October 20, 2009

Awesome Medical Leave

The Awesome Blog can’t catch a break.

I have to go dark again for awhile until I heal up. I’ve been calling it tendonitis although the physical therapist I met with yesterday said it was really more a case of “forearm overuse” and “tired arm.”

I think this is payback for all the times I made fun of people with Restless Leg Syndrome.

Bottom line is I can’t type. Like, at all.

I just bought some voice-to-text software that I will be training in the next few days. It’s going to be an adjustment but hopefully I’ll be back “writing” sooner than later.

Take care of your hands, people!

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October 12, 2009

Awesome Paragraph: Ian Frazier on Siberia’s Lake Baikal

I knew that it’s the largest body of fresh water in the world, that it contains about twenty percent of the world’s fresh water, that it’s 1,637 metres (more than a mile) deep at its deepest, that it was created by continental landmasses moving apart, that is has species of fish found only here. But, beyond its facts, Baikal really does have a magic to it. Travellers who wrote ecstatically about it in the past were not exaggerating. Most of Russia’s inland water is sluggish, swampy, inert; Baikal’s is quick. For sparklingness and clarity it’s the opposite of swamp water. The surrounding hills and cliffs that funnel winds along it keep it jumping. It reflects like an optical instrument and responds to changes in the weather so sensitively that it seems like a part of the sky rather than of the land.

From Ian Frazier’s “Travels in Siberia-II” from the August 10, 2009 issue of The New Yorker.

We’re about to enter Paragraph Party season again so I’m featuring this beaut to get us back in the mood.

One of the things we talk about in the Paragraph Party is the concept of Enter, Develop, Exit.

We use these words to avoid vague language like Beginning, Middle, End and to keep us far, far away from the confines of Topic Sentence, Supporting Sentence, Concluding Sentence.

Enter, Develop, Exit is about getting the reader in, making things happen, and then (delightfully) kicking them out. Frazier’s graf about Baikal shows this principle at work while also nicely illustrating how even basic scene-setting can be magical.

First, I absolutely love the Enter on this graf. Frazier starts out with some Best of Wikipedia tidbits, but he does a couple of things that rescue him from sounding like a 5th grader giving a geography report.

First, the phrase “I knew that” is wonderfully dismissive. It has a “as you may have heard” ring to it without calling attention to itself. You forgive him for his indulgence without even realizing it’s happening.

Second, Frazier breaks your will with details. A typical writer would just tell you that Baikal was the largest fresh water body of water in the world. Frazier keeps on you until the enormity of this lake really sinks in. If you’re not impressed with the high percentage of global fresh water, then he’ll take you a mile(!) under the surface, and if that’s not enough then he’ll give you special fish and continental drift.

The Develop section of the graf is the weakest, but Frazier still does a nice job of creating a bridge between the facts in the beginning and the beautiful imagery of the final line. I would’ve appreciated a quotation from one of those ecstatic former travelers, but I respect the choice to keep things clean.

What I do like is how Frazier puts Baikal in context with the rest of Russia’s inland water. “For sparklingness and clarity it’s the opposite of swamp water” is kind of a weird sentence, but you need it to build the overall image of Baikal (quick, jumping, etc.).

Now we’re ready to Exit.

“[I]t seems like a part of the sky rather than of the land” is just lovely. I especially appreciate that Frazier didn’t write this sentence so it ended on the word “sky” although I admit that on the first read I felt like this was a missed opportunity. What writer doesn’t want to lead their reader into the wild blue yonder?

Then I went back and figured out why I was wrong and Frazier was right. You’ll find the reason in beginning of the first line of the next graf. I’ll leave it up to you to figure it out:

“When a wave rolls in on Baikal, and it curls to break . . . .”

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October 12, 2009

Technical Difficulties

It is a strange experience . . . to be locked out of one’s own blog.

I will not bore you with the details, but let’s just say that when you pay $9.97 per year for Domain Name Mapping, then you can expect about $9.97 worth of customer service when it goes wrong.

In any case: back. The first lesson from Awesome Writing Prompt #15 will begin shortly.

