tag:lizmonument.com,2005:/blogs/liz-s-blogLiz's Blog2023-10-17T22:13:20+01:00Liz Monumentfalsetag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/72891222023-10-17T22:13:20+01:002024-02-12T10:18:09+00:00Transitioning From the Short Story to the Novel - guest article by Dr Petra McNulty<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/6e8d6d50babcc4d8b3511fb0b05d172c87992f96/original/adobestock-138450887.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><span lang="EN-GB">This month, I asked friend and colleague Petra McNulty about the challenges involved in transitioning between short and long forms of fiction (or vice versa). To follow is Petra's article, which provides valuable insight into the differences between the forms from the perspective of a writer.</span></p><p> </p><p><u>From the Novel to the Short Story and Back Again</u></p><p><span lang="EN-GB">After writing a novel for my MA (having completed another previous to the course) I fully intended to write my PhD thesis as a novel. However, after lengthy discussion with my supervisor, I was persuaded that a short story cycle would be better suited to the subject I was exploring. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB">It was a very steep learning curve, transitioning from the novel to the short story. At the beginning, I was writing mini novels – I’d totally misunderstood the difference between the two prose forms. It took me a long time to learn that a short story usually involves one simple conflict, or a moment in time and doesn’t provide an ending or the resolution you usually find in novels. I learned to delete the beginning, dive in media res, then get out before the end. Lengthy descriptions disappeared, the language became simpler and more direct – every single word has to earn its place on the page. I was told to treat the editing process like a game of Jenga – to see how much I could remove from the story without it actually collapsing. I also discovered that short stories rely much more heavily on Wolfgang Iser’s, ‘…gaps, blanks and indeterminacies’ to allow the reader ‘the imaginative space to engage with the text’. With a short story, a lot of the spade work is left to the reader. My supervisor – an award-winning short story writer - told me that the real story wasn’t what was written on the page, it was lurking in those gaps, in what wasn’t said. I found this difficult – the difference between novel and short story writing felt like the difference between completing a normal crossword and a cryptic one. I was used to exploring ideas in great depth over the course of a novel, weaving many strands together over time, playing with multiple characters – a short story usually involves just one or two main protagonists. I eventually pared my writing down to its essentials, hinting at the real story through symbolism and suggestion and juxtaposition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB">After my PhD I embarked on another book, but this time I knew it had to take the form of a novel – albeit not quite following the traditional structure. I had two main protagonists who took it in turns to tell the story from their prospective, one in first person POV and the other in close third. These sections (as opposed to chapters) were interspersed with what I called ‘Factoids’ (thank you, Steve Wright) which underpinned – in a cynically humorous way, using a series of little known facts – what was being explored in the previous section. I hadn’t made the complete break from the short story cycle. What I had to learn to do again though, was to explore the themes of the book in depth rather than padding out the skeleton of a short story. When I first made notes for the novel, they were in short bullet points, and I realised I didn’t have enough information to write a whole book – not enough </span><i><span lang="EN-GB">happened. </span></i><span lang="EN-GB">In a short story, you can get away with very little happening as long as the main protagonist changes in some way, whereas a novel needs a dramatic arc. I discovered that the novel and the short story are different animals; they work in completely different ways. A novel is not a 250-page short story, and a short story is not a novel condensed into a few pages. To move from a short story to a novel it is essential to scale up the ideas, the characters, the conflict, and the world in which all that takes place. I had to remind myself to interrogate my characters; understand their goals/wants, their motivation(s), the obstacles in their way, the stakes. I had to think about the story arc, the setting, the inciting incident at the beginning, the first hurdle, the second hurdle, the climax – which relates back to the inciting incident – none of which are necessary in a short story. And I also remembered very quickly, how big, and unwieldy a novel is compared to a short story – how difficult it is without careful planning and, in my case, a plot grid, to keep an eye on different characters, different storylines, the arc of the story, the three acts which readers expect. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB">I’m now working on my fourth novel, I’m also writing short stories and have just begun to write Flash fiction (a different animal again). I find that I can switch between them because I now recognise ideas which can only ever be short stories and, in some cases, flash fiction, and those which demand careful unpicking over a greater length. I have found that writing short stories has made my prose more efficient, leaner, more streamlined. I cut the fat off a sentence automatically as I write it rather than having to do it at the editing stage. But I know that I have to have an in-depth, solid basis for my novel before I begin to write – the characters have to have important issues to deal with, obstacles to overcome, flaws to address, which provide enough moments of dramatic action as well as psychological depth. You can’t take a short story and pad it out to become a novel – you have to approach both endeavours differently. Personally, I have never tried to expand a short story into a novel, however, if I ever did believe a short story had legs and could be developed I think the best approach would be to analyse the character(s) in the story, and the plot as well as the theme and just begin again from scratch – approaching it as a novel not weaving new characters into the original story. A good place to start would be to ask yourself what happens at the end of the short story, where does your protagonist go from here – make that the novel. But it’s essential to realise that the difference between a short story and a novel is not simply the word count.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align:right;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Dr Petra McNulty<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p style="text-align:right;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Author, Editor, Writing Coach</span></i></p><p><i><span lang="EN-GB">18th October 2023</span></i><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/72803162023-09-29T03:21:52+01:002023-10-16T15:47:41+01:00Immersion Technique versus World Building<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/8512c1e383898975ddf5143292e2941afdbc06cc/original/web-pix-16.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p><span>World-building is great fun for us writers, but if we put too much of it on the page, it can get a little bit heavy for readers. Readers want to connect with a vibrant story </span><i><span>set</span></i><span> in the world a writer has created, rather than getting bogged down with the minutiae of how that world runs. This relates to two distinct and opposite schools of thought about how best to conjure up a fictional environment for readers: immersion, or world-building. The general concensus is that world-building is outdated, whereas immersion is pacey and exciting, and something modern readers prefer. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>Immersion technique pulls the reader into the fictional world quickly, with no explanation or lengthy introductions. Readers are literally parachuted into an adventure which is already unfolding, and we’re asked to keep up with the narrator to learn about the world on-the-hoof. Immersion technique therefore doesn’t spend many pages scene-setting, or stop to explain, to spin out backstory, to tell stories within stories, or to backtrack to include more information than is strictly necessary to the immediate unfolding scene. Modern writing (particularly anything with a thriller or mystery element) relies on immersion to create a story which unfolds at pace. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>World-building was once a staple of science fiction and fantasy novels. Writers who’ve been influenced by older fiction may be unaware of the change in trends. I've covered reading through the lens of time in my article </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/writing-tips/blog/6706149/reading-widely-versus-reading-as-a-writer-and-why-the-two-aren-t-the-same-thing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>Reading as a Writer</span></a><a data-link-type="url"><span> (here)</span></a><span>. Believe it or not, your reader will pick up everything they need to know from the ongoing story as it happens, because you already know the world in your mind, and this will come across naturally, in light touches - you won’t even have to try. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>The hardest thing will be to keep reminding yourself that us readers don’t need the detail. We just need story. This is why your world and its machinations are an invisible scaffold to hang the </span><i><span>real</span></i><span> story on. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/71892072023-04-14T07:44:03+01:002023-08-22T08:38:50+01:00Genre<p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/86070f785db246abd136c8c7cb8e733d1dcbf96e/original/adobestock-572840105.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i><span>This article was written to support ‘Voice & Style’ month, April 2023, the international UNWC (Jericho Writers).</span></i></p><p> </p><p><span>Genre is a terrific tool for labelling fiction. It’s vital to publishers’ marketing strategies, and it also helps us writers understand what to deliver in terms of reader expectation. Genre is also, in the words of Ursula Le Guin, ‘a pernicious tool of prejudice’. David Mitchell put this in a nutshell when he observed, ‘It’s a bizarre act of self-mutilation to say that ‘I don’t get on with science fiction and fantasy, therefore I’m never going to read any’. What a shame. All those great books that you’re cutting yourself off from.’ I can’t be the only SFF writer who’s baffled as to why friends and family won’t read SFF books, yet love watching SFF on film. So, genre is a double-edged sword: on the one hand we need it to evaluate (as a useful kind of shorthand) the core essence of books we’re reading or writing at any given time, yet on the other, it can be marginalizing. It makes sense for all us writers to at least be aware of this. </span></p><p> </p><p> <span>I’ve blogged about genre in brief before, </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6278069/why-is-genre-so-important" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here,</span></a><span> but this article goes a little bit deeper in excavating how understanding genre can help an aspiring debut novelist approach the commercial goal of mainstream publication. </span></p><p> </p><p><span><u>Why is identifying genre an essential tool for an aspiring debut novelist?</u></span></p><p> </p><ul><li><span>It helps you the writer decide where you might sit, commercially, on a bookshelf;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>This helps when searching out literary agents who are interested in the kind of work you’re writing. If you send out to the wrong agent, you may find your approach email and sample chapters summarily deleted;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>If you self-publish on-line, you can choose from a list of genres and subgenres to catalogue your work, which will promote your e-book when readers use those search terms;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Identifying genre helps a writer to spot the story elements which need to be honored, and to carefully select the things which might be played with, adapted, or perhaps ignored.</span></li></ul><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/7ae869e190773ce48c52b6d562abbdc57978a33b/original/adobestock-604744634.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p><span><u>Word Choices, and How they Relate to Genre</u></span></p><p> </p><p><span>Consider the tone of ghost stories, horror, or gothic thrillers. Creating darkness is often best achieved by using imagery relating to things a reader will already associate with hauntings, suspense and fear. Below, are some short examples taken from Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s gothic real-world fantasy </span><i><span>The Shadow of the Wind </span></i><span>(2001)</span><i><span>, </span></i><span>and Adam Nevill’s horror novel </span><i><span>The Vessel </span></i><span>(2022). Each of these books relies heavily on painting a dark landscape to increase suspense, and to enhance the reader's sense of dread. Word choices are paramount in achieving this. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 123 – </span><i><span>The Shadow of the Wind - </span></i><span>‘The door gave way like a tombstone, with a sudden groan, exhaling dank, foul-smelling air… Spiraling threads of grime and dust hung from the ceiling like white hair. The broken floor tiles were covered by what looked like a layer of ash.’ </span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 9 – </span><i><span>The Vessel – </span></i><span>‘A stillness profound enough to be uncanny hushes a woodland glade. Trees encircle the placid water of a circular pond therein, the surface a black mirror reflecting a sombre sky.’</span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 171 - </span><i><span>The Shadow of the Wind - </span></i><span>‘Nuria Monfort lived adrift in shadows… The entire apartment was sunk in perpetual gloom, like a block of darkness propped up between peeling walls. It smelled of black tobacco, cold, and absence.’</span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 23 – </span><i><span>The Vessel – </span></i><span>‘Dirty crockery litters countertops and fills the sink. An accumulation of grime on each side of the kitchen windows strains the sunlight a dusty brown and adds decades to the already dated cabinets and appliances.’</span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 182 - </span><i><span>The Shadow of the Wind - </span></i><span>‘Dusk fell almost surreptitiously, with a cold breeze and a mantle of purple light that slid between the gaps in the streets.’</span></p><p> </p><p><span>P 87 – </span><i><span>The Vessel – </span></i><span>‘Face strained and hair mussed, Jess dips her hand inside the murky shade inside the last light fitting on the ground floor, inside the porch. She drops the exhausted bulb, its glass a musty brown, into the bag at the front of the collapsible steps…’</span></p><p> </p><p><span>None of these extracts refer to horrific things actually happening, yet they’re all terrific examples of how word usage in scene-setting can still exploit inherent darkness to color the expectations of the reader, even before anything bad happens. Zafon and Nevill trade on our previous associations with dark, gothic imagery by - </span></p><p> </p><ul><li><span>Using storms and/or night-time to set pivotal scenes (which induce the reader’s fear of the dark, and of wild natural elements such as thunder, lightning, deep water, and lonely places);</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Trading on the reader’s ingrained knowledge of the gothic tradition, by repeating images which have widely understood messages - stone statues, candlelight, big old creaky doors, darkness, shadows, the sense of threat from an unknown, unquantifiable or mysterious source;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Using abandoned or decrepit buildings as a setting. Old buildings are famously linked with hauntings (and to strange and frightening events which unfolded long before the current story begins);</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>By excavating human unhappiness – when the characters are described in these extracts, they’re clearly not in a good place. Both Jess and Nuria appear in these snapshots as people almost trapped in a world which isn’t of their own making. </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span><u>Word choices in these extracts</u>: tombstone, dank, grime, broken, uncanny, black mirror, sombre, gloom, peeling, absence, dirty, dusty brown, dust, surreptitiously, murky, exhausted, musty brown. Each of these promotes a sense of darkness, decay, and of the past somehow pushing its way into the present (and not in a good way). </span></li></ul><p> </p><p><span>In an interview about his writing process, Zafon said of </span><i><span>The Shadow of the Wind</span></i><span>, ‘</span><span style="color:black;">The idea is to write stories around… the cemetery of forgotten books, exploring this gothic, mysterious universe through different characters and storylines… perhaps it would have been more commercially advisable to… write a straight sequel and pick up the story where we left it, but it was never my idea to do so and I think it is more interesting to play around with the narrative spaces and lines to pull the reader into a fictional universe that plays by its own rules.