Tag Archives: Books

Why new writers need the “Make Your Story” series

30 May
Sheherezade

“Scheherezade” by Édouard Frédéric Wilhelm Richter 

I started writing Make Your Story on my blog because I wanted to contribute some of my ideas about imagination, vision, and voice to writers who are just starting out.

Make Your Story is less about how to write a story than it is how to “make” good writing and artwork.

This is because you have lots of options for learning about story and structure as a new writer. I highly recommend that you familiarize yourself with those key elements and here are some great places to start.

In this post, Now Novel has good overarching advice about structure. Follow that blog for solid insights to story, fiction, and the rudiments of writing prose. They always have intelligent things to say about writing.

Writers Digest is always trustworthy and this article by Orson Scott Card is general but excellent.

On a more specific, structural approach, the 7-Point Plot Structure is a good tool to know, and I bet you already do if you’ve seen any Hollywood film more than three times in your life. What you may not know is how to execute it.

If you respond to the 7-point approach and want to know more, check out the Story Structure Database by KM Weiland. This database breaks down an impressive number of contemporary films and classic novels into plot points (almost always the 7-point structure, I believe). This approach doesn’t always work neatly (Moby-Dick wasn’t written to be wedged into this structure) but it’s a terrific resource if you have movies, books, or authors in mind that you want to emulate.

And there are many other great resources. Feel free to mention your favorites in the comments so other writers can check them out!

But I started Make Your Story because, for all the blogs and resources out there about story structure, there’s precious little on the Internet about (a) feeding the imagination, (2) employing personal material in fiction/art, or (c) considering how one sees the world and how to develop a writing aesthetic and voice that express what you see.

This is because people have the expectation that you can teach yourself to do anything on the internet. Wanna grout your bathroom? Change your oil? Pull up a life-hack on Youtube! And it’s totally, utterly awesome that that’s even possible. I believe the modern human species is better for widespread knowledge-sharing.

Storytelling isn’t solely like grouting bathroom tiles, though it can be! Now Noel’s piece on how to use adjectives in fiction takes that approach, and it’s good advice, indeed.

But creative storytelling (fiction or nonfiction) is also learning how to take what you see in the world and make it into a narrative that other people can relate to.

Ever try to tell a story that really happened to you, only to have people read it and say, “That doesn’t seem realistic.” And you think, joke’s on you because THAT’S THE WAY IT REALLY HAPPENED!

Well, the joke isn’t on your audience – it’s on you. All writers do this at some point because they haven’t yet developed a sense for what real-life material works as story or how to deliver it so that it will. We’ll talk about what makes good material and how to use it, in Make Your Story.

Every professional writer dreads the question, “Where do you get your ideas?” Mainly because the answer is so sewn into their DNA and/or brainwaves so intrinsically that they can’t articulate it and know they’ll sound like idiots if they try.  In Make Your Story, we talk about ways to feed your imagination and deepen your pool of available story ideas.

Writing also requires an aesthetic (AKA knowing if your writing is awesome) because at the sentence level, your writing style has to be engaging, beautiful, or seamless/invisible if readers are going to keep reading your work. Do you know what seamless writing looks like? Can you imitate it? What is a beautiful sentence as opposed to purple prose? How do you engage people with words? Great writers typically express their personal aesthetic with a killer writing voice, a skill we’ll talk about here, too.

Lastly, making your own story requires learning how to really see the world, not just repeating what you think you know or churning out cliches. Cliches especially stand in the way of a personal aesthetic/voice and saying what you really want to say. Do you know what that is? Do you know what you’re really looking at when you look at something? Are you sure?

What about the name? Why “make your story” and what does that mean?

Minneapolis photographer Doug Beasley refers to photography as “making a photograph,” not “taking” one. “Taking” a picture is quick and sounds underhanded while “making” a picture is mindful, takes a little time. “Telling” a story is similar. It sounds like it’s all done, waiting inside you until you are ready to spill it, like Sheherezade famously did for 1001 nights in a  row, when really, writing or telling a story is usually a creative, mindful process (and often a slow one).

So please join me and let’s talk about how to make your story.

Make Your Story: Typing the Truth

30 Apr

Consider that your life-story isn’t a bee-line.

It’s at least four stories told in concert whose voices, if executed well, will surge and sing out at different points like four-part harmony or four-piece jazz with solos.

One of these storylines could be very old, maybe a previous generation’s that carries through to your present story. If you choose correctly, this one will act as a firm thumping bassline throughout, one that you (and your audience) will return to often because the past is crucial evidence about you. It needn’t be ancient but it would be best if it were open-ended, unfinished, and not a flashback.

Which old story will you choose?

