As Bad As Adam

AS BAD AS ADAM One of my sons attended pre-school with a child named Adam. Each day Adam would find a new way to torment his teachers and other students. This happened years ago, so I don’t exactly remember how. I have vague memories of him pouring sand on a little girl’s head, of him using an abacus as a deadly weapon—you get the idea. At four, Adam was already infamous. In fact, Adam’s “badness” became the standard by which my son judged his own behavior. Some days he’d describe himself as bad as Adam, and other days, not so bad as Adam. You might be expecting that I will now attempt to draw some grand parallel between infamous pre-school Adam and the first Adam of original sin fame. However, making that argument in a persuasive and articulate way would require lots of deep thinking. When I think too hard, I fall asleep. So I’ll make one simple point rather than many weighty, sophisticated points. My son tended to think in terms of black and white when he considered Adam. Adam was bad. And to be fair, Adam energetically did his part to contribute to that view. However, as we all know, no person is entirely good or entirely bad. We are complex creatures. While it may have been difficult to see the good in Adam, it was there, nuanced perhaps, but there nonetheless. All right. I can hear you thinking out there, so what is her point, the simple point that she said she was about to make. Here it is: as writers we need to make sure that the characters we depict are complex, not all bad, not all good. Why should we do this? Characters should seem real. You want to write truth. The truth is that no one is perfect and no one is perfectly bad. We also want to create interesting characters. Very good characters and very bad characters are dull and predictable. Why bother reading on? You know who they are and what they are going to do. You want to create characters for which your readers feel empathy. Honest readers will admit that they have admirable traits and also ones they will avoid listing on a resume. Those folks will be able to identify with and be more invested in complex characters. When you create a character with strengths and weaknesses, you give yourself a lot more to work with. You can show how a flaw ultimately brings down your mostly good character. You can show how the glimmer of a good trait can lead your mostly bad character to do a good deed. When you portray a complex character, one who has the potential to behave honorably as well as to sin, you’ve given yourself an opportunity to talk about grace and redemption. What do I mean by that? You can show good coming out of bad. You gently can point your reader in the direction of hope. So, go ahead and make your good characters a little bit bad and your bad characters a little bit good. Why not? You are reflecting reality, you’re adding interest to your story and you’re allowing us readers to identify with the characters you create. So, whatever happened to Bad Adam? I’ve heard that he is an honor student and plays in the high school band. Go figure. Deborah M. Prum www.deborahprum.com

How to Give a Good Reading Despite Your Myriad Neuroses

Have you ever been to a reading where the author creeps apologetically to the podium and then stammers through page after page without once changing expression or making eye contact with the audience?  Plenty of good writers give bad readings.

It’s painful to watch gifted colleagues sabotage their work with self-defeating behavior when they’re reading.  Giving a bad reading may not harm a renowned author, but it could hinder the progress of an aspiring one.  Regardless of how elegantly, a piece is written, poorly presented material can bore or irritate your audience, including that agent, editor or publisher who may be attending.

Whether you are a famous author or an unknown beginner, how can you improve your public reading style and give a compelling reading?

Useful Psychobabble-Do Not Skip

            Some writers regard public speaking with the same amount of enthusiasm as putting their heads on the executioner’s block.  If you can identify with that sentiment, your first step in preparing for a reading is to deal with your emotions.  Talk with an insightful friend or a good therapist to find out why you feel this way.

Some people lack the confidence to give a reading because they lack confidence in themselves as a writer.  They are plagued by feelings of being an impostor.  These folks think, “How can I be sure I’m even a real writer?  What make me think I have the right to get up and read?”  Even writers with a solid publishing history may be plagued by these self-deprecating thoughts.

The anxiety is legitimate.  Precisely at what point does an aspiring writer transform into a “real” writer?  Other professions have an easier time determining this.  Doctors go to medical school and are awarded an M.D. upon completion.  Plumbers, electricians and hairdressers earn licensees.  You know a police office when you see one—the badge and uniform are dead giveaways that he or she has finished training.  But how does anyone identify a real writer? Are you a real writer after you have been published once? Twice?  Does your transition from aspiring to real depend on the quality of the publication in which your work appears?

Some writers, especially beginners, torment themselves over this issue.  Ultimately, you have to answer the question.  At some point, you must confidently say, “I am a writer”—and not let a stack of rejection letters or a scathing review dissuade you from that statement.  Just stick to your self-definition and march into a reading with confidence.

Imagine the Worst that Can Happen

When you ask people—those who would rather jump out of an airplane without a parachute than read from their work in front of a crowd—why they are so reluctant, they come up with a million reasons.  What if I trip on the way to the podium?

What if I look down and the tip of my tie is stuck in my zipper?  What if I attempt to say “hit” and it sounds as if I said a terribly rude word instead?

All of that can happen and worse.  However, most of what we worry about never happens.  More often, we are blind-sided by events we lacked the imagination to anticipate.  So why bother to worry?