</span><span>’ </span><i><span>Three Monkeys Online</span></i><span>, ‘Books Hold No Passport – Carlos Ruiz Zafon discusses </span><i><span>The Shadow of The Wind,’ </span></i><span>by Steve Porter, article undated. Read the full article </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.threemonkeysonline.com/books-hold-no-passport-carlos-ruiz-zafn-discusses-the-shadow-of-the-wind/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>.</span></p><p> </p><p><span>In a similar craft interview, Neville said: ‘</span><span style="color:#181D2F;">I read the best in my field, study how they create certain effects. I put myself there imaginatively, make the scenes multi-sensory, immediate. On language, I strive not to overwrite, watch adjectives; strive to be precise with nouns and verbs. Strive for clarity – not easy. And begin to find a sentence’s rhythm, a paragraphs internal rhythm, as I rewrite. Same every time. My first drafts are appalling. Unless I continually revisit scenes with fresh eyes – 4 to 6 weeks between drafts – I cannot possibly see what is wrong with my writing. Some descriptive writing just appears formed, most has to be revised several times.’ <i>AutoCrit, </i>‘Ask the Author:<i> </i>Adam Nevill,’ article undated.<i> </i>Read the full article </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.autocrit.com/blog/ask-author-adam-nevill/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span style="color:#181D2F;">here</span></a><span style="color:#181D2F;">. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>What these author interviews reveal doesn’t just relate to working practices like the art of redrafting and the use of verbs, it relates to how understanding genre itself maps into a writer’s daily work. Nevill consciously learns from other writers in the horror genre; Zafon, despite the novel being set in the ‘real’ world of 1950’s Spain, acknowledges both the fantastical and the gothic aspects of his story-world, which he showcases with language drawn from these story/genre traditions. Connecting with how authors describe their process is a great example of how reading widely around the craft can benefit all us writers, because if we stick to reading only the same kind of fiction we want to write, and if we never connect with what writers have to say about their own work and why/how they do what they do, we’re only getting half the story. Digging further underneath the craft itself is the reason why my weekly resources for this month’s </span><i><span>UNWC</span></i><span> don’t just focus on that particular week’s topic. I’ve included author interviews, craft articles, book reviews, recordings and seemingly unrelated resources to illustrate that the more widely us writers read around the craft itself, the more we get to open our minds to the different ways authors do what they do. The more we can do this, the more it filters into our own understanding, and brings depth and subtlety to our own work. </span></p><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/79dca63f379d200e0ad96ca694b33db4b944a9b5/original/adobestock-565176893.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p><span><strong>Subgenre</strong></span></p><p> </p><p><span>Subgenre sits below the main catch-all term genre. It gives an extra layer of definition to a work which might otherwise be only broadly defined. A useful example is fantasy. ‘Fantasy’ is a wide umbrella term; fantasy fiction includes epic fantasy, urban fantasy, alternate history, magical realism, steampunk, and various other incarnations. I’d describe each of these as subgenres to the overarching genre of fantasy (some readers may choose a different way to express this, but as a writing coach, I need to make things as logical and uncluttered as possible when explaining subgenre to clients who might only have previously considered it in the broadest terms). Not all agents deal in all fantasy subgenres (some will love urban fantasy but won’t represent epic, for example), so it’s important to understand how these subgenres are delineated, at the very least so that you don’t send your MS to the wrong person. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>If fantasy writing is your main genre, there are other things worth bearing in mind, too: the old-style journey story favored by Tolkien, where a gang of friends navigate a new and dangerous landscape in sequential adventures (rather than one main narrator steering the reader through a story with one overarching plot), is considered quite dated today. As an editor, I receive a significant number of Tolkienesque novels for assessment each year, with many writers citing that because Tolkien is an all-time best seller, he’s still a useful blueprint to emulate. If you’re heavily influenced by Tolkien, or those later writers whose work was informed by Tolkien’s, or if you find yourself writing an old-style epic adventure journey, I’d recommend reading widely enough around your genre (including newly published voices) to understand what’s fresh, and why Tolkien can’t be done again in terms of style and content. All us writers need to write for today’s readership rather than yesterday’s, which means keeping up with genre developments. </span></p><p> </p><p><span><u>World Building Versus the Immersion Technique</u></span></p><p> </p><p><span>'World-building’ and ‘immersion technique’ are two styles of writing notable in the fantasy genre, but which also apply to other genres of fiction. ‘World-building’ is shorthand for the detailed and perhaps more traditional way of creating your novel’s environment. It relies on lots of explanation and exposition (otherwise known as ‘telling’, which I’ve blogged about </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/7126480/showing-and-telling-a-more-detailed-look-at-the-how-and-why" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>, and </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6661901/show-don-t-tell-a-writer-s-guide" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>). Not surprisingly, world-building is particularly prevalent in some fantasy and SF landscapes (notably in older novels, but also in the work of bestselling writers who get to break the rules in ways an aspiring debut can’t). World-building also often tells stories within stories, including sequential adventures designed to show off various elements of a new fantasy world and its history. ‘Immersion technique’ does the opposite, because it relies on very little detailed explanation and instead literally parachutes the reader into an adventure which is often already unfolding as we hit the first page. We’re expected to catch up and to keep up, so there’s no time for worldbuilding as such, only the lightest of touches to sketch the landscape. Readers get the chance to join the dots for themselves, or perhaps wait until the story reveals further clues (on a need-to-know only basis); eventually, we’ll get a full picture of what’s happening in terms of understanding any backstory, but this very rarely includes aspects of religions, legends, different countries, customs or beliefs in this new landscape, unless these are directly relevant to what happens in the plot’s core heartbeat. It’s fair to say that the immersion technique is generally the most popular way to unfold any story for readers today, but it’s particularly relevant to fantasy. Perhaps this is because society has changed so much since Tolkien’s day. People’s lives are lived faster than ever today, with a wide variety of options for spending free time, more than were available to previous generations. Modern readers can escape into a fictional environment within moments, by switching on a film or by gaming. In the past, this wasn’t possible, so readers had much more patience (the alternatives just didn’t exist). The huge amount of effort it takes to map out a large and colorful new book-world (which may span several publications) isn’t necessarily the most appealing option for many readers today. There are always exceptions to the rule, and it’s true that epic fantasy is still being read, written and signed, but it’s also fair to say that if you’re an aspiring debut fantasy author, you’d statistically have a better chance of publication with a non-epic fantasy novel which follows a more up-to-date blueprint. </span></p><p> </p><p><span>With regards to world-building in real-world (non-fantasy) novels, it can still happen. Anywhere a writer labors over the environment or explores the minutiae in unnecessary detail, it’s probably down to excessive world-building. This can happen in any genre of fiction, including corporate thrillers, say, where too many scenes unfold in office environments and meetings, and where the input of an unnecessarily large cast is evolved in detail. It can also happen in historical novels set in relatively recent years, such as the 1970’s rock scene, say, if a writer has just as much fun describing the lifestyle and backdrop as they do unfolding a story set in that era. These are things that most MS assessors come across quite often in aspiring debut novels; fixing these issues demands a slight change of mindset so that the ‘real’ story is allowed to shine out, but it’s doable with some cutting and reworking. </span></p><p> </p><p><span><strong>What are Genre Tropes?</strong></span></p><p> </p><p><span>Tropes are the conventions of a genre. They’re elements which recur in story, over and again. Tropes are therefore the aspects of genre which help to define it. Tropes can be obvious in some genres: ghost stories depend on a ghost and tend to have a haunted house of sorts; crime thrillers have a crime (often a murder), which the reader (mostly) expects to be solved by the investigative protagonist. Not all genre tropes are so clearly cut, though. Dystopian fiction is one example. It’s easy to fall into writing dystopian fiction almost by accident (plenty of clients admit that this has happened to them), thanks to its current popularity in film and YA novels, without necessarily pinpointing the key genre tropes which serve as useful ground-rules for this kind of story. I’ve previously blogged about dystopian fiction tropes </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6661654/what-is-dystopian-fiction" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>. As an editor and MS assessor, I often receive novels labelled ‘dystopian’ which omit vital tropes, which basically prevents the novel from working to its optimum. If, as writers, we can identify the elements needed as early as possible, even at the planning stage before putting pen to paper, it can save us time and energy, and can help to make plot and character more solid. </span></p><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/6e8d6d50babcc4d8b3511fb0b05d172c87992f96/original/adobestock-138450887.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p><span>Below, as an example of how tropes are fundamental to genre, I’ve listed the major tropes of the classic ghost story. These are quite easy to understand, because everybody has previous knowledge of ghost stories, thanks to the aural tradition (you don’t need to be a literature buff to understand a haunting, or a curse which lasts beyond the grave):</span></p><p> </p><ul><li><span>The ghost story deals with a disturbed soul who has unfinished business on the earthly plane;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>The origins of the ghost story are set long ago. Certain facts may be uncovered by our modern-day narrator, but the truth remains at a sufficient distance to be a mystery throughout much of the story; </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>A protagonist/narrator finds him or herself caught up in the ghost’s activity in the here-and-now;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>A detective thread appears as the protagonist sleuths and discovers elements of what happened long ago - this mystery helps to keep the pages turning;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Our narrator must find the ghost’s secret, then lay it to rest by carrying out a restorative action. This might be discovering a grave, burning a book, burying an artefact, or anything which the restless spirit needs doing in order to be at peace;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Ghost stories have a ‘locus’, a place where events are situated. In most cases, this is a (haunted) house;</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>True ghost stories don’t need to step into horror, but they may do. </span></li></ul><p> </p><p><span> All this seems fairly logical, but problems can arise if us writers aren’t fully aware of these things when we set out to write a novel. At the end of the process, during self-editorial we might spot that the story doesn’t seem to hold together properly, or we might feel it begins to wander. The next section, troubleshooting, deals with reviewing a work-in-progress through an editorial eye, with regards to aspects of genre - what problems are common, and can be easily identified and therefore avoided or fixed?</span></p><p> </p><p><span><strong>Troubleshooting your novel-in-progress with regards to Genre, Subgenre, and Tropes</strong></span></p><p> </p><p><span>It’s absolutely true that all us writers should be able to write exactly what we want, from genre mashups to new incarnations of old forms. But, it’s also true that being aware of genre and its tropes will help us to streamline our genre-bending with an awareness which ensures we don’t let elements pull against each other. So, you might’ve set off writing by instinct, and now you’re fretting that all your hard work could’ve been for nothing. You might have reached an impasse towards the end of every novel you’ve attempted, and not understand why (this happened to me for many years until I took coaching, which I’ve blogged about </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6314163/the-path-to-improving-your-fiction" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>, and </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6480962/working-as-a-writing-mentor" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>). If you’re worried that you might not have paid enough attention to genre, subgenre or its associated tropes, panic not. First of all, know that this is normal. All us writers have done exactly the same thing – it’s almost a rite of passage! The next step is to troubleshoot how genre relates to your own story. Here are some trends I’ve noticed, as a MS assessor:</span></p><p> </p><ul><li>
<span>Literary fiction: writers have read somewhere that plot doesn’t matter in literary fiction, because character growth takes precedence. The story therefore wanders and there’s lots of internal rumination (always slow for a reader). Plot always matters, irrespective of whether a novel is literary or is proudly genre. Read </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Into-Woods-Stories-Work-Tell/dp/0141978104" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>John Yorke’s </span><i><span>Into the Woods </span></i></a><span>to learn why.</span>
