Dennis Cass Wants You To Be More Awesome

The internet never rests, but I do. I’m taking off the last two weeks of the summer to enjoy the weather, get my son ready for kindergarten and eat ribs.

I will be moderating comments (and chiming in occasionally) so don’t let me hold you back.

In case you’re new here (or need some reminding of all the good works we’ve done) here are five popular posts that will demonstrate what we’re all about:

Five Common Writing Mistakes That My Students Make That I Still Make (and You Probably Make Too)

How Do I Start My Writing Career?

Five Thoughts from a Short-short Fiction Contest Judge

The First Ten Books in Little, Brown’s Spring ’09 Catalog

Getting Published Without Querying

I’m not a big motivational quote guy, but I thought this gem from Buckminster Fuller was too good not to share:

“When I’m working on a problem I never think about beauty. But when I have finished, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it is wrong.”

Have a fine weekend!

Thanks to all who showed up at The Loft for the inaugural Paragraph Party class. Going over the evaluations I declare it a success with room for improvement.

Thanks also to the brave souls who participated in the online version. Double kudos for stepping up and claiming your grafs in the columns. Courage = awesomeness.

I’m definitely doing this again. I feel like I learned a ton and the student became the teacher, etc., etc.

Final thought:

I noticed that the majority of the paragraphs I received involved a character thinking, wondering, musing, postulating, anticipating, considering, planning, observing, noticing or describing. They did all this BY THEMSELVES.

Giving all ya’ll the benefit of the doubt I’m going to chalk this up to the fact that dramatic work happens in scene and dialogue, which isn’t going to give you much bang for your paragraph-evaluating buck.

NOT giving all ya’ll the benefit of the doubt I’m going to chalk this up to conflict avoidance. Putting two distinct people in close quarters and having them square off in a interesting, meaningful and non-melodramatic way is scary and difficult. Hence all the solo pondering, anticipating and noticing.

One way to cure yourself of conflict avoidance is to never leave your characters alone. I mean this literally (let them stroll through the woods on their own time) and figuratively (ease up on the action, but never relent on the conflict).

And if they must be alone, have the City or the Ocean or Memory dog them wherever they go. Your characters can take far more punishment than any human being could ever handle. So dish that sh*t out, chief!

Thanks for coming to the party. I am pleased to present our fifth and final graf:

An uncanny fog that morning lay all along the route across the northern New Jersey marshes to New York City. It was an impossibly comprehensive fog, a fog to embarrass any meteorologist who might have predicted mere everyday fog; a fog to gauze a landscape somewhere else in the world, at some other time, but not here and at this point in history, where the general rule for mountainous grey entities required them to be angular and solid and above all man-made; a fog that roiled across the marsh grass beneath the elevated roadbed of the Amtrak rails, roiled further across the Hudson and collided with a similar fog spreading into Manhattan from the East River, piling up in a thick granite bedrock of fog from which the upper stories of skyscrapers protruded like stalagmites; a fog grey as the name of a familiar object suddenly lost to forgetfulness, impenetrable as an experience never even imagined, much less prepared for. Even as Larry watched from the window of the train, the fog seemed to mount higher and higher as though reaching up with a sword-swallower’s grey lips to gulp the uppermost tips of the city. Then with a roar and a flash of darkness it all disappeared as the train plunged into the tunnel beneath the river.

From a novel.

First, let’s dispense right away with the “short attention span” critique, the idea that in today’s fast-paced culture readers are too impatient for lengthy fog description.

I just finished CRYPTONOMICON by Neal Stephenson and part what makes this 900-page book so enjoyable is that Stephenson lingers on weather/geography/etc. After a day of tweets, chat and Facebook being able to immerse myself in a slow-moving fictional world was actually refreshing. It’s not a bug; it’s a feature.

That said, there are some manufacturer’s suggested guidelines for this approach:

1. The writing at the sentence and phrase level better be excellent

Stephenson is brilliant at the phrase level and quite good at the sentence level. So even when you’re in what could be viewed as a digression, there are lots of little rewards along the way and the flow of the narrative remains silky smooth.

