to writers talk about their manuscripts. I love problem solving with writers. I love the delicacy and boldness of writing. These tips are things I’ve learned over the years that have held me in good stead and kept me going through the hard dry times. I hope they help you.

And hey, they are only a minute long. Click here.

Writing Tip #17-Counterintuitive edits

When my students are writing in the first person or close third, I often circle these verbs: felt/feel, see/saw, think/thought and ask them, “Do you need to use these verbs, if we are already in the main character’s point of view?” Oddly, these verbs can be distancing if we are already in a characters head. It feels risky to take them out. Like maybe the reader won’t know who is thinking, seeing or feeling. They will. If you have created a story in which the reader is fused with your main character, you can let go of these distancing verbs.

 

#Giving Tuesday

We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast for this special announcement:

Hi Friends,

I think you know how much going to the women’s prison in Gatesville every month means to me. What began as research for my novel Truth Inside has become a devotional service. Though I had volunteered for many different projects and organizations before, I had never really understood what it meant until I was in a circle of women serving twenty, thirty, sixty-year and life sentences. There is something about getting out of my well upholstered pathways and doing the simple thing of showing up, dependably for six years now which has, well…Here it is in a nutshell: First, I went for me. Then I went for them. Now I go simply to be there with them because I care about them.

Why give to Truth Be Told? After all, it’s such a small organization that reaches a relatively small population within a burgeoning prison population. Truth Be Told is small but mighty. A dedicated group of volunteers. A twenty plus year history. A simple but effective teaching design that allows women to unshackle themselves from the shame of their past and think about the kind of women they want to become.

So consider Truth Be Told in your Giving Tuesday thoughts and considerations. Here is the link to give: https://secure.givelively.org/donate/truth-be-told/raising-100-000-in-10-days

Thank you,

L2

A constellation of moons above the fence in Gatesville

Thinking Out Loud – A Hidden Story

Me and Betty-2017-102 years young

“What has my favorite 101-year-old been thinking about? I glance over at Betty X Davis in the passenger seat of my car. She is sitting ramrod straight and leaning forward, as if eager to get to the Austin SCBWI annual conference. It was her duty to present the Young Writer’s of Merit Award named in her honor. While she was never a large woman, she has become more petit as she has gotten older. But she is still sharp as a tack.

“Doak Walker,” she said. matter of factly.

“Betty, who, pray tell, is Doak Walker and why have you been thinking about him?

“Well, Doak Walker was a pretty famous Texas football player and Harvey was just sure that he was the Walking Man.”

“Wait. What?” Clearly, I had entered midstream of whatever memory she was having.

“The Walking Man contest. Don’t you know the walking Man contest?”

“Never heard of it.”

Betty eyed me and winked. “Well, I suppose you are a bit too young for it.”

“Would you tell me about it?”

“Sure, she said brightly. “It’s a pretty good story.” I settled in to navigating the streets to the conference as she spun the tale.

“Well, every Saturday night, Harvey and I listened to a contest on the radio called the Walking Man contest. I suppose the whole country listened to it. It was a fundraiser for the American Heart Association.  At the end of the program, the host, Ralph Edwards, called someone to guess who was the mysterious walking man at the end of the show.”

I was a little confused. “This guy called people out of the blue to guess footsteps?”

“Oh no, no, no…It was a contest to raise money for the American Heart Association. You had to send a dime and a  fifteen word slogan about preventing heart disease to an address in Hollywood, California. On the show they’d pick people from the contributions to call. Nobody could guess it. Every week, the prizes were piling on. Motor boat. A Car. Washer. Dryer. A fur Coat. Everyone was crazy for the Walking Man contest.”

Now I was leaning forward as I drove. “So you entered the contest?”

“Oh you know me. I love a word contest. But I knew I couldn’t be a winner. I had five children and the winner would have to go Hollywood. I couldn’t do that so I asked my aunt Florence, my mother’s sister, in Chicago if I could enter her name. She thought that would be just dandy. She was widowed and worked in a department store in Chicago. Florence Hubbard. So I sent in my dime and a slogan. Want to know my slogan?”

“Oh my gosh, yes.”

“’Not even miracle men of science can hang a Number One Killer on a shoestring.’ Pretty good, right?”

Okay, I need to pause in this little story. Are you getting this? A 101-year-old woman is telling me this marvelous story with amazing details. Settle in, friends. There’s more.

“It’s fantastic. So what happened?”

“Did you know that contest of dimes raised the most money ever for the American Heart Association? A million and a half dollars.”

“That’s a lot of dimes.”

“Everybody in America was listening to the Walking Many contest. Like I said, Harvey was certain it was Doak Walker. I didn’t think so. Not enough people knew a Texas football player. But nobody had guessed yet. The prizes were piling up. A sewing machine. A typewriter. Living room and Dining room sets. People were going crazy. Then one Saturday they gave another clue. The walking man played the violin. Terrible. And I knew who it was. I’d heard him play the violin in some show or other and he was awful.”

“Who was it?” By this time we had pulled into the parking lot at the conference hotel and I was searching ‘Walking Man Contest’ on my phone.

She smiled at me. “Now remember, I didn’t enter the contest. It was my aunt, Florence Hubbard. I had children and the winner would have to go on tour with the Walking Man. But I knew who it was. I called Aunt Florence in Chicago and told her who I thought it was.

“But you didn’t know if they would call her?”

“No. we had to wait until the next Saturday night.”

“Were you listening when they called her?”