</li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>The ghost story: the locus changes – it starts as a haunted house and ends up randomly on an island at the other side of the world, or on a boat out to sea. If these things aren’t linked in the story, the reader will struggle to understand the connection, which will undermine the drama. </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Dystopian fiction: the narrator isn’t an underdog and doesn’t have a clearly defined quest to change an aspect of his/her unfair society. The narrator might live a too-comfortable life, or have too much autonomy in this grim futuristic world – both of these things pull against major tropes of dystopian fiction, and will lessen the drama in the story.</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>The Horror novel: the antagonist is based on special effects from film, and is drawn from a dozen different horror sources which are unconnected. We need a logical link between every horrific incarnation of your antagonist and what it actually is (a primaeval force? A werewolf with shapeshifting powers? A society of zombies? A ghost with the power of solidity during the full moon?). Keep everything streamlined (remembering that the full backstory rationale is mostly for you, the writer, in an author-eyes-only document which will help keep you on track). </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Literary fiction: novels labelled as literary by their authors, when they’re clearly a young adult LGBTIA+ romance or a punchy trope-heavy spy thriller. Never shy away from genre if you write genre fiction, because labelling it ‘literary’ won’t suddenly make it more appealing to an agent. If you’ve used the genre tropes of a supernatural romance (eg, vampire falls in love with human), present it to an agent as just that, and embrace that you’re writing genre fiction. You can be as sophisticated as you like with sentence structure, word choices and theme/motif, but you’re still writing genre fiction.</span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Genre elements which pull against each other as the story unfolds: it might be SF romance in which the worldbuilding knocks the characters out of the way and changes the focus of the story; it might be too much erotica in a novel which is billed as urban fantasy (erotica is a genre of its own for a good reason); it might be a child’s adventure story in which the adults (usually grandparents) push the child protagonist out of the way to steer the story on his or her behalf. Read widely enough around new voices in your chosen genre to understand the popular tropes of that genre in today’s market. Read older fiction through the wider and wiser lens of history, being aware of changes in the market since it was written. </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Genre series fiction: for eg, fantasy, crime/investigative novels which don’t have a proper conclusion at the end. All novels need to be standalone and to be concluded properly. Readers will only return to read the rest of the series if the writer has done a good job with the first book. They won’t want to read more if the story is simply unfinished, because that’s not the way good series fiction works. </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li>
<span>Chronicling the world: stories which excavate the world rather than tell a story particular to that narrator </span><i><span>within</span></i><span> that world – this applies equally to real-world as to fantasy fiction. To avoid using your characters to unfold the environment rather than the real story, keep the cast small, and give the lead narrator a proper purpose. S/he must want to achieve something, and this should remain central to the unfolding narrative (and should come with great risk attached) – it’s the suspense which keeps readers reading, across all genres (including literary fiction).</span>
</li></ul><p> </p><ul><li><span>Thrillers: stories in which the thriller element is submerged beneath a comfortable lifestyle and effortless sleuthing – our protagonist is never truly in danger, and is rarely uncomfortable or challenged. ‘Cosy crime’ novels exist, so if you acknowledge that you’re writing a cosy crime thriller, read widely within this subgenre so that you can assess the level of darkness and threat generally required. Mainstream thrillers need to feel dark, tense and to put the narrator at risk. </span></li></ul><p> </p><ul><li>
<span>Superhero novels: Marvel-influenced stories which the author has based on film without truly exploring the tropes of the superhero genre (or the differences between film and written fiction, which I’ve blogged about </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6787813/film-tv-the-influence-of-visual-fiction-on-novel-writing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>). Origin myths exist for a reason (find out more about them </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/the-psychology-behind-superhero-origin-stories-4015776/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span> – they’re backstory to many adventures, but they’re vital to inform the motivations of the character). The superhero’s costume has a huge history and various genre associations which go much deeper than simply donning a pair of tights and a mask. Read more about this </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://imagetextjournal.com/review-of-the-superhero-costume-identity-and-disguise-in-fact-and-fiction/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>. Accept that it’s unlikely you’ll have a superhero novel signed by a mainstream publisher, because the comic/graphic novel/film incarnations of superhero fiction have been fairly much bagged already. However, fan-fic and self-publishing projects are certainly doable. If you’d like to know more about fan-fic, </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://becomeawritertoday.com/what-is-fanfiction/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>see this article</span></a><span>. If you want to know more about self-publishing, click </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://writersvictoria.org.au/resources/publishing-tips-and-tools/guide-self-publishing/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>. </span>
</li></ul><p> </p><p><span>The troubleshooting above isn’t exhaustive, but it’s a useful thought-provoker, as well as being a general barometer for the kind of things professional readers encounter, and the kind of mistakes or omissions all us writers make at some point. The important thing is to keep putting one foot in front of the other: these things are a regular part of the ongoing writer’s journey. Every mistake is still a step in the right direction, because everything we get wrong can still be learned from. No writing is ever truly wasted. </span></p><p> </p><p><i><span>This article was written as a resource to accompany my lead tutor month (‘Voice & Style’) for the international Unlimited Novel Writing Course. Jericho Writers UNWC runs for a year, during which time students work on their own projects, helped by industry experts and a wide array of resources. Find out more about </span></i><a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/jericho-writers/about-us/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><i><span>Jericho Writers here</span></i></a><i><span>. Find out more about the </span></i><a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/ultimate-novel-writing-course-uk/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><i><span>UK/Europe UNWC here</span></i></a><i><span>. Find out more about the </span></i><a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/ultimate-novel-writing-course-us/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><i><span>international UNWC here</span></i></a><i><span>. </span></i></p><p><i><span>April 2023</span></i></p><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/a3be2e3e306bfb69ef45707b3d7b1499c6fd3b67/original/adobestock-606446384.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/71743702023-03-19T03:51:30+00:002023-08-22T08:19:41+01:00Love, Death and Magic <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/7ae869e190773ce48c52b6d562abbdc57978a33b/original/adobestock-604744634.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>Three places where the prose slows down: love, death, and magic.</p><p> </p><p><span>Editorial is often about paring things back. It might mean removing unnecessary words, sentences or even paragraphs which seem to slow a story down. It could mean reducing dialogue or scene-setting description, or taking out backstory, or even excessive character detail. Mostly, what happens after this process is that the story is distilled into a more potent essence – it’s the same, but a more powerful version of itself. If a writer can say the same thing in fewer words, the prose generally reads with more pace, which increases the drama, and keeps the reader on board.</span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>There are specific times when the ‘cutting back’ rule doesn’t apply, though. In these places, the reader needs more detail. These are points in the story when things become emotionally heightened for a character/narrator. To paint stress, danger or intense emotion vividly for the reader, it means taking us into that character’s heightened perceptions: everything becomes amplified; colours become brighter; sounds seem somehow louder; time slows down, and the minutiae stand out. The character observes fine detail around them because momentarily, they can’t filter it out. In real life rather than in fiction, these are the kinds of things which remain stamped into the memory years after they’ve happened. As writers, we need to recreate this in the detail we put on the page. </span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>In novels with a strong magical, science fiction or supernatural element, a narrator might witness something truly awe-inspiring in terms of futuristic technology, wizardry, or the occult. These kinds of scenes require more detail, too. Often, in aspiring debut novels, writers neglect the layering up of otherworldly or fantastical elements. The prose might rely on describing TV-style special effects (‘she vanished in a cloud of smoke and blue lightening’) or it might announce something summarily and expect the reader to take it on board without question (‘I suddenly heard a voice in my head’). These are the bits which need building up with layers of sensory detail, with attention to colours, textures and sensations, adding unusual or original word choices wherever possible. </span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>It’s easiest to think of all this as the love, death and magic rule. If you find yourself writing about any of these things, include the fine detail. The chances are, it will help the character to bounce off the page. </span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>I’ve blogged about avoiding visual fiction as an influence for written fiction, </span><a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6787813/film-tv-the-influence-of-visual-fiction-on-novel-writing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url"><span>here</span></a><span>.</span></p><p> </p><p><i><span>March 2023</span></i></p><p> </p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/71264802022-12-21T19:37:26+00:002023-08-18T07:48:35+01:00Showing and Telling - a more detailed look at the how and why<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/c0a3f91b5fbccce2efde2e07065e435d6f881e9c/original/adobestock-606916669.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Feedback from clients tells me that while ‘show don’t tell’ is something of a writer’s mantra, it can be tricky to find specific information relating to the mechanics. Here are some brief examples, with explanations: </p><p> </p><p>Showing – this is anything happening in the moment, right now. A writer uses showing to take us through real-time moments of a character’s life, whilst they’re unfolding. Simple examples include, ‘She pulled out a chair and sat down,’ and, ‘The leaves crunched underfoot as Anna crossed the lawn.’ Both these sentences deal with things which are happening now, so we’re mentally watching them unfold at the same time as the character experiences them. Using past or present tense doesn’t affect this: ‘She pulls out a chair and sits down,’ is showing, just as, ‘The leaves crunch underfoot as Anna crosses the lawn’ is showing. </p><p> </p><p>Telling – this is anything which has already happened. It’s basically an explanation of sorts. The character might refer back to events, or might reminisce about them, review them or explain them to the reader – if it’s in the past and it’s already happened, it’s telling. Some coaches/editors refer to telling as ‘exposition’. Telling might read as, ‘That morning as she’d pulled out a chair and sat down, Bill had warned her that…’ or, ‘The leaves had crunched underfoot as Anna had crossed the lawn on her way to discover Melanie’s body frozen in the snow.’ </p><p> </p><p>The reason that showing is considered more vibrant than telling is because readers like to follow characters as they experience things in-the-moment, rather than reading a review about things which have already happened. So, if Bill is going to issue a warning to our female narrator after she’s pulled out her chair and sat down, then it’s much more fun for us readers to feel her discomfort as she sees (in real time) the grim downturn of his mouth and the nervous tick in his cheek – she doesn’t know what’s coming, and so us readers don’t, either. This builds suspense. Likewise, if Anna is going to discover Melanie dead on the lawn, then carry us readers with her in the moment. That way, we’ll witness Melanie’s outstretched body under a fine covering of white, her lashes crisped by ice, at the moment Anna sees her. This will help us to feel Anna’s shock. What isn’t quite so dramatic for the reader is having all this unfolded in hindsight, because there’s no shock for the character (who’s now reviewing what happened). Crucially, we know that our narrator/lead character is OK, because these past events are most likely being related from a position of safety. When Anna discovers Melanie on the lawn in-the-moment, we don’t know how Melanie died – she might’ve been murdered, and whoever did it might still be lurking in the trees watching Anna, waiting to pounce. This brings tension to the story. Related in hindsight, we’d assume that Anna is now home safely, and has probably already called the police, because the discovery of Melanie’s body is in the past. This is why showing brings things to life in the moment, whereas telling deadens the drama by relegating them to the past. </p><p> </p><p>Clients sometimes ask, ‘But how can I write a ‘past’ thread in showing, if it happened fifty years before my main story?’ There’s a simple fix. Just let the reader know the story is set back in time, and then ‘show’ events from fifty years ago, as though they’re happening right now. Reading as a writer will illustrate that this is generally how double timeline novels unfold. You’ll see that chapters or sections written in the past are often headed by a date or a character’s name to situate us readers; sometimes, chapters or sections set in the past are written in italics (for exactly the same reason – so that they stand out as belonging to a different timeline). In a novel with a changing timeline, a skilled writer can situate us readers in an era so strongly that, once the story gets going, mere mention of a character’s name will flag up which historical period that particular chapter is devoted to. </p><p> </p><p>Telling which works: anything brief, punchy, emotionally vivid, or relating to the scene unfolding at that moment, will work well as telling. Examples might be things like, ‘Arram had beaten Mo to within an inch of his life,’ or, ‘She’d always hated that jacket – it reminded her of the time he’d had too much red wine and had collapsed in front of her boss, costing her a promotion.’ These are past events, they’re being explained, so they’re telling, but if Mo is having PTSD flashbacks in the here-and-now, and if our female narrator is right now grittily watching her estranged husband at an awkward family gathering, then the ‘told’ info is taut enough to earn its place within the in-the-moment showing. Best avoided are big chunks of text which explain a character’s upbringing/characteristics/which stand out as information-dumps, at the point that character is introduced into the narrative. Also out are long passages devoted to explaining episodes from a character’s past. Professional readers are quick to spot a writer who hasn't yet arrived at a fully commercial draft, and clumsy use of 'telling' is one of the giveaways. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, clients will name an author they absolutely love, and will point out that author uses telling freely. Clients wonder why they’ve been advised not to do the same. Here are some reasons that a published author might get away with more telling than an aspiring debut author: </p><p> </p><p>Some writers, like Adrian Tchaikovsky and Anne Enright, for eg, write vividly enough to get away with telling in chunks - check them out, and work out how and why they’ve achieved it (this is reading as a writer, and it’s vital to the craft). </p><p><br>Other writers, like Jilly Cooper and Jeff Van Der Meer, for eg, already have such a fan following that they can get away with breaking the show-don’t-tell rules and still be widely read. Aspiring debut novelists won’t get this luxury.