2. Even the most linger-y of lingerings makes an editorial contribution

Much of CRYPTONOMICON takes place in the South Pacific. You get lots of jungle description. Lots of heat description. Even when it’s indulgent it’s never gratuitous. The description is there to immerse in you in the setting and to further heighten the characters’ emotional state.

3. In for a penny, in for a pound

Imagine somehow that I’m being less emphatic on this suggestion, but generally if you’re going to blow it out once then there is a certain expectation that you’ll do it again. This presents challenges for the novelist who might want to quicken the pace toward the end, but has still set up internal rules for taking her time.

Without seeing our party paragraph in context I can’t speak to the last note. And since this isn’t Sentence Party, I’m not going to comment on Item #1 other than to say I love the idea of fog that creates professional embarrassment and wish there was more pointed stuff like that.

Which brings me to Item #2. What does this fog mean to Larry? I haven’t a clue.

If this were a movie, then I could see the connection between landscape and character because I could see his face. I could see him being dreamy or anxious or inspired to provide mosquito netting to kids in the developing world so they don’t die of malaria.

As it stands now, the writer gives us fog and then takes it away.

What this graf needs is a kicker. Something that connects the fog Larry’s emotional state. His mouth is dry from being agape in awe. He picks up a paper bag and starts blowing into it because he’s been hyperventilating from claustrophobia. He says to the person next to him on the train, “I got a baaaaad feeling about this.”

Make that connection and then go back and make it pretty.

The parties continues to continue. Here is the fourth of our Five Party Grafs:

She didn’t wish on stars. That would be childish. But before she fell asleep most nights, she did think. And talk. And sometimes wish for what she wanted or needed most. And the stars happened to be there. She squinted her eyes and the window screen made everything look twinkly.

From near the end of the first chapter of a middle-grade novel.

I like juxtaposition of the wishing and the not-wishing. It nicely captures a kid’s jumbled, openly contradictory mind.

It also zeroes on one of childhood’s chief concerns, which is where you are in childhood. Adults aren’t the only ones who wonder if what a kid does is “age appropriate.”

Two things I’d like to see:

1. Unbury the best line

“And the stars happen to be there.” That’s nice. What comes after it sounds like the first line of the next graf. Or something you can cut.

2. Set up that last line better

Another way of looking at Enter-Develop-Exit is Introduce-Elaborate-Twist.

That’s what you’re doing here. She doesn’t wish on stars. Then she does some talking/thinking that sneaks in some wishing. Then the stars happen to be there (so she does wish on stars).

If that’s what you’re after, then the goal is to get a little more space between the idea and its reversal:

She didn’t wish on stars. That would be childish and silly. But before she fell asleep most nights, she did think. And talk. She’d think about ABC and how details, details, details. She’d talk about XYZ and how details, details, details. And if in all that thinking and talking and talking and thinking she let slip one true wish, well then the stars just happened to be there.

The party rages on with the third graf:

Rose reached for the bamboo scratcher on his nightstand, placed it in Hank’s open hand, and curled his fingers over it.  He held it loosely, raised his arm slowly, and squeezed his eyes shut as he aimed it towards his back. It never got easier for Rose to watch how painstaking this simple movement was for him, even though she had watched him do it hundreds of times. She could scratch his back for him faster, easier, and then she wouldn’t have to watch him strain himself like that, the agonizing slowness, the interminable amount of time it took every tiny movement, the fact that only one arm and his head moved at all, his body perfectly still except for the movement of that right arm. She didn’t know how he could stand it to do it every single day. She forced herself to watch him. She could turn away from him for a moment, for a day, or forever, but he couldn’t turn away. She wouldn’t close her eyes while his shut in concentration, and she wouldn’t let herself imagine what he was thinking inside, either. She didn’t want to know what went on his head when a simple task like this took on the proportions of a major feat of strength and endurance. In fact, she never wanted to know what went on in his head. His thoughts were surely different than what came out of his mouth. Their banter was scripted. She was glad he kept his feelings to himself, just as she preferred to keep quiet about hers. Their arrangement suited her just fine.

From middle of first chapter of a novel.

First, kudos for the great entrance and exit. I like how we start with this very physical and intimate moment that establishes Hank’s helplessness. Then we leave on her equally intimate but emotionally distant assessment of their “arrangement.” Nice.