“We were. She had just gotten home from her job at Carson’s Department store in Chicago. It was raining and cold. When the phone rang, she had just gotten out of the bath and put on a bathrobe. Can you imagine? She picked up the phone and there was Ralph Edwards asking her if she knew who the Walking Man was. We were listening in Texas and she said, ‘Is it Jack Benny?’ ‘Did you say Jack Benny, Mrs. Hubbard?’ ‘Yes, I did.’ ‘You are the winner, Mrs. Florence Hubbard of Chicago, Illinois.’ You never heard such a commotion. The people on the radio were yelling. Dorothy was laughing and saying, ‘Oh my. Oh my.’ Our kids were running all over the house, yelling, ‘We won. We won.’ They, of course, thought we were going to be rich.”

“Were you?”

“Oh, heavens no. We had some fun. Do you know Aunt Florence went on tour with Jack Benny for a year and he sent her flowers every year on her birthday until she died? Quite a nice fellow. Terrible violin player but a nice fellow.”

I walked Betty into the conference and helped her take her place at the podium where gave out the Austin SCBWI Betty X Davis Young Writers of Merit Award to the elementary, middle school and high school winners. She looked out at the audience and said with a wry smile, “You know, we all can’t be winners so it’s nice when it happens.”

Yes it is. She would know.

This Friday, November 26, I will visit my dear friend on the occasion of her 106th birthday. She doesn’t recognize me anymore. Hearing aids and masks are a total frustration. She quotes Shakespeare at length and often will shrug her shoulders and say, “Je ne sais pas.” When I tell her I love her, she pauses as if trying to connect my words with whomever I might be. Then she shrugs again. It doesn’t matter who I am. Love is Love is Love.

If you would like to donate to the Austin SCBWI Betty X Davis Young Writers of Merit Award, click here.

 

 

Writing Tip #16-Writing Tics

I love writing. I love teaching. I love teaching writing. I love listening to writers talk about their manuscripts. I love problem solving with writers. I love the delicacy and boldness of writing. These tips are things I’ve learned over the years that have held me in good stead and kept me going through the hard dry times. I hope they help you.

And hey, they are only a minute long. Click here to find all of them..

Okay so we all have writing tics. They usually show up in early drafts because we are getting the story on the page and we’re not thinking about word choices then. One of my writing tics is the adverb ‘just’. I sprinkle that little word everywhere. One manuscript had 400. Why? Because my first drafts are tentative flailings of getting the story down and I throw in ‘just’ to temper my verbs and the action of the story. Once I have a draft, I do a word search and target those sections so I can ask myself, what am I trying to say here? Can I say it more directly? What am I just not saying? Another favorite adverb tic is the word even. IT’s a great word because it works as an intensive to stress something. But sometimes it’ll glop up sentences with too many stressors. All of us have writing tics. Use them to figure out what you are really trying to say.

Thinking Out Loud: Exploring A Character’s Belief- A Personal Journey

Lots of craft books advise writers to construct deep back stories for the main characters in their books. I don’t disagree. But I also like to think about those character’s belief systems.

A character’s belief about themselves and their world is part of their back story, yes. But beliefs are a little different from the more evident parts of the backstory (e.g. genealogy, home life) in that beliefs are often the unseen motivators in a character’s story. Beliefs get them out of bed, comfort them, spur them to organize, get them crossways with other characters.

Over the course of the novel, a character’s belief system often changes. What they believed at the beginning of the story is different by the end. Depending on the plot, sometimes their beliefs are shattered. Sometimes, they are expanded. Sometimes they have to reweave everything they believed before. It is part of the journey of the book. Who the main character is at the end of the book is different from the beginning so, too, are their beliefs.

Rather than cite a character’s journey in a novel, I’d like to share a personal journey and how a belief system of my own changed. After all, it is our own experiences in life that bring depth and contour to the characters we write.

I was born quite a few years after my trio of older sisters. For years, I didn’t talk. They seemed to interpret everything I needed and often surprised me with things I didn’t need but liked. At some point, though, I had to grow up and think for myself. I wanted to think for myself. In the beginning, I was often out-voiced or out-thought by them. It was frustrating. I withdrew into writing. I wrote long letters to friends about all my thinking, all my woes, all my hopes. They wrote back. They liked what I said. Somewhere in all of those letters, I made up a belief: If I become a writer, if I express myself through writing, people (read: my family) will understand and admire and respect me. I actually cringe a bit writing those words. I can see all the cracks and fault lines in that statement. Now. I didn’t then. In fact, I didn’t for a long time.

The problem with that belief is that the work one does in the world, whether it’s writing or building furniture, becomes an empty exercise when the source of satisfaction is dependent on others’ praise. Yes, it’s great when the reviews are positive. It’s fantastic when editors are clamoring for your manuscripts. But what if they aren’t? What if you are alone in your room toiling, doubting what you are doing, wondering if putting words on a blank document even makes sense anymore? What if you doubt yourself as a writer because no one is cheering? What if you want to give up? What if that belief system no longer works?

If this journey were a novel, the character would be at a crisis point. Do they go on? If they do keep going, how? And why? Without the end result of cheering and admiration and respect (i.e. the belief system), the character is lost.

For those of you who are reading this post for a craft tip, this crisis point is exactly the place you must take your character because finding their way from that point forward is the richness of story.

For those of you who are reading this post to understand my personal journey, all I can tell you is that I am going to the well each day and today, I have these words.