</p><p> <br>Some older fiction features elements which today’s writer wouldn’t get away with. This can be anything from world-building exposition in epic fantasy, to the kind of explanatory oration which appears in Fleming’s Bond novels (which isn’t stylistically fashionable enough be signed today). This is why it’s best to avoid some bestselling novels as an influence for your own writing. </p><p> </p><p>All us writers need to move with the times, which is why it’s necessary to read new voices (alongside the old favourites) to keep abreast of today’s market. As Harry Bingham notes in <i>How to Write a Novel</i>, ‘You must write for the market as it is today. If you don’t feel like it, feel free to write for yourself and for your friends. Just give up any thought of commercial publication.’</p><p> </p><p><i>22nd December 2022</i></p><p> </p><p>Read an earlier article on 'Show Don't Tell' <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/6661901/show-don-t-tell-a-writer-s-guide" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">here. </a></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/70038372022-06-29T02:21:44+01:002023-08-18T07:46:09+01:00Writing Sex in fiction: a Complete Guide<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/75c01bfb0efc7bca471d5f8cebc71fd16708b4b1/original/adobestock-99598608.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p>When a Jericho Writers blog on 'writing sex' arrived in my inbox this morning, I just knew I had to share. It's written by Jacqueline Silvester, and it answers all those questions aspiring debut authors might feel awkward about asking. </p><p> </p><p>About the author: Jacqueline Silvester is author of the YA <i>Wunderkids</i> trilogy, and co-writes paranormal romance as Caedis Knight. A screenwriter and producer, she's worked with large names such as Netflix, Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon. She lives in Berlin with her husband, and husky Laika. For more on Jacqueline, see her website, Twitter, or Amazon author page.</p><p> </p><p>'A lot of authors have their doubts about writing sex. How much do you include? What should you leave out? How do you structure a sex scene? How do you move past the awkwardness of it all? </p><p>Most writers find sex scenes harder to write than dialogue and action. Yet sultry scenes don’t have to be a literary challenge. </p><p>In this guide, you will learn how to approach your sex scenes, how to have fun writing them, how to use them as vessels for characterisation and plot development, and lastly, how to decide whether you need the sex scenes in the first place. </p><p><strong>The Challenge of Writing Sex Scenes </strong></p><p>Writing sex can be challenging, and many authors fear how their scenes will be received by readers. Readers can be highly critical when it comes to a bad sex scene. In fact, there’s even an award by the Literary Review for bad sex in literature. Take a look at these eye-opening excerpts from last year’s contenders. </p><p>Writing about sex makes us vulnerable – no one would deny that. Writers worry their family might read it, that readers may cringe or gasp or yawn at their scenes and judge them. It’s a lot more intimate to be judged on your sex scene than on your action, settings or dialogue, and many authors dread receiving feedback on how they write sex. Other authors want to include a sex scene but are worried about the mechanics of putting the scene on paper. How should the characters act? What should you describe? What should you not describe? How much is too much? </p><p>These worries, albeit valid, should not stop you from including sex scenes in your work. A sex scene is still just a scene, and chances are if you’re applying the same craftsmanship to these scenes that you apply to the rest of your work, then your readers are no more or less likely to judge it harshly or like it any less. And yes, your aunt Margaret might get a hold of your spicy scene, but that’s just something you’re going to have to live with (unless you consider using a pen name. Check out our complete guide to pen names and our pros and cons of pen names). </p><p>If you feel that sex scenes will add depth to your work (no one appreciates a gratuitous sex scene that’s irrelevant to the plot), or if sex is integral to your genre (such as romance novels), then there are ways to make writing a sex scene easier and even fun. </p><p><strong>Tips for Writing Effective Sex Scenes </strong></p><p>Depending on your genre, readers will either be surprised by your sex scenes, or already expecting them. Expectations such as these can add more pressure to the writer, but here are some things you can do to make sure your scene delivers. </p><p><strong>Read Many Sex Scenes </strong></p><p>To write decent sex scenes then it’s important to read sex scenes written by other authors. When you sit down to write your hot scene, it’s likely you will quickly run out of creative ways to say “thrust,” or “straddled” or “throbbing member” (perhaps don’t say ‘throbbing member’). Seeing how other authors are able to keep descriptions interesting and avoid repetition or laugh-out-loud clichés (like comparing genitals to fruit), will inspire you in your own work and help you with your scene. Reading sex scenes from highly acclaimed and popular romance novels means you will be reading carefully edited scenes where the rhythm, metaphors and terminology have all been edited to the highest standard, meaning you can study and incorporate this flow into your own first attempts. Also, try to read diversely – from a sex scene in a thriller or a romance novel, to hardcore erotica. A lot can be learned across genres and understanding the varying degrees of intensity you may require for your own work. </p><p><strong>Ensure it’s Necessary </strong></p><p>If you are questioning whether to write a sex scene, ask yourself how integral it is to the plot. Does it move the action forward? Does it deepen the stakes and the characterisation? Will the story be as enjoyable without it? Will it carry as much meaning? Is a sex scene expected in your genre? </p><p>If you can fade to black or allude to them having slept together in another way, and that feels more natural for your book – then try that. Just because your characters have sex doesn’t mean your readers need to be in the room too. Sex scenes that are forced or gratuitous are like any other unnecessary scene – a waste of time, energy, and words. </p><p><strong>Hot Tip: Examine Your Chosen Genre </strong></p><p>Sex scenes can be very important for a novel’s plot, and in some genres they are downright integral. Sexier genres include Erotica, Romance, Paranormal Romance, and a branch of steamy adult Fantasy (think bestselling authors like Sarah J. Maas, who are currently taking bookstores by storm). Sex scenes are important because they characterise relationships and move the plot along, but they can also be important because the reader expects and wants them. The idea that sex sells is not lost in the literary business and it’s no surprise the <i>50 Shades of Grey</i> books took the top three spots for the bestselling books from 2010-2020! </p><p>If you are writing in these genres, consider including a well-placed sex scene. If you are writing outside of genres that expect sex, only include it if it feels genuine to you, integral to the story, or necessary for character or relationship development. Sex scenes can also be used to add colour to the setting (such as a drunken orgy to illustrate the gluttony and wealth of a Roman family in your book) but whatever you do, do not include it gratuitously. The advice would be the same for any type of scene. </p><p><strong>Don’t be Modest </strong></p><p>Look, no one wants porn shot by a nun. Writing a sex scene is like art directing a tasteful nude shoot – shame, modesty, indignation, and personal bias all need to be left at the door along with the robe if the scene is to come across as genuine. Your discomfort will affect how you write and how a scene will read, so it’s the first thing you need to tackle. Think of it this way, you wouldn’t let the fact you feel uncomfortable stabbing people with swords keep you from writing an epic medieval fight scene. </p><p>If you leave out too much detail or keep it too vague, you will only be cheating the reader. </p><p><strong>Include Enough Detail </strong></p><p>Great sex writing leaves a lot to the reader’s imagination, yet it must also convey a balanced amount of detail. Of course, how much you include also depends on genre (as you can imagine, Erotica leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, laying out each tryst in all its sordid glory). </p><p>Researching and reading widely across your genre will also help you decide how much detail to include. As an artist you are of course free to break these conventions, but make sure it’s with good reason and with your target audience in mind. </p><p>If you feel your historical fiction needs a 5,000-word sex scene, which is uncommon in that genre, make sure you know why it will add depth to your story. Don’t indulge in too much detail (yes, I know it can be fun), but likewise don’t skim over details either. </p><p>And remember – most people know how sex works. You don’t have to include every literal in and out. Good sex writing isn’t about the mechanics but about the emotion, flow, and imagery. </p><p><strong>Write from the Characters’ Perspectives </strong></p><p>Just like sex between two people in the real world, no sex between two characters should or would ever be the same. Sex is a direct extension of the character’s personality. You have to be true to their perspective when writing it, and true to your story so far. The last thing you want to do is insert a generic “who put what where” scene. </p><p>Put yourself in both the minds and positions of the characters in the scene. If your novel is dual POV, try describing the sex from both perspectives and treat it as a way of extending the reader’s understanding of the character – including mannerisms and deep characterisation. Why would the character like this and that? What would they say? Which actions would make them feel embarrassment, or joy, or excitement? What rhythm would feel natural to them and why? How a character has sex is no different to imagining what they would order in a restaurant, or how they dress. Even if your book isn’t split POV, doing a writing exercise where you write out the scene from the perspective of both participants could be beneficial. </p><p><strong>Build Tension </strong></p><p>Building tension is important in any scene, and even more so in a sex scene. You can’t have a two hundred page lead-up to a steamy scene and then have the sex be over in one page. Similarly, if your romantic interests just met and they are already going at it, your readers are not likely to be invested emotionally. So, build tension leading up to the act, but also don’t forget to build tension throughout the scene itself. No one wants the literary equivalent of a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am.’ </p><p><strong>Don’t Overlook Emotion</strong> </p><p>Sex scenes shouldn’t be all about the mechanics – they should include the emotional responses and experiences of the characters involved. This is the perfect moment to incorporate characterisation into the scene. What is the character feeling? How are they responding? What do their actions and rhythm say about what they are feeling? Sex should reveal as much about a character as a good piece of dialogue, or showing them in a high-stakes situation, would do. </p><p><strong>Make it Real (or Don’t) </strong></p><p>In order for sex scenes to be believable they need to be realistic and not idealised. That’s not to say you can’t have an alien having sex with a vampire. Just that if they both keep overpraising each other, and the emotions are flat, and everyone climaxes after two minutes, your reader will feel like they’ve been pulled out of the story and doused with a bucket of cold water. </p><p>Try to stay true to the characters, their individual personalities, the world and the setting the characters are currently in. If your characters are having sex outdoors don’t feel the need to say the thorns scraping their backsides felt like silk. Stay real, even within fantasy. </p><p><i><u>Here are a few things you should keep in mind: </u></i></p><p>If you are writing romance, remember real-life sex can be bumpy, messy and imperfect. I mean, maybe Edward’s penis glittered like a jewel in Twilight, but no one is using that scene as a barometer anytime soon. </p><p><br>Consider the need to accurately represent orgasms and how they are experienced by characters of all genders. Sadly, it’s not difficult to find erotica where a woman nearly climaxes simply because she glanced at the man’s thirteen-inch member. Maybe in your dreams, but readers will laugh…not get aroused. <br>If you are writing a sex scene in Young Adult (they are usually subtle but they do exist) consider important aspects such as contraception and consent. Always stay mindful of the responsibility you carry as a writer for young people.</p><p><br>Don’t shy away from things that could go wrong. This type of attention to detail can help contribute towards creating believable sex scenes. </p><p><strong>Use Appropriate Vocabulary </strong></p><p>It’s all good and well to say, “call a spade a spade” and all that, but the word spade can get tiring if you say it fifty times in a row. His spade did that, then he took his spade away, then he put his spade on the table. See how monotonous that sounds? Though we might think that euphemisms are cheesy, they are also essential for the simple reason that you can’t write ‘vagina’ eight times in a paragraph and still expect the prose to flow well. But you also don’t want to use overly floral comparisons, or terms that sound outright ridiculous. The best thing is to go back to your research on sex scenes and see what kind of vocabulary is appropriate in your genre. Create a list of synonyms, a spreadsheet, fill a notebook up – whatever works for you. </p><p><strong>Don’t Overdo It </strong></p><p>The number of sex scenes in a story should be carefully considered and not overdone. Include a few scenes too many and you are teetering on the brink of erotica territory. So consider if that’s the genre you initially wanted to write in, or if you’re being self-indulgent. </p><p><strong>Consider Using Humour</strong> </p><p>We know sex can be funny and there’s no reason to shy away from adding humour in a sex scene. Maybe your MC cracks a joke because that would be true to their nature. Maybe funny sounds from the weird neighbour next door adds a pinch of humour to an awkward start. Whatever feels true to you and your story is great, just make sure you don’t cockblock humour just because it’s a sex scene. </p><p><strong>Use Variety </strong></p><p>Just like any other action scene, if you are planning on having multiple sex scenes, consider introducing variety (you wouldn’t have three car chases in one movie if you could have a motorcycle chase as well). This will make the scenes more believable and retain the readers’ attention. A mental copy and paste simply won’t work because each time your MC has sex is unique, so each interaction must be marked with its own characterisation and emotional weight. Consider also adding variety to the setting, reactions, dialogue, clothing, and rhythm, in order to keep the reader engaged. </p><p><strong>In Summary </strong></p><p>There you have it; sex scenes don’t have to be rocket science. Consider your genre and your story when deciding whether you want sex scenes, and how many of them you might want. Treat the sex scenes as if they were any other scene, apply the same meticulous care to them as you would with dialogue and action. Make sure the scenes move the plot forward, and that characterisation is as evident in them as in the rest of your work. </p><p>Yes, sex scenes can be challenging but (as we all know with real relationships) practice makes perfect.' </p><p>By Jacqueline Silvester </p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/69756022022-05-20T08:40:17+01:002023-10-10T21:21:24+01:00How long should a debut novel ideally be? <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/42a439a81dcf50c8319df1e8b4ffd57c0f5b89f6/original/adobestock-313598338.