If you must worry, try to identify your worst fears and think them through to a logical conclusion.  Imagine yourself inadvertently saying “pee” instead of “be.”  The audience giggles.  You move on. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

Making a mistake is not the end of the world. Your friends will have amusing material for the biographies they will write about you later.  And your enemies?  They never liked you anyway.

Think of Your Readings as Performance

Once you have soothed you psyche, your next step is to choose and prepare the material you will read.  This may be more challenging than it sounds.  Clyde Edgerton is a writer who is known for his entertaining readings.  He says you cannot assume that the imagination of a person listening in the audience works the same as that of a person reading silently.

Therefore, he advises writers to think of their reading as performances.  Try to spot the passages that are too dense for a listening audience.  Don’t read long blocks of material.  Instead, Edgerton suggest that you select from your written page exactly which sentences should be read aloud.  If you want to read certain scenes, you don’t have to read aloud the transition material between the scenes.  To keep the pace moving, you can summarize that information verbally for you audience. (This is also helpful as you revise your writing.)

Practice

Once you have selected and revised your material, read it aloud.  Written words may present thorny challenges when spoken.  Your characters’ names may become tongue twister.  “Nicaragua” is simple enough to writer, but it can be a nightmare to pronounce, especially if you are nervous.  Find troublesome words and phrases in your writing and practice saying them.

If you feel brave, videotape yourself.  Eliminate any nervous tics you find.  They may have endeared you to your mother, but they won’t endear you to audience.  Be expressive without being overly dramatic.  Get a sense of when you should pause or when you should read more rapidly through a section.

Know your material well enough to be able to look up at an audience.  Eye contact is essential to gauge audience reactions. 

Be Selective

Make sure that whatever you read can stand alone and is satisfying in itself.  That doesn’t mean you have to read an entire essay or tell a story from beginning to end.  If your goal is to entice people to buy your mystery, you may want to leave them at a suspenseful point in your tale.  However, don’t leave them feeling cheated.  When you stop reading, you want them to be thinking, “That was good. I want to hear more.”

If you are reading several selections from your work, choose the order carefully.  If each of your pieces dramatically differs in the emotions it may evoke, warn your listeners.  Once I heard a poet read two short, humorous poem.  The audience was still laughing when he briskly launched into a third poem, a somber reflection about death.  He gave no introduction.  Most listeners were so confused and shocked by the abrupt emotional shift that they were unable to fully comprehend and appreciate the third poem.

Eliminate Surprises

If possible, check out the site where your reading will be held.  If you are unable to visit, ask questions.  Will there be a microphone?  How many readers will there be?  Will the lighting be bright or dim? How big is the room?  How far away will the readers be from the audience?  Eliminating surprises will lessen your anxiety.

Stack the Deck

Does the thought of an audience full of strangers intimidate you?  Stack the deck.  Invite a few friends, people you can count on to laugh at the funny parts and weep when appropriate. 

As you are about to read, be aware of you body language.  If you look tense, you will communicate that to your audience.  Think about the last time you heard a nervous person speak.  Everyone in the room tends to become anxious. No one relaxes until the person sits down.  When you step up to the podium, capitalize on any opportunity to make a spontaneous joke that will loosen up the group.

When the Audience Seems Comatose

As you speak, assess your audience.  Are they wide awake?  Sleepy?  Are you the last person on the program?  Do they need to move around a little before you speak?  Do  you have their attention or do you have to figure out a way to grab it?

Sometimes the audience seems comatose.  You try your hardest, but they sit there like potted plants.  Don’t necessarily take the blame for a dead audience. Once I was asked to read to student attending the summer session of an exclusive prep school.  I delivered my best material with pizzazz.  Thirty students stared at me.  If they were breathing, it was hard to tell.

I drove home in a funk.  Fortunately, it was a long ride home during which I realized that these kids were not in summer school on a voluntary basis.  I had been reading not to a captive audience, but an imprisoned audience.  Later, the school sent me student evaluations of my presentation—all of which were high.  Go figure.

Mind Your Manners

Think about how your words might affect your audience and make adjustments accordingly.   Once at a bookstore reading, Melissa Bank (The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing) noticed some children in the audience.  Before she started reading, she let the parents know that her story would contain an R-rated word.  The parents assured her that the kids had heard worse on the playground, but everyone appreciated her courtesy.

If you hope to be asked a second time, practice good etiquette.  Pay attention to other folks on the program.  Don’t read or rattle papers while they are reading.  Don’t go over your allotted time.

Later, ask for feedback from honest friends and colleagues.  Forgive yourself for mistakes, congratulate yourself for successes.

One final word:  What should you wear to a reading?  As you select your outfit, keep in mind Sinclair Lewis’s observation, “When audiences come to see us authors lecture, it is largely in the hope that we’ll be funnier to look at than to read.”