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October 1, 2009

Awesome Writing Prompt #15

Your assignment is to jot (and I stress that word JOT) down the scenes you would expect to find in a story based on the following premise:

Two childhood friends unexpectedly fall in love during a trip to New York.

The scenes do not have to be in order. They do not have to cohere. They do not have to be original.

This is an exercise in reacting to an idea. Keep it fast and loose and automatic.

Please post your results in the comments or send them to me at dennis <dot> cass <at> gmail <dot> com and we’ll put them to good use.

Final thought:

Duplicate answers are beyond okay. So if you see something in the comments and you feel that it’s already been covered, please post anyway. The more people who contribute the better.

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Filed under awesome writing prompt, craft

September 30, 2009

Question: Why, Dennis Cass, Why, Why, WHY?!?

A reader writes:

I’ve been reading your blog for a while, but haven’t really gotten engaged for the simple (if depressing) reason that college leaves me little time for any creative projects of my own. That said, there’s always been one nagging (meta-)question that I am finally going to ask: why? Not to sound thankless (far from it), but why are you so adamant on helping complete strangers for what seems to be little to no personal gain? As someone who spends 8 months of the year around New Yorkers (and the other 4 around retirees), your seemingly sincere altruism is refreshing, but also somewhat baffling.

I have had this question in the hopper since February. Every week I take a stab at it and every week I set it aside.

In the past seven months several glib answers come to mind, answers like:

Giving is the new taking.

(Unfortunately, like so many glib answers, it’s not as original as I thought.)

This spring, while playing Resident Evil 4, I latched on to something Luis said to Leon when Leon tried to get to the bottom of Luis’s zombie-killing altruism:

“It makes me feel good. Let’s leave it at that.”

There’s also this wonderful line from Clay Shirky’s HERE COMES EVERYBODY when he quotes former Internet Society trustee Scott Bradner:

“The internet means you don’t have to convince anyone else that something is a good idea before you try it.”

The”why” lies in a mixture of all three.

Depending on the day I do this primarily because I believe in altruism for altruism’s sake, or because helping people feels good, or because I don’t have to explain to anyone (and in particular a bored and jaded New York magazine editor) why writing about paragraphs and pineapples is important.

In short:

I care about writers and good writing and would like to see more of both.

For now those are good enough reasons for me. I hope they’re good enough for you.

6 Comments

Filed under emotional life of writer/artist, find your people, reader question

September 28, 2009

Question: A Degree in Library and Information Science?

A reader writes:

After receiving my MA in philosophy I decided that adjunct teaching would give me time to write fiction. But now that I am teaching 8 courses/semester and doing assorted freelance work I just want to get some sleep. So I’m thinking of a career change.

My big plan was to start an Master in Library and Information Science.

You seem to spend a lot of time in libraries–and know about publishing trends. The recent budget cuts for public libraries in Ohio have compounded my fears.

Do you have any thoughts on the long term value of an MLIS either for working public/college libraries or for a new line of freelance work (i.e the non-traditional path seems to include things like working for publishers, ghost writing, etc.)?

One of the earliest readers of this blog is getting her degree in library and information science. I think it’s an exciting and valuable line of work to pursue.

The budget cuts are scary, but I’d advise you not to get too distracted by the short-term noise. If you enter this field you’ll be right in the middle of the following big questions:

  • What is the future of the old-fashioned, paper-based book?
  • How are we going to realize the full artistic and cultural potential of electronic books?
  • How are we going to preserve our cultural and intellectual heritage if it’s locked up in (possibly unreadable) data?
  • Format aside, how are going to cope with the incredible volume of information?
  • Finally, who owns all this information and what rights do people have to use/alter/share it?

I don’t think the money is going to be a real issue here. Yes, there are going to be budget cuts to some public libraries, but university libraries, corporate libraries, foundation libraries, etc. are only going to grow.

I also believe that any number of innovative, surprising and perhaps even bizarre new entities will spring up around the hardcore information science issues. The Google Books Library Project is the just the beginning.

The real question is whether or not you want to be a part of all this chaos and uncertainty, because I think it could get pretty hairy.