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>The feedback I’ve had recently from literary agents is that they prefer debut novels to be no longer than 80-90,000 words in length. This is because agents know from experience that long debut novels often contain too many characters, too many POVs, too much telling, more talking than necessary, lots of backstory (when it isn’t really needed on the page), and a plot which isn’t quite as focussed as it might be. Here’s a brief but useful checklist to ensure that your evolving debut manuscript doesn’t fall into any hidden traps: </p><p> </p><p>Characters: the general accepted rule of thumb is that readers can remember six named characters in a novel, but no more. You can feature anonymous ‘extras’ or necessary bit-parts to fill out the landscape, but the more people you include, the higher the chance that the reader will begin to forget them. Novels do exist in which the cast is so expansive that it’s listed before the story starts, but these are in the minority, and they aren’t often signed as debuts. The modern taste is for fast-paced and quickly evolving fiction, with a small, focussed cast. Click <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/the-day-i-burned-my-how-to-write-books" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="here for a brief article on devising character">here for a brief article on devising character</a>, as explained by the late, great Ursula Le Guin. </p><p> </p><p>Point of View: the simplest way of summarising POV is that it’s either (most popularly) first person narrated, or third person narrated. In first, it’s easier not to go wrong, because you’re writing using ‘I’, which immediately limits the POV to what the main narrator experiences him or herself. In third, because you can choose close third or omniscient, there are pitfalls to be wary of. Click <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/point-of-view" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="here for a useful article which explains different points of view">here for a useful article which explains different points of view</a> and how they work (with examples from published novels). Click <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/film-tv-the-influence-of-visual-fiction-on-novel-writing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="here to read why using too many POVs">here to read why using too many POVs</a> which shift regularly is a technique influenced by film, which isn’t so easily pulled off in written fiction. </p><p> </p><p>Telling: it’s impossible to write a novel without using some explanatory telling, but to keep your prose as vivid as possible, use telling sparingly, and above all, avoid big chunks of telling. As an aspiring debut novelist, it’s easy to feature lots of character backstory in your novel. You may be tempted to do this under the assumption that your reader needs to know all about your character’s background, but this isn’t the case. If you explain the upbringing, career or social situation of a character, the story loses vividness because it appears on the page as explanatory telling (sometimes referred to as exposition). Really, this kind of detail belongs in an author-eyes-only document, which you’d use to make sure that your story scaffold is solid. Readers don’t so much want to have to wade through a blow-by-blow account of a character’s past - they want to watch the character you’ve created, who is shaped by the past you’ve invented, get tangled up in a sticky situation in the here-and-now. Your character’s upbringing counts because it will relate to the way they handle themselves in the here-and-now. Read <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/show-don-t-tell-a-writer-s-guide" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="an article on showing and telling, here">an article on showing and telling, here</a>. </p><p> </p><p>Talking: novelistic talking is punchy, to the point, and pared right back. Real life sentences are almost endlessly unpunctuated (because speech evolves in the moment). Novels can’t do this, or the reader would become confused. Writers use crisp, heavily condensed, clipped and to-the-point dialogue to emulate real-life speech, but actually, novelistic speech is nothing like real-life talking. If you’re influenced by TV, your written dialogue might similarly meander. Casual chit-chat is often foregrounded in visual drama, allowing the reader to take in every nuance of the scene unfolding on the screen. Viewers are assessing the era, time of day, character, physical location, time of year, danger (or the lack of), and anything else they can glean from the visuals. Over the top of this, casual conversation unfolds nicely because it isn’t really the talking we’re always paying attention to - it’s the things which aren’t being said. Written fiction doesn’t have this luxury, which is why novelists use an unnatural economy of words to portray speech. One thing I notice consistently in the work of aspiring debuts is that the speech is likely to be modelled on TV scripting - sometimes, whole chapters are devoted to nothing but talking. This won’t capture your reader anywhere near so effectively as cutting things right back, and interspersing speech with scene setting in light touches (to remind the reader where the scene is situated). </p><p> </p><p>See <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/reading-widely-versus-reading-as-a-writer-and-why-the-two-aren-t-the-same-thing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this article here for tips">this article here for tips</a> on how looking analytically at the craft of writing, and specifically at authors who you admire, can help you to craft your own prose more effectively. </p><p> </p><p>Happy writing!</p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/68999052022-02-17T06:11:32+00:002023-08-18T07:47:04+01:00Point of View <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/13ac2f4c80bb3b6dc40b0af7c87c32db1095f005/original/adobestock-610024351.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><i>Which POV?</i></p><p> </p><p>Point of view (POV) refers to the angle from which a story is told. To follow are some useful tips and resources for choosing which POV would be best for your novel or short story. </p><p>I - first person </p><p>You - second person </p><p>He/she/it - third person</p><p> </p><p><strong>The First Person Narrator </strong></p><p> </p><p>The ‘I’ storyteller.</p><p>First person narrators are vivid and immediate. We see the story unfold through the eyes of a single focal character, who seems incredibly real to the reader, as though we’re listening to this person speak to us directly. As writers, first-person accounts rarely suffer from POV confusion, because we stick with one person only, and write as though we are that individual. This contrasts with third person, in which it’s easy to lose your character thread and to start head-hopping, TV style (see later). </p><p> </p><p>First person narration is incredibly effective in conveying the internal landscape of a character. Using first-person means that the writer can get away with slightly more ‘telling’ than third person narration can (which is why memoir works so well - much of it is telling, but it focusses on crisis, trauma and drama, which comes straight from the mouth of the very person it happened to). Scroll down to the last section of this article for some fabulous (and varied) examples of first-person narrators. </p><p> </p><p>While it’s fair to say that any genre of fiction is appropriate for a first person narrator, it’s become more fashionable to write first person present tense narratives in recent years, particularly (but not exclusively) in YA. </p><p> </p><p><strong>The Second Person Narrator </strong></p><p> </p><p>The ‘you’ storyteller.</p><p>This angle is more unusual. Using second person is a cunning way to plunge immediately into a story by suggesting that you are experiencing it yourself <i>as the reader</i>, rather than simply seeing things through the eyes of a character. A terrific example of second person narration follows, in an article for the 'Book Riot' website (Anna Gooding-Call, 2019): </p><p> </p><p>‘You thought the article about books written in the second person sounded interesting when it appeared on the Book Riot homepage. You vaguely remember hearing this odd term in high school English class, but your teacher assured you that you would never need to use it. Nobody writes in the second person, he said, tapping the whiteboard, except pompous artistes who don’t care about selling their books. He was a strange little man whom you quickly learned to ignore by tucking a novel into your textbook. </p><p> 'But the second person now haunts you. What does it mean? You wrack your brain, then proceed to the gold-embossed black leather notebook where you list all of the books you’ve ever completed. You have attached notes to each title: Slow until midway; ends abruptly; strong secondary characters. You consider yourself a connoisseur of literary structure and style. But nowhere has your past self described a book as written in the second person. </p><p> 'It is time to remedy this situation. A wave of resolution washes over you and you exchange your dignified notebook of completed titles for the industrial-sized plastic trapper keeper that houses your TBR list. It bulges with newspaper clippings, magazine covers, printed New York Times articles from your mother, and a napkin that you used at a table in a restaurant at an event center where Roxane Gay once did a book signing.’ </p><p> </p><p>See Anna’s recommendations for a variety of <a class="no-pjax" href="https://bookriot.com/books-written-in-the-second-person/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="second-person narrated books, here">second-person narrated books, here</a>. </p><p> </p><p><strong>The Third Person Narrator </strong></p><p> </p><p>The ‘he/she’ storyteller. </p><p>If you type ‘ what is third person narration?’ into a search engine, you’ll pull up a plethora of articles which use all sorts of terms, including ‘distant limited third person’, ‘third person close’, and ‘omniscient’, for example. If you’re at the beginning of planning/writing your project, it’s easy to feel blinded by the science behind POV, so here, I’m going to simplify things by only looking at two ways to use POV in third person: limited third, and omniscient.</p><p> </p><p>A limited third person narrative is when we writers use the POV of only one ‘he’ or ‘she’, who is styled as our main narrator. Readers get to observe the world through this character’s experience, often with internal thoughts and knowledge peculiar to the character’s world view. The 'limited' part of the description means that our reader can only see through that particular character's eyes, and only knows the things he or she knows. If you want to use a wider viewpoint than that, then it takes omniscient to reveal what <i>all</i> the characters know, do, or think. Scroll down to the last section of the article for some vibrant extracts from third-person narrated novels.</p><p> </p><p><strong>Omniscient third person narration</strong> is when we as writers almost play god, being able to describe what all or any of the characters do, say, feel, and think. The omniscient narrator knows and sees all, showing the reader what’s inside every character’s head and heart in turn. When omniscient was originally developed, writers couldn’t really go wrong, because it was the most popular form of storytelling, and films hadn’t yet been invented. Today, getting omniscient spot-on is a minefield, because modern writers have arguably seen more TV and film than they’ve read omniscient narrators. This can lead aspiring debut novelists to write camera-angle style fiction, rather than true omniscient viewpoint. Here’s a checklist to help: </p><p> </p><p>If you want to write using omniscient viewpoint, it’s vital to search out and read some mainstream published <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/11/books/review/the-return-of-omniscience.html" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="omniscient narrator novels">omniscient narrator novels</a>, and to <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.writersdigest.com/publishing-insights/6-tips-reading-like-writer" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="read as a writer ">read as a writer </a>so that you understand what’s going on at a technical level; </p><p>Camera-angle style fiction head-hops quickly within a scene, sometimes with no sense of which narrator is foregrounded, or why - the story is often patchworked together in short snapshots, whereas written fiction rarely does this successfully;</p><p>Omniscient doesn’t mean giving bit parts to random characters who may only appear once in the story, or who may die quickly - this is a visual fiction convention which won’t work so well in a novel;</p><p>Visual fiction often tells the same scene from different POVs, or uses short jigsaw scenes to put together a whole. This approach won’t work so well in novels, because we needed stretches of sustained narrative to get to know, and care for, our narrator/s;</p><p>Cameral-angle style fiction often uses an oblique viewpoint, which describes a distant visual rather than connecting with a character. One example might be describing a huge panorama over a cityscape, or a desert sunset depicted as an aerial view. Because in written fiction we generally need to connect with things through the eyes of our lead character, it's difficult to have a scene described from miles above when our storyteller is sat on a balcony drinking coffee. S/he would only see what's in front of them, not what's happening several kilometres away. Some novels do use external viewpoints like wide-angle camera shots within omniscient, but there's a knack to getting it just right so that it doesn't jar, which is one reason coaches mostly recommend that aspiring debut novelists don't use omniscient. </p><p> </p><p>For recommended reading which uses the omniscient narrator POV, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.goodreads.com/shelf/show/omniscient-narrator" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="try this list from Goodreads.&nbsp;">try this list from Goodreads. </a></p><p> </p><p><strong>Composite Narrative </strong></p><p> </p><p>Composite narrative is another ‘take’ on using more than one POV in a novel, but structured in a different way to omniscient. Composite novels are told by more than one narrator, with the story clearly divided into <strong>sections or chapters devoted to one narrator at a time</strong>. So, within these separate sections, you might choose to use limited third, or first person, or second person - or all of these separately, if you have enough narrators. But, you wouldn't combine a composite novel with omniscient unless you were incredibly savvy and experienced in what you're doing and why, because giving sections to different narrators negates the need for omniscient viewpoint/head-hopping between characters within a scene. </p><p> </p><p>In composite narratives, it’s vital that we have time to build a good connection with each narrator before swapping to another. Below, is a list of composite narratives which are great examples of telling a story from more than one viewpoint: </p><p> </p><p>Margaret Atwood, <i>The Heart Goes Last. </i>This is told in two stories which alternate. Jeanette Winterson's <i>Frankissstein </i>also uses two storytellers. </p><p> </p><p>Maya Lunde, <i>A History of Bees</i>. This novel features three stories in composite (past, present, and future), in strictly alternating sections. Catriona Ward's <i>The Last House on Needless Street </i>is another three-part composite, in which each storyteller keeps secrets which power the plot. </p><p> </p><p>David Mitchell is incredibly sophisticated, telling multiple stories in one novel: </p><p> </p><p><i>Ghost Written, The Bone Clocks, Cloud Atlas, Slade House, </i>David Mitchell </p><p> </p><p>Just to give an idea of how carefully novelists plan composites, <i>Cloud Atlas</i> is written in sections which can be grouped, by narrator, as follows: ABCDEDCBA. You can see the mirror image either side of the single central episode, E. If Mitchell had head-hopped randomly without such a solidly devised structure, the novel probably wouldn’t have worked. </p><p> </p><p>Us readers might not ever break down how these more complex composites work, but because they’re already in the public arena, we’ve become savvy at spotting a good composite - which explains why as writers, we shouldn’t use roving TV-style viewpoint or an unstructured narrative. Many aspiring debut novelists misconstrue omniscient by head-hopping randomly, or misconstrue composite by assuming that the different narrators can swap over at any point. Reading any of the composite novels listed (or all of them, if you’re serious about understanding POV or you intend to write a composite yourself) will help. </p><p> </p><p>Here’s a useful article which explains <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/film-tv-the-influence-of-visual-fiction-on-novel-writing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="why visual convention and written convention work differently">why visual convention and written convention work differently</a> with regards to POV. </p><p> </p><p>Here’s a useful article which explains why <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/reading-widely-versus-reading-as-a-writer-and-why-the-two-aren-t-the-same-thing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="‘reading as a writer’">‘reading as a writer’</a> can help you to identify trends and tropes, whilst harnessing what you learn to improve your own creative writing. </p><p> </p><p><strong>First person narrator - examples from mainstream published fiction:</strong></p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Dark Places</strong></i><strong>, Gillian Flynn, 2009 </strong></p><p>‘I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it. It's the Day blood. Something’s wrong with it. I was never a good little girl, and I got worse after the murders. Little Orphan Libby grew up all sullen and boneless, shuffled around a group of lesser relatives - second cousins and great-aunts and friends of friends - stuck in a series of mobile homes or rotting ranch houses all over Kansas. Me going to school in my dead sisters’ hand me downs shirt with mustardy armpits pants with baggy bottoms, comically loose, held on with a raggedy belt cinched to the farthest hole. In class photos my hair was always crooked - barrettes hanging loosely from strands, as if they were airborne objects caught in the tangles - and I always had bulging pockets under my eyes, drunk-landlady eyes. Maybe a grudging curve of the lips where a smile should be. Maybe. I was not a lovable child and I've grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it’d be a scribble with fangs.