Quick nit before my main note: consider making it even clearer that Rose is reaching across Hank’s body. You’ve got the scratcher on his nightstand so it’s implied, but coming right out with it will make the reader feel his immobility more acutely.

Now on to the bad news. This paragraph is in dire need of a boil down.

That’s when your editor says something alone the lines of “This is great but it needs to be half as long.”

Then you gasp and say, “Half? Impossible!”

Then you go and do it and realize she was absolutely right.

When I do a boil down I mercilessly cross out the stuff that isn’t pulling its weight and worry about smoothing it out later. Here is how I would start the  boil down on this graf:

Rose reached for the bamboo scratcher on his nightstand, placed it in Hank’s open hand, and curled his fingers over it.  He held it loosely, raised his arm slowly, and squeezed his eyes shut as he aimed it towards his back. It never got easier for Rose to watch how painstaking this simple movement was for him, even though she had watched him do it hundreds of times. She could scratch his back for him faster, easier, and then she wouldn’t have to watch him strain himself like that, the agonizing slowness, the interminable amount of time it took every tiny movement, the fact that only one arm and his head moved at all, his body perfectly still except for the movement of that right arm. She didn’t know how he could stand it to do it every single day. She forced herself to watch him. She could turn away from him for a moment, for a day, or forever, but he couldn’t turn away. She wouldn’t close her eyes while his shut in concentration, and she wouldn’t let herself imagine what he was thinking inside, either. She didn’t want to know what went on his head when a simple task like this took on the proportions of a major feat of strength and endurance. In fact, she never wanted to know what went on in his head. His thoughts were surely different than what came out of his mouth. Their banter was scripted. She was glad he kept his feelings to himself, just as she preferred to keep quiet about hers. Their arrangement suited her just fine.

The next step is to go back through the graf and fix up the busted up bits. Sentences will need to be rewritten so they don’t all start with “she.” You’ll also want more variety in length and tone.

As part of this process you’ll inevitably discover details, turns of phrase and images that bring back aspects of the graf that were interesting (that she can turn away but he can’t, their “scripted” banter) but that weren’t executed well enough to avoid the axe.

Now add the new stuff (without letting the graf balloon up) and give it a quick smoothing. But don’t linger too long. Paragraphs need rest. Trust that you’ll perfect it during the next pass through the book.

Good luck!

Everyone having fun? Good. Freshen your drink and then we’ll move on to the second graf.

Liam stayed in bed hoping this time would be different. The wind came in through his window, chilly. The moon was a perfect half in the sky over the trees. He got up. He hadn’t slept in years. Every night he got ready for bed and climbed under the covers thinking that this would be the night everything changed.

First paragraph from a contemporary fantasy novel.

In Consider the Paragraph I extolled the virtues of the pleasing shape, but it’s not just because I like things pretty.

Enter, Develop, Exit also creates energy, or what’s sometimes referred to as “narrative drive.” The key to creating narrative drive is change. Some aspect of the story (could be as obvious as plot or as subtle as tone) has to change between the first word and the last word.

If you look at the first and last sentences of our party graf you’ll see that they’re effectively the same. Liam hopes this time is different. Later he hopes this is the night everything changes. In between we pick up a few details (it’s a cold, moony night; he doesn’t sleep and his bed has covers) but we haven’t gone anywhere.

One thing that might help is for the writer to be more up front about the “this time.” As this is contemporary fantasy novel I’m assuming Liam is a Supernatural Being and that he has Supernatural Being Problems. Engage us in the mystery of his life instead of teasing us with the mystery of the mystery of his life.

In other words, get to it!

Good luck!

First come, first served. Here’s the first of five (5) grafs for our online party:

Baghdad’s 28^th Combat Support Hospital is like a fortress, once the exclusive palace of Saddam Hussein. In the cacophonous din of machines and medics, you’re unconscious and being wheeled into the Trauma Room. The ER staff is dressed in boots, camouflage pants and scrubs. Seconds ago one soldier was alive, now he’s dead. Another is screaming, “Look at me I’m all apart.” There are others who can be heard weeping and moaning. The injuries are horrific. They’re the worst I’ve ever seen says one doctor, but most of these lives will be saved, living on after terrible wounds and brain injuries. The bullet tore your left eye in half, then shattered the frontal lobe of your skull. You felt nothing.