My apologies if I’m reading you wrong, but it seems to me that you have this image of becoming a librarian so you can pad around in crepe soled shoes and quietly shelve books while you secretly think about your novel.

I have a feeling that doing this career right may involve more of an Indiana Jones approach. It may require much more whip cracking, swashbuckling and switching sandbags for golden icons than any of us imagine.

So by all means do it. But do it with gusto and verve. We’re going to need it.

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September 23, 2009

Question: What Happens if I Run Out of Agents?

A reader writes:

I know how to look for agents. I’ve got books, website lists, blahty-blah. And I get the long road thing and the keep trying thing. Okay. But while there are a lot of agents in the world, the numbers aren’t infinite.  I mean, first I probably need to focus on American agents–seeing as I live in America and all.

Then I’ve got to focus further on my genre. Done.

Focus in more on agents that seem legit. Done.

Then on agents that are accepting queries. Done.

And so if this list isn’t as long as the road–in fact the road appears to be running off the map–then what? End of list…rejections received…now…?

Burn book and map? Get off the damn road?

Here are some uncomfortable statements about your writing career that may or may not be true:

  • You may not sell your first book. Or your second. Or your third.
  • You may sell your fourth book first, then publish your first book second and then turn pieces of your second into a short story and write an essay about why you’ll never publish your third.
  • You may rewrite your first book a dozen times over a dozen years before you get it right.
  • You may discover that your books don’t really work as books and become a playwright.

You’re asking me about the finiteness of agents, but I sense that the question behind your question is about the nature of the path you’re on. When is this going to happen for me? IS is going to happen for me?

I don’t know. But I do know this:

Getting published is a byproduct of doing the work.

Unless you’re a celebrity (in which case getting published is a byproduct of doing other work) then your day will come because you got the work right. Not necessarily great work (or even good work) but work that is right.

So chin up. Focus on the page.

I promise you won’t run out of agents.

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Filed under emotional life of writer/artist, getting published

September 21, 2009

Question: Tent Pole Follow-up

A reader writes:

A few months back, you posted (here) on the idea of carefully crafted “tent poles” — which, as I read it, meant key scenes, Big Moments, not necessarily with fights and explosions but with a lot of propulsive (even if intellectual) energy. You didn’t say explicitly in your post to construct the tent poles first, and then go back and cover them with canvas (as it were). But that’s what I’ve been experimenting with. And I think it’s working. So far.

My question: can you think of a handy set of guidelines for how to establish a rhythm of such scenes? This might factor in the length of the novel, the kind (action-y vs. less so), maybe the number of characters, the POV, whatever. I’ve got one HUGE tent-pole moment — the climactic chapter — and maybe six or eight lesser ones. Structurally, I can imagine a plotline in which the tent poles were gradually ramping up to the huge one; I can imagine a rhythm established by the lengths of these scenes, and the lengths of the scenes which tie them together; I can imagine a rhythm in which the energy alternates more or less evenly, going UP, down, UP, down, etc. until finally there’s a sort of pause — an extended down, I guess you could say, followed by the big UPPPP of that last one. Not looking for some precise mathematical or geometric rule, of course. Just wondering if you see relative value in one vs. another.

Without seeing the work it’s impossible for me to give you feedback on structure, but I think you’re on the right track in how you’re thinking about tent poles:

You seem to get that the number of tent poles is finite

If you feel you have 27 key scenes then you either can’t tell the major from the minor or you’re trying to do too much in one work.

You’re right about rhythm

Go too long between tent pole moments and your reader might get bored. Pack them too close together and your reader might feel overwhelmed. Finding that right balance between tension and release is key.

You’re also right that tent poles don’t have to involve plot, big character movement, etc.

While pondering this question I kept thinking about the scene in the film Gone with the Wind when Scarlett O’Hara is at the train depot and the camera cranes up to reveal wounded Confederate soldiers stretching to the horizon.

A tent pole moment can be as seemingly insignificant as a transition or an aside, but it has that “wow” factor that makes you love the work and want to keep going.

Final thought:

Getting back to your question about sequencing, I think the best thing you can do is to stay loose and playful.