 

A Cautionary Tale: Don’t Iron Your Clothes While They are on Your Body, No Matter How Late You Are

The phone rang at six p.m.  I was supposed to meet my husband and his colleagues at a fancy restaurant downtown for dinner at 6:15. I was running so late that I was trying to iron my clothes while I wore them.  That was with one hand.  With the other hand, I stirred a pot of macaroni and cheese, supper for my kids.

As I picked up my cordless phone from the counter, I noticed that the dead battery light was flashing.  So I headed across the room to the kitchen extension, the one with the very short cord that I had been meaning to replace.

            A mellifluous voice came on the line.  A woman said she was calling from a national magazine.  “May I speak with Deborah Prum?”

            Oh no, I didn’t have time to deal with a subscription spiel.  But I had just  moved to the South.  Everyone down here accuses us Northerners of being rude.  I needed to shed my Yankee ways.  So I said, “This is she, but I have to tell you I currently receive more magazines than I can…”

“I wanted to talk with you about an idea.”

With my short phone cord, I could barely reach the stove, and the orange, goopy mixture of macaroni and cheese was beginning to burn.  “This really isn’t a very good time.  Could you call back next week?”  Or never.

The woman seemed taken aback.  “Well, I don’t think so.  We have space for your article in our next issue and the deadline is in a week.  I don’t think we have the time to discuss it later.”

“Article?  My heart filled with conflicting emotions—elation because I realized she was an editor—someone finally responding positively to one of my query letters—and panic because I had no idea which query letter.

As a beginning freelancer, my recordkeeping was haphazard at best.  I didn’t quite believe my words would ever see the light of day and my approach reflected that zero confidence.  Two or three times a week, I’d send off queries to various magazines.  As fast as ideas reached my brain, I’d get them down on paper and into the mailbox.  Then, I’d file copies in a cardboard box I kept in the children’s playroom.

While I tried to figure out exactly which letter we were talking about, my three hungry sons had gathered in the kitchen were waiting impatiently for their rations to be distributed.  I gestured wildly, pantomiming writing on paper with a pen.

My oldest son, Nathaniel, stared at me with feigned concern.  Then the pre-pubescent smart aleck turn to his 10-year-old brother, Eric, and said, “Gosh, it seems as if Mom has developed a tremor.”

            Eric pretended to look confused.  Then he pointed to the pot on the stove.  The child smiled and made exaggerated eating gestures.

In the meantime, the editor continued talking. “We like your medical crisis idea.”

Medical crisis idea? Now which one would that be:  Lice, the Gift That Keeps on Giving?  Or, Cat Dander, the Unseen Foe?

I took a stab, “Yes, medical crisis.  Well, in which direction would you like me to take the concept?”

            “We want 1,500 words on how to walk with a friend through a medical crisis.  Be sure to give practical pointers and get at least two expert quotes.”

By this time, 3-year-old Ian recognized my desperate pleas for a writing implement and gave me a broken orange crayon and half of a paper napkin.  I nodded at him in thanks and began scribbling.

As I took notes, Eric spooned supper into a plastic bowl.  Then he gave it to Ian, who promptly dropped the bowl on the floor and howled.

Silence on the phone.  Then, “Am I calling you at your office?  Is that a child crying?”

“Yes.”  I changed the subject.  “When is the article due?”

Eric handed Ian a spoon and the child began eating off of the floor.  Unfortunately, mine has never been a floor you could eat off of.

“In a week.  We had another article for that spot, but the writer is sick.  So we need something else quickly.  Do you think you can do it?”

“Sure.”  I dropped my half-napkin down to Ian so he could wipe his face.  “No problem.”

            During the next few days, I could barely contain my excitement.  After receiving stacks of rejection letters, I was finally going to have my byline appear in a national magazine.  I threw my heart and soul into the project, working late at night after the kids went to bed and early in the morning, before they got up.

That week we entered cruise-control mode for meal preparation.  Each morning, the older boys found money for school lunch, a jug of milk and cold cereal on the breakfast table.  For five days straight, supper consisted of greasy brown objects cooked in our microwave (fish sticks, tiny tacos, and reconstituted potato lumps.)

With Ian in tow, I headed for the local library to find and then skim books on my topic.  That trip was punctuated with water cooler visits and frantic dashes to the restroom.  (Ian had just been potty-trained, more or less.)  Fortunately, I had take speed-reading in high school, so I managed to get through many publications in a short time, finding useful material.

The first draft of the article contained 3,000 words.  I painstakingly pared it down to the required 1,500, agonizing over each word I cut.  The final piece included carefully researched information, comments from both a clinical social worker and a psychiatrist, and a quote from a parent with a chronically ill child.  My sidebar listed several tips for handling the situation.

After receiving the article, the editor called to compliment me on the content and quality of the piece.  “It’s ready to go,” she said.  “No revisions necessary.”

For weeks, I was riding high—Atlantic Monthly, The New Yorker, watch out!

Well, two months later as I was arguing with my boys about a candy purchase at the checkout counter of the grocery store, I noticed a copy of the magazine on the rack.  My article title, Helping a Friend Through a Medical Crisis was listed right there on the cover.  I pulled the magazine off of the stand and yelled, “Holy cow! I’m real!”