Is it your birth story? How your family came to live where you were born? Why you are named what you’re named? An ancestor’s decision still echoing in your life now? A story only you know? A secret or a lie or a still-secret lie? Could you do that? Make that secret lie known? Make it part of your story?

WRITING PROMPT #1: Write your birth story or story behind your name so that the last line of your writing ends with, “…and that’s how I came to be sitting here typing these words.”

WRITING PROMPT #2: 500 words. Write the most dangerous truth you have ever written. The one that could destroy lives. Don’t hold back for fear of offending or betraying or hurting anyone else. Type it. Then delete your writing or burn it it if you want to.

Or begin your memoir from there.

veritas

Raffaele Monti’s “Under the Veil” of Veritas, Roman Goddess of Truth. Destroyed 1936.

Make Your Story is a series of articles by novelist Barth Anderson about things you might consider when writing your life-story, autobiography, or when mining personal material for your art. 

In approaching your life story, consider that you might not know it as well as you think you do. Consider your own life the way you might consider a stranger’s. Consider it unknown territory. Consider what you’ve never considered before.

Make Your Story: Flashbacks

28 Apr

Make Your Story is a series of articles by novelist Barth Anderson about things you might consider when writing your life-story, autobiography, or when mining personal material for your art. 

In approaching your life story, consider that you might not know it as well as you think you do. Consider your own life the way you might consider a stranger’s. Consider it unknown territory. Consider what you’ve never considered before.

Consider your flashbacks.

Your life-story isn’t one long flashback. It’s a narrative that incorporates a handful of flashbacks to create a particular dramatic effect of your choosing.

When you look at old pictures of someone you didn’t know twenty years ago, this dramatic effect is instant, often comical. You see them in funny haircuts and wildly different clothes. Their cosmetic game is entirely different. On point, but – wow. The effect is jarring because you know them as one person, but two decades earlier, they were someone you barely recognize.

This is elemental storytelling 101. Storytelling is change. A character was this, but then they became that. Flashbacks perform this change instantaneously while also setting up further plot-points, for greater change down the line. Dramatic gas for multiple storytelling engines: flashbacks.

But more than a fun costume change, a well-considered flashback can be used to drop your life-story’s main character right into boiling water. That’s a stronger dramatic effect than the reader seeing you in acid-wash jeans and a mullet: The character we’ve come to identify with was in trouble as a kid. That’s going to cut closer to the reader’s heart.

And yours.

What was “the boiling water” when you were twelve? When you were four? What made that water so dangerous and hot to begin with? Why in the world was a four-year-old thrown into boiling water? Who did that to you? Who tried to help? Why couldn’t they stop it? Why didn’t you perish? What was the fallout from that horrible scene?

The answers to those questions will create dramatic tension/contrast with the main narrative of your life-story.

You don’t have to flashback to agony and pain, of course, but whatever mood you set up in the main narrative should be contrasted in flashback. If it’s a humorous story in the “now,” then maybe the flashback should show something somber. If the mood is dour in the now, consider flashbacking to color and a dance of emotion.

The worst thing you can do with a flashback is make a static image of yourself that makes the flashback stand as a prop, an old-fashioned jacket that doesn’t get worn and has no effect, dramatic or aesthetic, on the story as a whole. This is a kind of forgetfulness on your part, letting the memory of a memory stand in for actual observation from you as a writer. To avoid this, you need to see yourself in the past the way you see yourself now, someone faced with possibilities and choices — yes, even as a child you had choices. Previous choices will make flashbacks dance. Consider those around you if you are remembering a time when you were very young. The people around you-as-a-child had thousands of choices to make that had a bearing on what you became, the choices you eventually made when you were older. They might have more to do with you than you realize, even if you think you know your story.

Exercise time:

Consider a flashback scene. Consider a time when you were very young. But rather than writing from the point of view of you as a child, write it from the angle of someone near you, back then. Drop yourself into a fierce, sharp, or passionate agenda of someone responsible for you. Or opposed to you. Account for that character’s agenda in your scene. If they are a villain, make them villainous, but make them round and believable with tone and realness. 500 words. Keep your pen/keyboard moving. Go.

lethe

Gustav Dore, “Dante Submerged in the River Lethe”

 

 

Make Your Story: Welcome to the Beginning

27 Apr

Make Your Story is a series of articles by novelist Barth Anderson about things you might consider when writing your life-story, autobiography, or when mining personal material for your art. 

In approaching your life story, you should consider that you might not know it as well as you think you do. Consider your own life the way you might consider a stranger’s. Consider it unknown territory. Terra incognita. If you don’t, you’ll miss diamonds hiding in the shadows and truths you never considered. Consider what you’ve never considered before.

Consider your life-story’s beginning.