Screenwriters and television writers often write the gist of scenes on note cards and pin them to a cork board.

See what happens when turn  your tent pole moments into building blocks that you can move around in space.

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Filed under craft, reader question

September 17, 2009

Question: Can You Unburn a Bridge?

A reader writes:

I would like to apologize to a former editor for being an arrogant little sh*t. I don’t necessarily need, want, or expect to work with this person again. But it has been weighing on my conscience for many months. Should I apologize, as a fellow human being who was clearly in the wrong? Or would any attempt be viewed as a pathetic attempt to suck up? Should I write a letter and stick it in a drawer? I can’t decide if my need to apologize is purely selfish and should be some ritual for my own personal catharsis, or if it would actually be a decent human thing to do to send it and ultimately appreciated by the receiver. Even, as I mentioned, if we never work together again. Help me, Mr. Blue.

The conventional wisdom says that one should never explain and never apologize. Saying that you’re sorry makes you look weak and does nothing to un-burn the bridge.

As I alluded to in yesterday’s post, you should especially hold your apologies for things outside of your control. Never apologize for not being published, or for being published locally but not nationally, etc.

That said, if you did something wrong then there’s nothing wrong with apologizing. The only catch is that you have to do it right away. If you apologize within 24 hours then it seems sincere. If you’re apologizing after a few days or a week then it seems calculated.

Also, people in this business are tougher than you think. Keep the apology simple and direct. Then move on and never mention the incident ever again.

Final thought:

If you’ve let the relationship go and for some reason want to rekindle the editorial flames, send in a smokin’ hot pitch. Fresh ideas heal all wounds.

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Filed under find your people, reader question

September 16, 2009

Question: What Do I Say About My (Lack of) Credentials?

A reader writes:

I’ve started exploring a possible story on SUPER SECRET STORY IDEA and I’m successful getting email replies to my original query from some significant clinicians and players in research. So, the question I’m often asked is: “What magazine are you writing for?” Of course I wish I had an assignment from a magazine. Our buddy Dan Baum, even lacking the assignment, would say he’s writing (in his example) for “Wired” because in a sense he contends that he is–doing all this leg-work free for an article he’s going to pitch at “Wired”. But I can’t get away with this can I?–”I’m writing for Psychology Today.” When the question has come up in the past I’ve said that I’m writing on spec and hope no one asks where I’ve been published. “Well, a couple literary quarterlies.” So how do I handle ingratiating myself to key sources so that they don’t blow me off and have enough confidence in me to spill the beans?

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being honest. Tell them that you’re a freelance writer and that your plan is to take the story to Psychology Today.

If the source asks where you’ve been published then mention the name of the journals. Or tell them that you’re just starting out.

Whatever you do don’t apologize. There’s no shame in being new.

If they won’t talk to you, then ask them if they know anyone who will. If they offer another source then pursue that lead.

If they say they don’t know anyone (or if the person they recommend doesn’t pan out) then press them again to help you. Appeal to their vanity. You know from your research that they’re the single most important source for this story, a story that will completely change how we think about INTERESTING SUBJECT MATTER.

Or try luring them into a conversation. Tell them you just want to verify one fact or confirm one theory (then shut up and watch while they talk for half an hour).

If they still won’t talk to you then move down the list and pick the next source.

Wait . . . you don’t have a list of sources categorized by information need and then ranked in order of importance?

If you don’t have such a list, then get one. Every story has its dream scene, its dream quote, its dream fact. With some pieces it’s obvious, like getting the tobacco executive to admit that they’ve known for decades that cigarettes are harmful. With other stories it might be more subtle: a tough guy in a moment of vulnerability or a public saint betraying a hint of avarice. In the right context a boring statistic can be undeniably powerful.

If you can identify these ideal outcomes then you’re more likely either to get them outright or to recognize variations of them that fall into your lap.

Final thought:

Knowing what you want also helps your credibility. In my experience I’ve always gotten more out of interview subjects when I’m a mission. I don’t know how they can tell, but sources know the difference between hunting and fishing.

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Filed under getting published, reader question, research

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