From a nonfiction story about a wounded soldier, who has just been admitted into a field hospital in Baghdad.

Here are my comments:

Second-person narration is not as immediate as you think

I get what you’re doing. You’re trying to put me in that trauma room. But if second-person narration made stories more visceral, immediate and real, then everything would be in the second person.

But they’re not and that’s because in reality the second person creates distance. (Check out Jay McInerney’s BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY for a well-known example.) What puts me in the room is scene setting, characters with emotional resonance, etc.

In other words, execute the basics and my natural empathy will put me in your subject’s shoes.

Even if you decide to stick with the second person, that doesn’t let you off the reporting hook

Your job is to paint the picture, so paint the picture. What does a Hussein presidential palace that’s been converted into a hospital look like? Is it like a brothel with dialysis machines? An outlet mall with blood everywhere?

Also, what exactly is a field hospital? Is it state-of-the art facility that’s not that much different from a domestic hospital? Or is it held together with duct tape and spit and you pray everything holds together while you’re operating?

I could go on and on and on, but I think you get the idea. Just about every detail in that graf could be given a much finer grain of resolution.

Your mistake might be your best opportunity

In the second line you note that “you” is unconscious. This is going to make it very hard for “you” to observe all the things “you” are observing.

But that gives me an idea. If you embrace the distance created by the “you” point of view, then we might have something.

Try talking about “you” from the doctor’s point of view as they look down on your inert body and try to stitch you up. So it’s “you” but only “you” in the sense of “you” being a meatbag that’s in need of fixing. (Even as they scoop the remains of your eye out, your face remains slack, etc., etc.)

Kind of gross, but also kind of cool in an out-of-body-experience kind of way. Also, that approach would give the last line (“you feel nothing”) some weight.

Good luck and thanks for coming to the party!

I’ve decided to move the party online.

Between now and August 9th you are invited to send me a paragraph from a work in progress. I will choose a handful of grafs to critique on this blog using the hot new Paragraph Party method.

Here are the rules:

1. You are to send me one paragraph only

Please do not send me your entire novel and tell me to “pick whatever paragraph you think needs the most work.”

2. Please provide a little context

You don’t have to go nuts, but let me know if the graf from a short story, memoir, YA novel, etc. It would also help to know if it’s from the beginning, middle or end.

3. In sending me your paragraph you represent and warrant you are the author of said paragraph

Please do not try to trick me by sending in a paragraph written by E-R-N-E-S-T H-E-M-I-N-G-W-A-Y.

4. Do not bother me about the status of your paragraph

It’s August. I work in publishing. Keep your expectations low.

Send your paragraph to dennis <dot> cass <at> gmail <dot> com. Good luck and see you next week.

Great party last night. Solid crowd. Good energy. No fights.

Here’s the recap:

I tripped over my own rules when I projected the Hemingway paragraph from yesterday’s post, only to realize that it only contains two sentences and thus violates my three-sentence requirement. I’ll either tweak or dump that rule.

Otherwise the material held up well.

I was especially pleased with the demonstration paragraphs, which we used to help diagnose student work. There are, of course, all kinds of grafs, but it was nice to be able to refer back to the Hemingway (taking care of business), the Clarke (almost pure voice) and the Mason (somewhere in between).

There was another nice moment when we talked about how reading is an unselfconscious act, while writing is a highly selfconscious act. We used this concept to keep us from overthinking our critiques.

It’s easy to put on your smartypants writing hat on and forget that reading is a very simple act. As writers we obsess over every detail, but as readers we’re more inclined to take the text as it comes. This highlights the importance of taking care of the basics.

We’ll see what the evaluations say, but it seemed to me that another strong feature of the class was calling attention to each paragraph’s entrance and exit. Each graf is like a little story. You hook, you build, you resolve (but not too much). In the last example of the night, we were able to radically improve the paragraph simply by cleaning up the out.

That’s all I have for now, my friends. Be good and mind your paragraphs. You are nothing without them.