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Notes on a Scandal</strong></i><strong>, Zoe Heller, 2003 </strong></p><p>‘The irony of my having agonised over Sheba’s friendship with Fatty Hodge, when all the time she was preparing to fornicate with a minor, does not escape me. It is sad and rather galling to reflect that I wasted all that time on the mystery of Sue’s allure, while the much more lethal liaison was brewing away beneath my nose. I am not prepared, however, to say that my concerns were altogether misdirected. It seems to me that if Sheba had made a wiser choice of a girl friend - if she had chosen me over Sue form the start - it is quite possible that she might have avoided the Connolly imbroglio.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Summer Secrets</strong></i><strong>, Jane Green, 2020 </strong></p><p>‘Lord knows, most of the time when I'm facing an evening on my own I am absolutely fine. If anything, I relish that alone time when my daughter is with her father. The luxury of eating whatever I want to eat; the relief that not having to provide a nutritious meal for a 13 year old picky eater. I can curl up on the sofa and watch things my daughter would groan at - documentaries, news, a great three parter on the BBC; or putter around the kitchen listening to Radio 4 with no one complaining or demanding I put on a radio station that plays nothing but pop music. Tonight I seem to have itchy feet. Tonight, I am restless, and restlessness is always dangerous for me. Restlessness has a nasty habit of leading me to places I’m apt to regret. I have learned from bitter experience that when I feel like this, I need to keep busy. I phone the Chinese restaurant at the top of Elgin Avenue and order some noodles and spare ribs, then get up and open the kitchen cabinets. I've been putting this job off for months. My former husband is fanatical about order. He was the one who kept everything neat and tidy, all the pots and pans organised. Since he's gone, the place is a disaster.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>The Black Witch</strong></i><strong>, Laurie Forest, 2017 </strong> </p><p>‘The woods are beautiful. </p><p> They’re my friends, the trees, and I can feel them smiling down at me. </p><p> I skip along, kicking at dry pine needles, singing to myself, following close at the heels of my beloved Uncle Edwin, who turns every so often, smiles and encourages me to follow. </p><p> I am three years old. </p><p> We have never walked so far into the woods and the thrill of adventure lights up my insides. In fact, we hardly ever walk into the woods. And Uncle Edwin has brought only me. He’s left my brothers at home, far away. </p><p> I scramble to keep up with him, leaping over curved roots, dodging low-hanging branches. </p><p> We finally stop in a sunny clearing deep in the forest. </p><p> ‘Here, Elloren,’ my Uncle says. ‘I have something for you.’ He bends down on one knee, pulls a stick from his cloak pocket and presses it into my tiny fist. </p><p> A present! </p><p> It’s a special stick - light and airy. I close my eyes, and an image of the tree the stick came from enters my mind - a big, branchy tree, soaked in sunlight and anchored in sand. I open my eyes and bounce the stick up and down in my hand. It’s as light as a feather. </p><p> My Uncle fishes a candle out of his pants pocket, gets up and sets the candle on a nearby stump before returning to me. ‘Hold the stick like this, Elloren,’ he says gently as he holds his hands around mine.’ </p><p> I look at him with slight worry. </p><p> Why is his hand trembling?’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>The Secrets We Kept</strong></i><strong>, Lara Prescott, 2020 </strong></p><p>‘When the men in black suits came, my daughter offered them tea. The men accepted, polite as invited guests. But when they began emptying my desk drawers onto the floor, pulling books off the shelf by the armful, flipping mattress, rifling through closets, Ira took the whistling kettle off the stove and put the tea cups and saucers back in the cupboard. When one man carried carrying a large crate ordered the other men to box of anything useful, my youngest, Mitya, went onto the balcony, where he kept his hedgehog. He swaddled her inside his sweater as if the men would box up his pet too. One of the men - the one who would later let his hands slide down my backside while putting me into their black car - put his hand atop Mitya’s head and called him a good boy, Mitya, gentle Mitya, pushed the man's hand off in one violent movement and retreated into the bedroom he shared with his sister. </p><p> ‘My mother, who’d been in the bath when the men arrived, emerged wearing just a robe - her hair still wet, her face flushed. “I told you this would happen. I told you they would come.” The men ransacked my letters from Boris, my notes, food lists, newspaper clippings, magazines, books. “I told you he would bring us nothing but pain Olga.” </p><p> ‘Before I could respond, one of the men took hold of my arm - more like a lover than someone sent to arrest me - and, with his breath hot against my neck, said it was time to go. I froze. It took the howls of my children to snap me back into the moment. The door shut behind us, but their house grew louder still.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Sharp Objects</strong></i><strong>, Gillian Flynn, 2006</strong> </p><p>‘It was that summer I began the cutting, and was almost as devoted to it as to my newfound loveliness. I adored tending to myself, wiping a shallow red pool of my blood away with a damp washcloth to magically reveal, just above my naval: queasy. Applying alcohol with dabs of a cottonball, wispy shreds sticking to the bloody lines of: perky. I had a dirty streak my senior year, which I later rectified. A few quick cuts and cunt becomes can’t, cock turns into back, clit transforms to a very unlikely cat, the l and i turned into a teetering capital A. ‘The last word I ever carved into myself, sixteen years after I started: vanish. Sometimes I can hear the words squabbling at each other across my body. Up on my shoulder, panty calling down to cherry on the inside of my right ankle. On the underside of a big toe, sew uttering muffled threats to baby, just under my left breast. I can quiet them down by thinking of vanish, always hushed and regal, lording over the other words from the safety of the nape of my neck.’ </p><p> </p><p><strong>The Third Person narrator - examples from mainstream published fiction:</strong></p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Kingdom of the Wicked</strong></i><strong>, Kerri Maniscalco, 2020 </strong></p><p>‘Outside, wind rattled the wooden chimes in warning. In the distance, waves crashed against the shore; the frantic whispers of the water growing louder as if the sea was a mage summoning violence. Next, thunder would roll in quicker than the tide with lightening cracking electric whips across an unforgiving sky. The devil demanded retribution. A blood sacrifice for power stolen. </p><p> It wasn’t the first time he’d be cursed by witches, nor would it be the last. </p><p> From her rocking chair near the fire, Nonna Maria monitored the while they chanted protection charms she’d taught them, a cornicello clutched tightly in each of their little fists. Pushing the howling gusts from her mind, she listened closely to the words Vittoria and Emilia whispered over the horn-shaped amulets, their matching dark heads bent in concentration. </p><p> ‘By earth, moon and stone, bless this hearth, bless this home.’ </p><p> It was the start of their eighth year and Nonna tried not to worry over how quickly they were growing. She pulled her shawl closer, unable to ward off chills in the small kitchen. It had little to do with the temperature outside. As much as she tried to ignore it, sulfur snuck in through the cracks along with the familiar orange-and-plumeria scented breeze, raising the greying hair she’d swept up from her neck. Had she been alive, her own human grandmother would’ve called it an omen and spent the evening on her knees in the cathedral, rosary clutched close, praying to saints. </p><p> The devil was on the prowl.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Grown Ups</strong></i><strong>, Marian Keyes, 2020 </strong></p><p>‘John Casey launched into a fit of energetic coughing. A bit of bread down the wrong way, but the chat around the long dinner table carried on. Lovely, he could die here, literally die, on his 49th birthday - and would his brothers their spouses, his own wife Jessie, any of the children even notice? Jesse was his best hope but she was off in the kitchen readying the next elaborate course he could only hope he survived to eat. A sip of water didn't help. Tears were streaming down his face, and finally Ed, his younger brother, asked ‘You OK there?’ </p><p> Manfully, Johnny waved away his concern. </p><p> ‘Bread. Down the wrong way.’ </p><p> ‘Thought for a minute you were choking,’ Ferdia said. </p><p> Well, why didn't you say something you useless tool? Twenty-two years of age and more concerned with Syrian refugees than your own stepfather expiring. </p><p> ‘That'd be a shame,’ Johnny croaked, ‘to die on my birthday.’ </p><p> ‘You wouldn't have died,’ Ferdia said. ‘One of us would have tried the Heimlich manoeuvre.’ </p><p> Someone would have needed to notice I was dying first. </p><p> ‘You know what happened recently?’ Ed asked. ‘Mr Heimlich? The man who invented the Heimlich manoeuvre? Finally, at the age of eighty-seven, he got to do it on someone for real.’ </p><p> ‘And it worked? He saved the person?’ This was from Liam the youngest of the Casey brothers, right down at the end of the table. ‘Be a bit mortifying if he did it then the person snuffed it.’ </p><p> Liam tended to bring the snark to any situation, Johnny reflected. Look at him there, lounging back in his seat with a careless grace that made Johnny's teeth itch. At forty-one years of age, Liam was still propelling himself through life only using good looks and swagger. The cut of him, with his surf-y hair and half the buttons open on his crumpled shirt. </p><p> ‘Like Mr Segway,’ Ferdia said. ‘Invented the Segway said they were totally safe and then died on one.’ </p><p> ‘In fairness,’ Ed said, ‘his only claim was that you'd never fall over on one.’</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><strong>The Year of the Flood, Margaret Atwood, 2009 </strong></p><p>‘In the early morning Toby climbs up to the rooftop to watch the sunrise. She uses a mop handle for balance: the elevator stopped working some time ago and the back stairs are slick with damp, and if she slips and topples there won’t be anyone to pick her up. </p><p> 'As the first heat hits, mist rises from among the swath of trees between her and the derelict city. The air smells faintly of burning, a smell of caramel and tar and rancid barbecues, and the ashy but greasy smell of a garbage-dump fire after it’s been raining. The abandoned towers in the distance are like the coral of an ancient reef - bleached and colourless, devoid of live. </p><p> 'There still is life, however. Birds chirp; sparrows, they must be. Their small oices are clear and sharp, nails on glass: there’s no longer any sound of traffic to drown them out. Do they notice that quietness, the absence of motors? If so, are they happier? Toby has no idea. Unlike some of the other Gardeners -the more wild-eyed or possibly overdosed ones - she has never been under the illusion that she can converse with birds.’ </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><strong>Me Before You, Jojo Moyes, 2012 </strong></p><p>'When he emerges from the bathroom, she is awake, propped up against the pillows and flicking through the travel brochures that were beside his bed. She is wearing one of his T-shirts, and her long hair is tussled in a way that prompts reflexive thoughts of the previous night. He stands there enjoying the brief flashback, rubbing the water from his hair with a towel. She looks up from a brochure and pouts. She's probably slightly too old to pout, but they've been going out a short enough time for it still to be cute. </p><p> ‘Do we really have to do something that involves trekking up mountains or hanging over ravines? It's our first proper holiday together, and there is literally not one single trip in these that doesn't involve either throwing yourself off something or wearing a fleece,’ she pretends to shudder, throws the brochures down on the bed, stretches her caramel-coloured arms above her head. Her voice is husky testament to their missed hours of sleep.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>The Giver</strong></i><strong>, Lois Lowry, 1993 </strong></p><p>‘It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened mean that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen. Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice. He had seen it both times. Squinting towards the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed. The one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane. </p><p> ‘At first, he had been only fascinated. He had never seen aircraft so close, for it was against the rules for Pilots to fly over the community. Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the riverbank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the take-off directed to the west, always away from the community. </p><p> ‘But the aircraft a year ago had been different.’ </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>The Believers</strong></i><strong>, Zoe Heller, 2008 </strong></p><p>‘At dawn, on the top floor of a creaking house in Greenwich Village, Joel and Audrey lay in bed. Through a gap in the curtains, a finger of light extended slowly across their quilt. Audrey was still far out to sea in sleep. Joel was approaching short - splashing about in the turbulent shallows of a doze. He flailed and crooned and slapped irritably at his sheets. Presently, when the rattling couplets of his snored reached on of their periodic crescendos, he awoke and grimaced in pain. </p><p> ‘For two days now, he had been haunted by a headache: an icy clanking deep in his skull as if some sharp-edged metal object had come loose and were rolling about in there. Audrey had been dosing him with Tylenol and urging him to drink more water. But it wasn’t liquids or pills he needed, he thought: it was a mechanic. He lay for a few moments, holding the back of his hand to his brown like a Victorian heroine with the vapours. Then he sat up bravely and fumbled for his spectacles on the crowded bedside table. In a matter of hours, he would be giving the defence’s opening argument in the cast of The United States of America v. Mohammed Hassani.’ </p><p> </p><p><i>My articles are inspired by my clients, touching on things I see widely in my work as a freelance editor and writing coach. </i></p><p> </p><p><i>Happy Writing!