We forgot the candy dispute and ripped through the issue trying to find my article.  There it was, at the end of the magazine, with my byline plainly in view.

The editor, however, had cut the text to a scant 300 words.  She had left my name in tact, but not much else.  The piece contained a quote from one of my sources and a photo of two women gazing at each other.  Maybe one was looking helpful.   I’m not sure.

Yes, I felt disappointed. Fortunately, my paycheck arrived in the mailbox the same day.  I was so thrilled to be published, I hadn’t asked about reimbursement.  As it turned out, they paid me five times what I’d ever gotten writing for local publications.  Although I mourned that the meat had been ripped from the bones of the article, the fat paycheck helped assuage my grief.

So, what did I do with my windfall?  I bought video rental gift certificates for all three boys.  Those movies would come in handy if I ever landed another writing assignment.  I spent a chunk on dinner with my husband at a fancy restaurant.  Then, I bought a very long cord for the telephone in the kitchen.

Hanging from the Weakest Limb of that Twisted Tree Called Love OR How to Survive Rejection

I am an expert in the field of rejection.  I stand before you today with exquisitely impressive rejection credentials.  I’ve been rejected by The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Ploughshares, a top children’s book agency in California, and my first grade boyfriend, Walter Flemke, may he rest in peace.

You may be asking yourself, why doesn’t that masochist choose another way to make a living? (Like gem polishing, belly dancing or pro basketball?)

Let me tell you why I keep writing.  Several years ago, I experienced an epiphany.  I was driving on a back road through the mountains of North Carolina.  In order to keep awake, I had the windows down and the radio blasting.  A song came on, with a line that went like this, “I’m jest hanging from the weakest limb of that twisted tree called love.” 

           Right then and there, I bonded with that song; it became my theme as a writer.  Deep in my heart I knew, no matter how many rejections I received, no matter how hard it was to hang from that weakest limb, I would keep writing because I loved to write.

            I love words, words like pillgarlic, schmaltzy, prevaricate, and goober.  I love writing non-fiction—history, book reviews, essays.  As many of my friends and family members know, I have an opinion for every occasion and I am thrilled for opportunities to share those opinions. 

I delight in writing fiction.  What bigger rush is there than creating characters and moving them around in an imaginary universe?  Where else can a person have that much control?  In real life, I can’t even get my boys to pick up their socks or lower the lid in the bathroom.

            Regardless of how many rejections I receive, I’m passionate about writing.  Even if that weakest limb is about to break, I will still hang on.

            The truth is that for every six or seven rejections that come in the mail, I receive one acceptance and that, so far, is enough to keep me in the business.

            Unless you are a famous author, rejection is a fact of life.  The question is how do you survive rejection and keep writing.  And that’s the subject I will address over the next few minutes.

            I’ve already made my first point.  Your best defense against the pain of rejection is to love what you are doing.  If you have zeal for writing, you can face those rejections far more easily. 

Another point to consider is how you identify yourself.  Especially when you are starting out, you need to be settled that you are a writer, not that you are just a writer wannabe.  This is not as clear as it seems.  Doctors earn MD’s.  Lawyers earn JD’s.  Plumbers and hairdressers earn licenses.  What makes a writer a writer? Good question.

Why is this issue so important?  Many times, I’ll meet a person who says, “I think I am a writer, but I haven’t had that much published, so maybe I’m not a writer…” and they go on like that for a few minutes.  Well, when this person receives her first rejection, she collapses.  That’s the end of it.  She thinks, “You see, I am not really a writer.  I was just kidding myself.”  That is not helpful.  In order to survive rejection, you have to believe in yourself, embrace your identity as a writer and keep trying.

            Another way to survive rejection is to know why you write and what you want to communicate.  There is a proverb that says “Without vision, the people perish.”  The same is true for us writers.  Without vision and a little passion mixed in, ultimately you will get buried by those rejections and you will perish. 

Articulate that vision to yourself or others every once in a while.  This concept may seem a bit ethereal, so I’ll give you an example.  When I write short stories for adults, I try to make my writing to reflect my core belief that despite how horrible life can be, there is always hope.   I’d like people to see that you can find humor and redemption in the midst of the ashes.  Somehow, having this goal, this vision, gives me the endurance to keep sending out the stories.

            Okay, the bottom line here is even though you have passion, confidence in your identity as a writer, and all the vision in the world, if your writing isn’t any good, it’s likely to get rejected.  So, let me offer some practical advice:  make sure what you are sending out is terrific.  Make it the best you can possibly produce.   Don’t give those editors, publishers and agents any good reason to reject you.

One way to make your writing the best it can be is to get help from others.  For the most part, a person needs to be alone to write.  However, I find that if I don’t emerge from my little room every once in a while, I lose perspective on my material.  I miss the most obvious errors. 