Where would you start? Don’t be too chronological. If you were going to start writing your story right this minute, what would the first scene be? Consider a vibrant welcome for your reader as she walks through the doorway of your story. Consider your most crucial moment. Consider your greatest triumph. Consider what’s actually fascinating to other people. About you.

What’s the hook to being you?

#makeyourstory

Janus god Sculpture

Janus, Roman God of Doorways

Make Your Story: Treasures from the Underworld

27 Apr

Make Your Story is a series of articles by novelist Barth Anderson about things you might consider when writing your life-story, autobiography, or when mining personal material for your art. 

In approaching your life story, you should consider that you might not know it as well as you think you do. Consider your own life the way you might consider a stranger’s. Consider it unknown territory. Terra incognita. If you don’t, you’ll miss diamonds hiding in the shadows and truths you never considered. Consider what you’ve never considered before.

Consider the darkest. Consider the most painful. Remember that time you had to walk through the underworld.

Do you remember what you were most afraid of being true while you made that trek? So afraid that you probably don’t ever tell that part of your story aloud, because you can’t bear to say the words, report what actually happened?

Let that stay unsaid – keep its mystery potent – but create a single vivid concrete symbol for it. It could be a cursed treasure or a white-eyed demon. Your underworld symbol can be frightening or it could be random, dreamlike. It can be mythic or culturally known, but it’s best if this figure resonates with threat and menace from your unspoken fear so that it hums that way in your story/performance, too.

#makeyourstory

 

Dore_Gustave_21_Curs-d_wolf_thy_fury_inward_on_thyself_prey_and_consume_thee

Gustav Dore, “Cursed wolf, thy fury inward on thyself prey and consume thee.” (1857)

 

 

Sex, Books, and Vomiting: The Life of Georges Simenon

28 Oct

Writer Georges Simenon was The Beast

Belgian detective novel writer Georges Simenon (1903 – 1989) was a writer-killing writer, the kind of writer that mama writers and daddy writers tell stories about to their baby writers in order to make them behave.  Even now, in death, Simenon could kill other writers, making Halloween week the perfect time to honor this horror, this beast.

The New Yorker ran a piece on him in the October 10 issue, and I’m still haunted, rattled by Simenon’s hyper-demonic level of productivity. Get a load of this…

* Simenon’s first novel was published at eighteen.

* Between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six, Simenon wrote 150 novels and novellas.

* During his established “mature years,” Simenon wrote 134 novels.

* His famous Inspector Maigret Saga was 75 novels and 28 short stories (a new installment came out at an average of 2.5 per year).

Were the books crap? Most assuredly were. It typically took Simenon seven to eight days to write a novel and then two or three days to revise, a pace that produced “sloppy” books that “damaged his work terribly,” according to writer Joan Acocella.

Nonetheless, as if in a B-horror slasher film, I am the bikini-clad girl who pussy-foots out into the dark for no other reason than to get a look at The Beast. Cry out to warn me if you will, but don’t you want to see, too? I mean, how on Earth…?

According to Acocella:

[Simenon] said that, upon beginning [a new book], he entered into a trance, in which, chapter by chapter, the plot came to him….When he felt a novel coming on, he cancelled all appointments and had a check-up with his doctor to make sure he could endure the stress.

How stressful was it? During his early novel-writing period,

Every morning, he sat down and completed his self-assigned daily quota of eighty typewritten pages. Then he would vomit, from the tension, and spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing.

No Microsoft Word cut-and-paste stuff either. Typewritten pages. Whatever your daily word count is, writer, you suck.

But if all that weren’t staggering on its own, Georges Simenon also boasted that he had slept with over 10,000 women — to which his long-time mistress Denyse said, “pooh, it was probably only about twelve hundred.”  Even decimated, that figure is stunning and one that begs the same question as above. How on Earth..?

One day, when Denyse was in her study conferring with one of her assistants, Joan Aitken, Simenon entered the room, wanting to have sex. “You don’t have to leave, Aitken,” Denyse said, and she and Simenon got down, briefly, on the rug.

From the novel production to the daily word count and upchuck, to the manic need for moremoremore, reading Georges Simenon’s story is like watching a compulsive animal pacing in its zoo-cage, back and forth, to and fro, waiting for feeding time or whatever craved, biological function comes next. Crapping books and puking breakfast. Acocella says it was a simple equation for Simenon, “The more product he turned out, the more he expected to earn.” And the more he earned, the more he bought (expensive houses, trips to Africa, wolves, a white stallion, prostitutes), and the more he bought, the more books he had to crap out in order to support that lifestyle. Round and round, back and forth, to and fro.

I’m not intimidated by this writer’s output (OK, maybe a little), but I watched Paranormal Activity the other night, and Simenon’s story of undead writer-life scares me a hell of a lot more.