Invite other people to check your work.  These people should be smart, honest, and kind.  Let me tell you why all those characteristics are important.  You want somebody intelligent looking at your work, so they can tell you if you’re using a word incorrectly or that your plot makes no sense.  You want somebody honest, somebody who has the courage to be straight with you and not just make you feel good about yourself.  Finally, you want somebody who can be gracious and gentle while they are giving you their opinion.  You don’t want anyone extinguishing that little flame within you.  You can get this sort of feedback in many ways:  from other writer friends, in critique groups, at writers’ workshops and by hiring an editor.

            As a writer, if you hope to survive rejection, you have to understand that you need to be in it for the long haul.  You have to think of the process as a marathon, not a sprint.  You can’t quit after getting rejected once or twice.  If you are convinced your work is good, you have to be persistent.

            Before you send something out, develop a strategy for it.  Make a wish list of publications.  Figure out your criteria—high exposure, fat check—whatever.  After you make the list, staple it into the file folder for that piece.  Then, send it off to each place, one by one.  That way, when you receive a rejection in the mail, it is not so devastating.  You just send the manuscript to the next place on the list.

What can you learn from rejection? Most rejections come in the form of teeny tiny slips of paper that bluntly state “Your work is not right for our publication.”   However, every once in a while, an editor or agent will write a lengthy criticism of your work.  A novice writer may not recognize this as a wonderful thing.  But a veteran writer usually is thrilled to get those long rejection letters because it means that editor or agent cares enough about their writing to give a serious response.

            So, if you are lucky enough to receive a lengthy rejection, rejoice.  Pay attention to what that editor or agent tells you.  Decide whether they are right.  Ask your writing colleagues what they think.  If you believe the criticisms are valid, then make changes before you send it out again.  That agent or editor has done you a big favor.

On the other hand, keep this in mind: the person who giving you a negative opinion about your work could be dead wrong.  For example, this is from an editor at Athenaeum to Herman Melville and it’s about Moby Dick.  The editor states  “…(the book) is an ill-compounded mixture of romance and matter of fact…(it is) trash belonging to the worst school of Bedlam literature….” 

            Okay, on the other other hand, sometimes all those rejecting editors and agents may be right.  The best place for that particular manuscript is in a dusty box down in your basement. 

How do you determine when is it time to lick your wounds and move on?  That is a tough question.  Sometimes, you run out of places to send a piece.  Then, there is the question of timeliness.  If it takes too long to place an article or essay, the topic may no longer be timely.  I try to keep a balance.  I want to make sure that I keep writing new material.  If marketing one piece gobbles up too much of my time, I put the manuscript aside.

So, how does a writer survive rejection?  Don’t second guess yourself.  Go ahead and call yourself a writer, then believe what you say.  Identify your vision and let that vision inspire and energize your efforts.  Surround yourself with wonderful colleagues:  help them produce their very best work and allow them to help you produce your very best work.  Develop a strategy for sending out your manuscripts.  Glean valuable advice from those rejections.

             I’m going to sound like Jesse Jackson here, but remember this saying:  Your passion for the profession will be the best protection against rejection.  As a writer, hang on to the weakest limb of that twisted tree called love.

Writing a Better Story by Telling it First

            A while back I wrote two short stories and couldn’t place either of them.  After receiving the umpteenth rejection slip, I plunged into the Swamp of Despair. 

The months rolled on.  I wrote and sold non-fiction, but in my heart of hearts, I wanted to write a short story and have it published.  Finally, I chained myself to my computer keyboard and futilely waited for inspiration to strike.

            I sat down day after day and tried to write.  My brain and hand underwent instant paralysis.  Every time my fingers touched the keyboard, I’d picture my mean ninth grade English teacher saying:  “Not exactly the right word for what you want to say, dear.”  Or, “Is this the best plot you can come up with?”

            My trash can filled with crumpled pages.  I became frustrated and gave up.  A week later, my six year old came home with the flu.  Within a few days, our whole family was sick.  One feverish night, I dreamed about an antique silver tuba and an upholstery repairman.  The next morning, I realized my overheated brain had provided me with the kernel of a story.

            Too sick to sit at the computer, I lay in bed speaking into a tape recorder.  I didn’t have a plot in mind, just the images of the tuba and repairman.

I had never tried creating a short story this way, but the storytelling tradition is strong in my Italian family.  Growing up, I would hear one tale after another:  Cousin Lori’s crazy customers at the beauty shop.  Grandma Benedetta’s experiences in a thread factory at the turn of the century.  My father’s pranks at a CCC camp in the Smokey Mountains.

            I pictured my bedroom filled with my friendly attentive relatives as my audience–then I plunged into my tale.  I didn’t pause to think about details or twists and turns in plot.  I let the story unfold.  Characters walked in and out, with voices all their own.

            A few days later, when I felt better, I sat at the computer and typed.  I intentionally did not go back and listen to the taped story.  I didn’t try to recapture words, sentences or ideas.  I just wrote.  I wanted to see what would happen.

            As it turned out, a somewhat different story emerged.  I had spoken the tale in the third person.  Without realizing the shift, I wrote the story in the first person.  The dialogue in the taped story sounded lively, spoken in fragments rather than given as ponderous speeches.  The verbal interactions between the characters were more believable and sounded funnier. 

            However, I gave little sense of setting in the spoken version.  As I plowed along in the story, I garbled details about characters.  Then, I came up with an ending that didn’t make much sense, therefore did not entirely satisfy.

            My written version carefully set the scene.  I spent time puzzling through the details of the plot.  I fleshed out the characters by including flashbacks.  I did research on turn of the century tubas and used the information to make the story more credible. When I read the written story out loud, though, the dialogue sounded clunky.  The plot was bogged down with detail and flashbacks. 

So, I went back and as I listened to the tape, I re-wrote sections of material.  Finally, I came up with a third version, combining the best elements of both stories.   I incorporated the lively dialogue, trimmed the descriptions and flashbacks, and tightened up the plot and pacing.

            What did I learn from this little exercise?  First, the obvious:  it is impossible to write when you have imagined a negative critic peering over your shoulder.  Being sick caused me to forget the ninth grade English teacher and allowed the creative part of my brain free play.   Second, if you are feeling stymied, you can try to jump-start yourself by telling your story rather than writing it.

            I  realized that telling a story is somewhat like playing ping pong.  You plunge right in and keep going.  Your audience is sitting expectantly.  You can’t stop to figure out the finer points of your plot or the tiny details that make your character who he is.  You hope that comes to you.  Regardless, you keep going and come up with the tale that spills out, flaws and all.   

            Writing a story is more like playing a chess game.  You think through each move, puzzling out the relative benefits of any choice you may make.  The process is slower, more intentional.  The end result may fit together well and may be satisfying.  Yet, the overall story may collapse under the weight of all that intentionality.

            So, my bout with the flu gave me a new way to approach writing a short story.  Perhaps we make use of one  part of our brain to tell a story and another part  to write one.  It sure seems that way to me.   By using both approaches to create my tale, I came up with a far better story in the end.

            You are probably wondering whether the story ever got published—well, miraculously, it did in The Virginia Quarterly Review (Requiem for One Tuba in B flat).

My Grandmother Packed a Pistol: How to Create Characters Your Readers Care About

            When you hear the words, Italian grandmother, I’m sure an image of a cute little old lady comes to your mind.  She’s wearing an apron.  Her hair is tied back neatly in a bun.  She’s carrying a plate of pasta and meatballs.  The gentle woman is smiling and saying, “Eat, eat.” 

That would not be my grandmother.  Not Noona.  Banish that thought from your mind.

            Noona had white Einstein fly-away hair.  She stood less than five feet tall.  And, at her prime, she weighed 165 pounds.  Yet, when you looked at my grandmother, you would not think the words chubby or cute.  You would think feisty or formidable.   Or, if you were really perceptive, you might think Dear Lord, don’t ever let me make this woman angry!

            Italian grandmothers are supposed to be such good cooks, right?  When you sat at my grandmother’s kitchen table, you took your life in your hands.

            My grandmother cooked snails, clams and mussels illegally pulled out of a polluted part of Long Island Sound.  So the specter of hepatitis always loomed over us. 

Also, Noona’s cavalier handling of pork made trichinosis a lingering fear.  As a kid, I knew about trichinosis first hand.  My Aunt Chubby who lived with my Aunt Trixie in Newark, New Jersey made the mistake of handling hot Italian sausages carelessly.  Chubby came down with trichinosis and almost died.  It wasn’t all bad though, because Aunt Chubby wound up shedding about forty pounds.

 But it was Noona’s chicken soup that scarred my tender psyche.  She bought fresh chickens—very fresh—often I’d discover them tied up and still clucking in a burlap bag in her bathroom. 

Then, Noona would kill and pluck the chicken.  She wasn’t all that particular about feather removal.  If you ever want inspiration to become a vegetarian, just once find a chicken feather floating on the surface of your soup. 

After she plucked the bird, more or less, she’d throw the whole chicken body, bloody neck first, into a kettle of boiling water on the gas stove.  Those little chicken feet would stick straight up over the edge of the pot.  That image that haunts me to this day.

Even though she spent over fifty years in this country, Noona could barely speak English and could not read it.  Certainly, she was smart enough to do either.  She just didn’t think it was necessary.  She’d guess the meaning on various bottles and packages.  One morning I found her soaking her feet in a basin of Milk of Magnesia which as you may know is a laxative.  Another time, on a summer night, I noticed zillions of bug bodies plastered on the walls of her apartment.  They were covered with waxy goop.  Turns out, Noona had used a furniture polish (Pledge) as a bug spray.

Noona’s inability to read did not stop her from playing the stock market.  She worked with a Cuban broker.  He talked to her in Spanish, which she didn’t speak.  She answered him in Italian, which he didn’t speak.  At least one morning a week, I’d hear Noona shouting to this guy on the telephone.  She yelled on the phone because she didn’t believe that a skinny wire alone could carry her voice across town.  As time went on, the two of them managed to make a killing on the stock market.

Noona’s political beliefs were firm and clear.  Growing up, I thought Nixon’s last name was Bruta Bastia.  As you can imagine, those are very naughty words in Italian.  On the other hand, she loved Hubert Humphrey whom she called Mr. Hongry.  One night, my parents and I were watching the national evening news in Connecticut.  By this time, Noona had started spending her winters in Florida.  On the screen, we saw Noona standing on the Million Dollar Pier in St. Petersburg, Florida.  She walked up to Hubert Humphrey, started pumping his hand and said, “You Mr. Hongry.  You good man.”

Growing up, I called my grandmother Noona, but everyone else called her Santa Mazzotta.  Santa, of course, means saint.  The name Mazzotta, we think comes from the word matzada(phonetic spelling), which in Italian slang means to beat or kill.  The name seems appropriate for Noona. In fact, when I think of Noona, one of the first stories that comes to mind involves my grandmother who as a young woman wielded a gun in order to snatch back a passport from a thief in Sicily.  But I’ve been forbidden to talk about that.  Whenever I try to bring it up, my father gives me the evil eye and says, “Don’t mention the incident.  It dishonors your grandmother’s memory.” 

So, I won’t mention it.  However, I will tell you one last story about Noona.  My grandmother, my parents, and much of the rest of our extended family lived in a nine family tenement building.  One day, I watched from the driveway as my distant cousin Tony (not real name) climbed the steps to my grandmother’s second floor apartment.  The guy could have passed for Fonzie: slicked back black hair, sleeveless tee shirt, black chinos, pointy shoes—the works. 

Through the family grapevine, I knew Tony planned to ask Noona for a sizable loan so he could buy a car.  I also knew that there was no chance that my eighty-four year old grandmother was about to fork over any money.

Standing next to me in the driveway was my sister.  She worried about Noona’s safety.  “Do you think we should call the police?”

“No.  An ambulance.” I said.

“Oh my gosh.  Do you think Tony will hurt Noona?”

“No.  The ambulance would be for Tony.”

Sure enough, five minutes later we heard lots of shouting, Tony in English and Noona in Italian.  Next thing we saw was Tony scooting out of the apartment and Noona waddling close behind. Tony stumbled.  Noona nabbed him.  I’m not sure what happened next except that I saw Tony literally take flight down those stairs.  I was right.  We should have called an ambulance.  My grandmother: Santa Mazzotta.

 

Why have I spent all this time telling you about my sainted grandmother?  Well, the topic is how to make your reader care about your character.  I believe a good way to make your reader care about the character you create is to help your reader get to know that character.  You do that by presenting that reader with well-chosen details about the character.  Give a physical description.  Talk about quirky habits, personality traits, political beliefs.  Throw in an anecdote or two.  You want to create a character who will jump off the page and into your reader’s imagination.

You want your reader to say, “I know a person like that.”  Or, “I want to know more about that person.”   You want you reader to become emotionally invested in your character.

Why is it so important that a reader care about your character?  John MacDonald says that “Story is something happening to someone you’ve been lead to care about.”  If your audience doesn’t give a hoot about your characters, they are not going to care about your story.

            Let me illustrate this point.  Suppose you hear that a branch of Bank of America was robbed this morning.  If you heard this news, you probably would not get too upset (unless you own Bank of America).  But what if you heard that your branch of the bank was robbed?  That makes it a little more personal.  How about if you hear that a teller was injured?  Maybe you start wondering if it was that nice British lady who always gives your son two lollipops.  You hope it’s not her.  Your anxiety grows a bit.  Then, you hear that a small child and older woman were harmed.  You remember that your mother was going to take your son on some errands this morning.  She banks at that branch.  All of a sudden, you are frantic.  You’re calling your home, the hospital and the police trying to get information.

            What’s my point?  The emotional intensity of any event you portray will increase dramatically if your reader knows and cares about your character.  You’ll have created a better story.

            Caring about a character does not mean liking the character.  It just means having an emotional investment in what happens to that character.  For example, Harry Potter fans don’t like Voldemort but they very much care about who he is and what he’s up to.

            So, you want to evoke a passionate response from your reader.  You want that reader to love your character, hate your character, feel pity, feel charmed, feel repulsed by your character.  You want that reader to be living in the head and heart of your character.

            What happens you don’t care about a character?  You stop reading.  Instead of sitting forward in your chair, you sit back and take a good snooze.  Recently, I was dragging myself through a terrible story.  All the characters were flat and boring.  When the main love interest and her little nephew were about to be killed by a raging psychopath, I cheered.  My main thought was, for goodness sake, let’s get this over with.   I was so disengaged and cared so little for the characters, I was rooting for the psychopath.

What are other ways to create an emotional bond between the reader and the character you’ve created?   One way is to tap into a universal theme, a theme all readers can identify with.  Someone once said all stories are basically descriptions of someone trying to regain paradise.  Our whole lives are one long attempt to regain the paradise we lost at the beginning of time.                         

Whether you agree with this statement, it’s a great concept to use to create a character that a reader cares about.  Portray your character on a quest.  Show your character enmeshed in a problem.  Conflict usually appears in three ways:  the individual against himself, the individual striving against others, or the individual battling some other force:  God, monsters, aliens, nature, ideas….whatever.

Make sure that quest or problem is something your readers can identify with.  If they can identify with the situation, they will be more likely to empathize with your character.  You will have created that emotional bond between the reader and your character.

            Once again, identifying with a quest doesn’t necessarily mean sympathizing with it.  Your main character could be involved in a quest that your reader would be very much opposed to—like creating a computer virus that would shut down the all financial transactions in the world.  What you are aiming for is emotional involvement on the part of your reader.  You want that reader to care so much that they won’t put your book down.

            Need quest ideas?  How about righting a wrong?  Trying to get the answer to a mystery.  Overcoming tremendous odds to accomplish laudable personal goals.  Sacrificing for the sake of love.  Facing the temptation to do evil, but ultimately doing good.

            While engaging in this quest or solving this problem, your character must change—maybe mature, gain a different perspective, fail, succeed.  Remember to show evidence for how and why the change occurred in your character.  Your character is on a journey.  Make sure your reader accompanies your character on that journey. 

The mark of an amateur writer is to create a good guy with no flaws or to create a bad guy with no sympathetic features.  Neither is believable because neither exists in this world.  Think of a woman who is brilliant, wealthy, always exquisitely dressed, and articulate, has consistently well-behaved kids.  We may admire her.  We may envy her.  But we probably have a hard time relating to her.      

Your readers will be more able to relate to a protagonist who has flaws, just as they have flaws.  They’ll be more able to relate to that villain who has some admirable or sympathetic quality. 

In the book The Lovely Bones, the very bad guy is named Mr. Harvey.  The author Alice Sebold tells the reader about Mr. Harvey’s awful childhood.  Somehow, the reader is able to see how Mr. Harvey came to be the monster that he is.  His character is given depth and breadth.  By taking care to make Mr. Harvey a multidimensional being, Sebold tells a more compelling story.

            What are other ways to make that emotional connection between a reader and your character?  Create a scene with your character in it that evokes an emotion: pity, repulsion, affection, disdain, disgust.  Strike an emotional chord in your reader.   How do you do that?  I have three words for you: Writer Know Thyself!

In order for you to be able to write in a way that triggers an emotional response in others, you have to know what triggers an emotional response in you.  Of course, you are not the measure of all things.  However, you are a good place to start.  Identify how you feel about specific events and situations.  Try to understand what triggers your feelings of anger, affection, anxiety, joy.  If you don’t know the answer to these questions about yourself, you are going to have trouble writing about others. 

Once you’ve figured what triggers your emotions, observe others. Note what people say and do as they live out their lives.  If you’re uncertain as to how your character might react in a certain situation, test out possibilities with trusted friends.  See what they think.  Just remember striking that emotional chord with your readers will help them relate better to the characters you create resulting in a stronger story.

Let me wrap up here.  I hope I’ve shown you how important character is in your writing.  Paint a vivid picture of your character, then get your reader emotionally involved with that character. Make your reader care.  Do so by giving the character a quest or problem that your reader can identify with. Cause your characters to grow and change, but be certain to show how and why the change occurred.    Make sure your heroes have flaws and your villains have a sympathetic quality or two.  Write scenes that will emotionally connect your reader to your character.  Do this by identifying situations that trigger emotional responses in your own life and the lives of others.  The best of luck to you all: Happy Writing!

           

 

 

 

 

Feeling Lucky? The Pros and Cons of Entering a Writing Contest

CONS

1. You usually have to tie up your manuscript while it is being considered in the contest.  That will prevent you from sending it elsewhere.
2. You usually have to pay an entry fee.  That can add up.
3. If a contest has many entrants, your chances of winning may be low.
4. The publishing deal offered in a contest may not be as good as one you could get elsewhere.
5. If you win a contest, you might be published in an obscure place ( an unknown literary magazine or newspaper). You may have lost the opportunity to expose your piece to broader audience.
6. You might not need an agent to place your work if you win a contest.  However, a good agent may be able to get you a better deal with a publisher.

 

 

PROS

1. When contests are judged by writers, it’s nice to experience your colleagues evaluate your manuscript for literary merit rather than a publisher evaluate it merely on the basis of its marketability.
2. If you win, it’s wonderful to be publicly affirmed in the writing community.
3. Sometimes winning a contest can open doors with regard to publication.
4. If publication is offered as a benefit of the contest, it is nice to avoid having to search for an agent/publisher, write queries and synopses, etc.
5. Receiving a cash prize can make your day. (I turned a writing cash prize into two kayaks.)
6. Winning a contest may open other doors:  invitations to speak at conferences, to judge other contests, to be part of other writers groups.