</i></p><p> </p><p><i>17th February 2022</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/67878132021-10-27T01:36:26+01:002023-08-18T07:47:28+01:00Film & TV: the influence of visual fiction on novel writing <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/e519351e5e066cfdf9840daedad8510142ec3cb3/original/adobestock-616666802.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p>Visual fiction and written fiction share many things, including compelling characters, a developed plot with a clear quest and conclusion, and genre conventions (crime thriller, romance, historical or science fiction, for example). Anybody familiar with visual fiction might instinctively use its devices in written storytelling, even unconsciously. But, on many levels, visual and written fictions are constructed to different templates. Below are some quick and easy guidelines designed to help aspiring debut writers embrace novelistic convention, whilst being aware of film-style aspects to avoid: </p><p> </p><p><strong>Head-hopping</strong>. Film and TV shift viewpoint frequently. Novels can’t afford to do this, because readers need sustained contact with a character so that they begin to care for that character. This suggests why bit-part characters (who vanish or die early in a story) can have their own scenes on TV, but don’t work as successfully in a novel. Decide who is going to tell your story and stick with that character throughout. Film and TV often follow the bad guys, too, whereas in novels, readers prefer somebody they can champion. Untrustworthy and unpleasant narrators do exist in written fiction (generally written by experienced novelists), but they’re heavily outnumbered by the good guys. Readers don’t want to follow the axe-murderer antagonist so much as the heroine who’s going to kill him. Viewers, though, are quite happy to watch the baddies unfold a narrative in just as much detail as the good guys. Regarding the number of characters in a book, the current wisdom is that six characters are all a reader can remember. In film and TV, the number is higher, thanks to the visual prompts. The question is, if you want to write a novel with more than one viewpoint, how do you do it without falling into the trap of unnecessary head-hopping? One suggestion is to write a composite novel. The composite novel allows for stories to be told by more than one narrator. Composite novels use more than one narrator to unfold a story, whilst sticking to the novelistic convention of not head-hopping, TV-style. Their secret is careful planning on the part of the author. Composites give the reader long enough with each character to become emotionally attached to them. Well-structured composites don’t randomly change narrator after short scenes, although it’s true that the scenes can sometimes become shorter when the tension reaches a high point. The novels listed below are great examples of carefully constructed composites: </p><p><u>Margaret Atwood</u>, <i>The Heart Goes Last</i> and <i>The Testaments</i>. These composite novels are structurally the simplest, being told in <u>two stories</u> which are revealed in alternate chapters. <u>Maya Lunde</u>, <i>A History of Bees</i>; <u>Catriona Ward</u>, <i>The Last House on Needless Street.</i> Lunde and Ward tell <u>three stories</u> in composite form. Lunde's are set in the past, present, and future. Ward's follows three narrators within the same era. Both books unfold in alternating chapters. <u>David Mitchell</u> is incredibly sophisticated, telling <u>multiple stories</u> within one novel: <i>Ghost Written, The Bone Clocks, Cloud Atlas</i>, and <i>Slade House</i> are great examples. Mitchell writes his composites as self-contained novellas which sit end-on-end, linked by what he calls ‘tunnels or trade routes’ between (people, places and objects which the stories have in common. One is the moon-grey cat, which appears in most of Mitchell’s novels). To give an idea of how carefully novelists plan composites, <i>Cloud Atlas</i> is written in sections which can be grouped, by narrator, as follows: ABCDEDCBA. Mitchell uses a mirror image structure, with a single central episode, E. Readers might not ever break down how these composites function, but because they’re already on the bookshelves, and very popular, readers are incredibly savvy at spotting a well-told composite, which explains why aspiring debut novelists shouldn’t use roving viewpoint or too much head-hopping in an unstructured narrative. </p><p> </p><p><strong>The setting</strong>. In film/TV, the setting is provided, so we don’t have to work very hard at imagining it - it’s already there as a visible backdrop. By contrast, novels rely on the reader interpreting the writer’s words to build a scene in their heads. So, written fiction needs to work harder to create that picture. Novelists give a description of where the character is, and what makes the location stand out, often using reference to the senses and perhaps to memory as well as to the visuals. Rather than having the benefit of incidental music and visual cues to create a setting, the writer must choose descriptive and evocative words carefully, balancing these with additional elements like dialogue; there’s a definite art to creating a vivid setting in written fiction, and it’s entirely different to the image and music combos of film/TV. The blog ‘Reading as a Writer’ (<a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/reading-widely-versus-reading-as-a-writer-and-why-the-two-aren-t-the-same-thing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="click here">click here</a>) gives useful tips on how you might achieve this. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Jigsaw scenes</strong>. Film and TV take full advantage of vivid visuals to present scenes which are often short, and which jigsaw together to form a whole. Using background music and crafty lighting, visual fiction gets inside the viewer’s mind far more quickly than written fiction does. Because novelists have to stay with a character for longer, we can’t chop and change too regularly, or use too many short scenes with the assumption that the reader will happily glue them together. Novels are about sustained narrative, so if a writer breaks the scenes up too much, the reader will lose continuity and therefore lose the story thread. If this happens, the reader is likely to put the book down and find something else to entertain them. It’s best for writers to stay with their character for long enough to give readers an emotional connection. So, a useful piece of advice is to avoid dodging between short scenes to unfold your novel, instead remaining close to one narrator to give their eye-view in more detail. With novels, the writer isn’t creating a jigsaw so much as taking the reader on a continuing journey - it may not be a pleasant and happy journey in terms of content, but it should always be smooth. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Talking</strong>. Film and TV feature lots of talking; good novels are carefully balanced between dialogue and narrative showing, with splashes of telling where needed. Novelistic conversation isn’t like real-life chat, either - it’s pared-down and concise, and so the domestic mundanities which often feature in TV (when we pull extra information from the visible backdrop with no effort on our part) won’t work the same way in a novel. Casual chit-chat is best avoided when writing dialogue in a novel, and neither should novelists tell a story mainly in ‘talking’. In written fiction, conversation works best when broken up by scene-setting detail, to keep reminding the reader about the character’s location/setting. If you’re working on your debut novel, and you aren’t sure what an ideal dialogue to non-dialogue narrative ratio is, reach for a recently-mainstream-published best seller of any genre. This should give you a rule of thumb to work to. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Describing a visual</strong>. Writing a novel isn’t the same thing as describing a visual viewpoint. If, in the final scene, your main narrator rides a horse away into the sunset, we shouldn’t be reading a description about the silhouette of horse and rider vanishing over the horizon, we should be reading that our narrator has the sun in her eyes as she spurs her horse for home. Even though all writers visualise their story unfolding like a vivid film reel in their minds, it needs to be set on paper using novelistic conventions. This means writing from a character’s POV rather than describing a visual image as seen through a camera lens. The difference is that remaining close to the narrator makes a character with heart, instead of showing somebody moving around the landscape from a distance, which can often read as devoid of emotion. Emotion is the most powerful thing with which to hook a reader - we need to feel for, and with, the characters. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Special Effects.</strong> Special effects can convey almost anything ‘impossible’ in a visual image, sometimes in as little as a split second. If you’re a debut novelist trying to recreate the impossible in a horror or fantasy story, bear in mind that readers need whatever is happening setting up properly beforehand, to make it convincing. If your character vanishes through a wall having never done this before, the reader won’t be convinced if the episode is reduced to: ‘Without looking back, John vanished into the wall.’ This is one aspect of fiction in which film is a terrible teacher for novels. If John is going to do anything spectacular or unusual, it won’t work if this is written as a visual special effect with the assumption that the reader is watching the same image as the one running through your own head. Without the visuals, the reader needs some kind of a framework setting up, to explain how and why John vanishes through the wall. Is he a ghost? Can he teleport? Does he activate some kind of futuristic device, or make use of a spiritual ability to cross through solid objects? Once the reader understands the mechanics, s/he will need some graphic detail to flesh the occasion out - perhaps a few words on how John prepares himself for this strange journey, whether or not he switches his state of consciousness, what sensations he might have whilst moving from one state into another - anything at all to give the reader a vivid mental picture. Writing magic and the supernatural is all about convincing the reader that it’s really happening, which takes a little bit more effort than notating it as a quick visual special effect. I've blogged more about how fiction writers can avoid abbreviating special effects <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/7174370/love-death-and-magic" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">here</a>. </p><p> </p><p>Here's what Carlos Ruiz Zafon, a best selling author who has also worked in visual fiction, has to say about writing for film as opposed to writing a novel: ‘I <span style="color:rgba(0,0,0,0.7);">worked as a screenwriter for some time. Film and visual storytelling are an essential part of what I do, of the way I think. Writing for the cinema is a very different thing than writing fiction or novels. A screenwriter is a dramatist for hire. You work for others and you, generally, do not own or control your own work. Your work, moreover, is not the final medium. You’re writing a document, a blueprint for a movie, but the movie exists in a different medium. A novel is your own work, your language is the final medium. In a novel you’re everything, the writer, the director, the cinematographer, the editor, the composer, the actor, the visual effect artist and the production designer. Everything. You own it. You don’t need money or other people to do it. It is just ink and paper. And your talent and craft. There are no other limits. Cinema is a wonderful medium, and very often I feel closer to it than to literature, but it is a collective art form. Nobody owns a film. Its greatness comes from the sum of all those people talents and contributions. This is a fascinating subject, and I could write you an encyclopedia on it, but we don’t want to burst your server.’ <i>Three Monkeys Online, ‘</i>Zafon discusses <i>The Shadow of the Wind’, </i>interview by <i>Steve Porter </i>(undated)<i>.</i></span></p><p> </p><p>If you’d like to read more about the differences between writing for film and writing novels, try these links: </p><p> </p><p>Patricia Wrede's blog article ‘Movies Vs Novels’, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://pcwrede.com/pcw-wp/movies-vs-novels/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">here</a>. </p><p> </p><p>Writers Write article ‘Novels and Screenplays: What’s the Difference?' <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.writerswrite.co.za/novels-screenplays-whats-the-difference/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">here</a>.</p><p> </p><p><i>27th October 2021</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/67094772021-08-07T02:54:38+01:002023-08-22T08:27:53+01:00Harry Bingham, founder of Jericho Writers, on why we need to write for love, not money<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/c59fc76dba0b6252cc038cddaccc0a403c0272df/original/adobestock-620765677.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://harrybingham.com/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Harry Bingham">Harry Bingham</a> founded <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Jericho Writers">Jericho Writers</a> in 2004. Jericho offer worldwide <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/jericho-writers/about-us/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="editorial and educational services">editorial and educational services</a> for writers of all genres. </p><p> </p><p>Harry's August 2021 blog echoes exactly what I was told when I set out on my writing journey, many years ago - that we writers need to write for love, not money, because success isn't necessarily guaranteed even when it comes to mainstream publication. In Harry's words:</p><p> </p><p>The Guardian newspaper ran an interview yesterday with a South African author, Karen Jennings. </p><p>In one way, the article offers a standard literary tale. Roughly this: </p><p>“Author writes book, this time about a lighthouse keeper and a refugee who washes up on his little island. Publisher buys book. Publisher publishes book. Book gets nominated for a major prize (in this case the Booker). Book increases its print run ten times over. Author suddenly starts to get a ton of positive attention. Big newspapers like the Guardian run flattering features. Life turns on its head.” </p><p>You’ve already read a version of that story a million times, except that on this occasion there’s more honesty on view, than often. The interview also tells us that Jennings finished the book in 2017. She didn’t (and doesn’t) have an agent. She found it very hard to get a publisher. When she did find one, (British micro press, Holland House), the team struggled to find anyone to endorse the book or give them a quote for the blurb. Prospects were so meagre that Holland House put out a print run of just five hundred copies (and it’s essentially impossible for anyone to make money at that level of sales.) When the book came out it was met, very largely, with silence. </p><p>Just pause there a second. That rather glum experience is as common as nuts. Loads of writers struggle to get an agent, struggle to get published, struggle to sell books, struggle to get that book noticed. That is pretty much the norm for our odd little industry. </p><p>And, OK, on this occasion we’re talking about a micro press that is well used to dealing with small numbers. But the same phenomenon is common enough with the Big 5 houses as well. Yes, advances are generally larger and yes, sales expectations are consequently higher. But if your book gets a mediocre cover, it’ll die all the same. You don’t hear a lot about the books that just curl up and die, but there are a lot of them out there. The reason you don’t hear about them is (duh!) that they’ve curled up and died. </p><p>This experience often calls for sacrifices. Karen Jennings is quoted as saying, ‘I’ve been really poor for a very long time. I don’t have much of a social life either. You know, I don’t have fancy clothes. I don’t have a car. I don’t have a house. I don’t have a career the way other people have.’ </p><p>Now that outcome, it seems to me, is optional. I urge writers – and I mean YOU – to look after your income sensibly. That mostly means: get a job and write in your spare time. Or marry someone rich. Or win the lottery or strike oil in your back yard. Please don’t make the mistake of looking to writing for your livelihood. </p><p>But, OK, Jennings wanted to go all in on writing. She took that gamble and now her book is Booker-nominated and making waves. </p><p>Great. Good for her. It’s easy to read that story as one of belief. She believed in her writing. She gambled everything on it. The path was hard. Success didn’t come right away. But she hung in there – and one day the world opened up and started to give her all the things she’d always wanted. </p><p>But that’s the wrong way to read it. There are a thousand books out there as good as Jennings’s. Most of those will just sell a few copies then be forgotten. It’s perfectly likely that Jennings’s book will perform decently, but not win the Booker Prize, and then she, and her nascent career, may look a little more robust than before. </p><p>Critical attention isn’t just fickle. It’s also wildly erratic. </p><p>Take a book that did win the Booker Prize: Julian Barnes’ The Sense of an Ending. That’s a major author winning a massive book prize – so it must be a great book, no? I mean, there can’t be any doubt about that, can there? </p><p>Well, yes there can. Geoff Dyer, writing in the New York Times, commented: ‘This was not one of those years when the Man Booker Prize winner was laughably bad. No, any extreme expression of opinion about The Sense of an Ending feels inappropriate. It isn’t terrible, it is just so . . . average. It is averagely compelling (I finished it), involves an average amount of concentration and, if such a thing makes sense, is averagely well written.’ </p><p>Personally, I agree with Dyer. I think the book was obviously mediocre. </p><p>So why did the book get so heavily praised? Well, the media likes to work with conventions – idées reçues, to use an older term. Once the media has formed an idea about a novelist (or, actually, an anything), it struggles to overturn or challenge that idea. </p><p>So the Julian Barnes convention says, “Julian Barnes is a great novelist. Here he is writing about some Big and Important Topics. So this must be a Big and Important Book. Let’s say how great it is.” Easier to do that than to read the book and do some real critical thinking about it. </p><p>Let’s summarise some of these thoughts. </p><p>One: you can’t trust that excellence alone will bring you to national or international prominence. That may well not happen. Excellence is not enough. </p><p>Two: you can’t rely on critics to determine the value of your book. For one thing, the critics are mostly unlikely to read or comment on your book. For another, what they say is often nonsense or a basket of conflicting opinions. </p><p>Three: once an opinion has formed, that opinion is likely to hold like iron, no matter what the actual reality of the situation. </p><p>Which is all good. It sets out the landscape for us as writers: </p><p>You need to enjoy the process of writing, because you may not earn money or fame. </p><p>You need to enjoy the process of publishing, for the same reason. </p><p>You need to trust your own inner assessment of the book, because you may not get any meaningful external commentary – and what you do get may be unhelpful anyway. </p><p>It’s not just writers who have to find their own rewards. Think of the Olympics. We focus on the medal-winners, of course, but most athletes coming to the Games end without a lump of metal round their necks. And very few athletes make it to the Games. In fact, there’s an entire pyramid of endeavour which exists because people love the endeavour. </p><p>So love the endeavour. Find your treasure in the here and now. In my experience, that’s the only enduring way to proceed, the only way to a settled satisfaction. </p><p>Harry</p><p> </p><p><i>August 7th 2021</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/67061492021-08-04T02:29:07+01:002023-08-22T08:20:50+01:00‘Reading Widely’ versus ‘Reading as a Writer’ - and why the two are different<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/8d70dfdb47ed7bb02131f619fb4825a91687a233/original/adobestock-332496418.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>One of the most important skills my first writing coach suggested I learn was how to ‘read as a writer’. It didn’t come easily, and it took longer than I’d expected (about two years of concentration and application, to properly understand and to use effectively). But, once I understood how to employ ‘reading as a writer’, I was able to use it to inform my own prose, which proved invaluable. Today, as a writing coach, ‘reading as a writer’ is something I suggest to all my clients. </p><p> </p><p>Reading as a writer is easy to confuse with being widely read. Clients who read voraciously are often puzzled when I suggest that they aren’t yet reading as writers. Some clients might’ve done a literature degree, maybe belong to book clubs and writers’ groups, know the prominent classics and also include lesser-known work, edgy genre blends, best-selling crime thrillers and short stories on their reading lists. Often, clients tell me that they don't watch TV in favour of sitting with a book every evening. Some clients get through a novel every one-to-two weeks. This is all really positive, but until you tune in to what it means to read as a writer, the technical aspects of structure and prose won’t be ‘soaking in’ in the most effective way. The idea behind 'reading as a writer' is that you learn to view another writer’s prose in a way which helps you to assess how you might use or develop specific aspects in your own work. </p><p> </p><p>The simplest trick for reading as a writer involves finding part of a novel which really made its mark on you, before taking a closer look at the prose to work out how the author did it. </p><p> </p><p>WORD CHOICES </p><p>Unpick a scene you admire (any scene at all, from any book), and look at the word choices the author uses. Scene painting, atmosphere, and manipulation of the reader to suggest or foreshadow what might be coming, or to provoke a particular kind of emotional response, are all things which can be governed by careful and appropriate word choices. When you unpick a scene for word choices, you’re connecting with how the author did it. The theory is, that if this scene really stirred you as a reader, then you can learn which bits to internalise and emulate in your own work, to stir other readers in turn. But, this is only the starting point. After word choices, there are other things to consider. </p><p> </p><p>ERA OF PUBLICATION </p><p>Look at the era the novel was written in. If it’s a dated book in which styles were more verbose, contained more telling/exposition, longer tracts of dialogue, or longer than average sentences, it’s important to view this through the correct lens, and to understand that times have changed. No matter how much you love Shakespeare, you wouldn’t write iambic pentameter if you’re preparing a romance for mainstream publication, so it’s important to temper the things you love about dated prose with a writer’s knowledge about the current market - this, you will get from reading widely, but also by considering and internalising the sheer number of changes visible in prose of different periods and styles. </p><p> </p><p>SCENE PLACEMENT WITHIN THE NOVEL </p><p>Next, you’re ready to think about where in the novel the scene you’ve chosen actually happens. If it opened the novel, it perhaps provoked a question and was most likely punchy and dramatic (particularly in modern fiction). If, on the other hand, this scene appeared a long way into the novel, perhaps at an emotional high point, by now you’re already gripped by the characters and narration, so this passage could be longer and more lyrical. Once readers are taken over by the story, they have much more patience with the narrator’s heart being exposed on a platter with longer sentences, more self-indulgent prose, a little bit more telling as opposed to showing, and so on. In short, if you note where your favourite scene is placed in a story, you’ll be able to see how hard (or not) the author had to work to get you to accept a bit of soul baring, sadness, or joy. These are all principles you can apply to your own work. </p><p> </p><p>GENRE</p><p>Now consider the genre of the work you’ve taken your favourite section of prose from. Reading as a writer includes finding out what writers have to say about their fiction and how they think it should be categorised, and reading what literary critics/journalists/book reviewers have to say about it, too. Sometimes, you can make surprising discoveries by reading author interviews, connecting with original and sophisticated genre blends, or finding that a writer you’d always thought was sci fi actually refers to their work as speculative crime fusion, for example. Authors and critics often have conflicting viewpoints; it’s amazing how differently a novelist will describe their work in comparison to a critic who is reviewing it. All these things will give you a wider awareness of genre, which will then feed into your own work when you're looking for a new and different way to do something. </p><p> </p><p>TONE</p><p>Tone can be tricky, because it isn't so easy to prescribe a clear-cut fix for tone as it is for 'show don't tell'. In terms of tone, it's quite common for a writer to discover there's a gap between their intent and the result on the page. Whether it's thinking that something is funny which perhaps won't work across the board, or portraying a character as rational when they come across as cruel or misguided, conflict in tone happens to all us writers at some point. The gap between intent and result gets less likely with experience, but it can still happen (which is why even professional novelists have editors). A client working on a first novel may not realise there’s a gap between intent and result - so it’s the writing coach or editor’s job to identify this, and to give helpful tips to guide the writer to close the gap. Tone issues can arise in humour, for example, if the writer finds it tricky to correctly identify the difference between satire, full on humour or a novel with occasionally witty bits which might actually be quite dark or grim in tone. Tone also includes understanding that setting doesn’t completely govern the feel of a novel, so a story situated in a run-down UK pit village or an ailing town in the outback isn’t automatically bleak, it could equally be light humour or dark crime thriller depending how the writer handles the material. This makes tone really tricky to explain in a one-size-fits-all way, which is why it’s so important for a coach to scratch under the skin of what an aspiring debut author is trying to achieve, so that they can advise appropriately.</p><p> </p><p>Tone is important to consider when writing for younger readers, because it's what separates middle grade fiction from YA or adult fiction. Characters in children's books often find themselves in danger, but this is sometimes expressed with light-touch humour rather than true darkness. Darker themes, sexual content and harsh language are geared towards older readers. A great way an aspiring debut can check all this is out, is by reading recently mainstream published best sellers in the appropriate age group category. If you want to write middle grade fiction, immerse yourself in it so that you get a 'feel' for how it's written. This might sound obvious, but it's surprising how many clients don't realise that reading their competition matters.</p><p> </p><p><u>Tips for assessing the tone of your favourite prose include: </u></p><p> </p><p>How does the author build imagery (and use word choices) to create a specific tone? </p><p> </p><p>How do these word choices extend to character, to manipulate the reader's perception of the person we're reading about? </p><p> </p><p>If your favourite extract is humour, is it social satire, is it grimly funny, is it laugh aloud slapstick or farce? How might you relate this to what you want to achieve in your own MS?</p><p> </p><p>How does the author use the physical setting to convey or reinforce a certain tone throughout the story? How might you adopt the same approach in your own work?</p><p> </p><p>TWO NOVELISTS ON GENRE - when journalists and authors disagree</p><p>The late novelist Anne McCaffrey regularly had her dragon novels reviewed as fantasy. Anne would crossly point out that she actually wrote science fiction, because the dragons of Pern were genetically engineered in a lab on another planet before the story began, specifically to fight the moon parasite Thread, which ate its way through everything when it fell to earth. Anne noted with considerable delight that her critics couldn’t say much in response to her statement. Another fascinating commentator on all things fiction was the late novelist Ursula Le Guin, who couldn’t stand to have her books pigeonholed as this or that. ‘Left to me, I would just call them novels’, she once said.</p><p> </p><p>Le Guin regularly lamented that a whole new bunch of fantasy writers had turned their ‘characters to dolls’, and previously powerful fantasy tropes to ‘meaningless platitudes’. If I was setting out as an aspiring fantasy writer today, then I’d want to make sure my fiction wasn’t something a highly decorated writer like Le Guin would consider shallow and pointless. The only way to do this would be to make sure I had read around the genre well enough to see for myself who was strong and who was a copy-cat or a watered-down exponent of the fantasy echelon. I’d also be sure to read dated fantasy, but to internalise that this isn’t a great influence for modern fantasy due to too much exposition, lack of decent female characters, and excessive world building. Plus, I’d engage with the ongoing debate on male and female characters in fantasy fiction, to ensure that I courted the 60% of all book-buyers and readers who surveys tell us are women. This is where reading widely comes into play, but reading as a writer only works when you apply what you’ve read in a reflective manner, sometimes challenging received wisdom, always exploring reviews and critical opinion, and basically having a long think about everything you’ve read and researched. </p><p> </p><p>Writing well takes more than just reading lots - as writers, we need to get inside the prose and explore the mechanics of what makes it successful. The great news is, once you have it, 'reading as a writer' is a skill you’ll never lose.</p><p> </p><p>Useful links for more information on 'reading as a writer':</p><p> </p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.goodstorycompany.com/blog/reading-like-a-writer" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this website article">t</a><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.goodstorycompany.com/blog/reading-like-a-writer" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="his website article">his website article</a>;</p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="http://mazon.co.uk/David-Lodge-FICTION-AUTHOR-PAPERBACK/dp/B00I61CFHQ/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=david+lodge+the+art+of+fiction&qid=1628301978&sr=8-1" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this non-fiction book">this non-fiction book</a>;</p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="https://annkroeker.com/2020/11/16/how-to-read-like-a-writer/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this website article">this website article</a>;</p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Reading-Like-Writer-Guide-People/dp/1908526076/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=francine+prose+reading+like+a+writer&qid=1628302094&sr=8-1" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this non-fiction book">this non-fiction book</a>.</p><p><i>August 4th 2021</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/66619012021-06-17T10:28:20+01:002023-08-22T08:21:43+01:00Show Don’t Tell - a Writer's Guide<p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/c6c4a644eb28f0fb2fd00cf1f92808b7b6abaf94/original/adobestock-471291377.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>'Show don’t tell' is an important rule for all writers of fiction. Showing rather than explaining things allows the reader to join the dots for themselves, which readers love to do. Showing is vivid for the reader - it unfolds events in real time, as though we’re watching them happen. Telling is when everything is related in hindsight, having already happened. Telling includes backstory, lengthy explanations, and a certain kind of information-based scene setting (including long character descriptions/potted histories). </p><p> </p><p>In tense scenes especially, showing should generally outweigh telling. Sometimes, writers use combinations of showing with a little bit of telling, but it's best to trim the telling right back. Experienced writers often use crafty hooks to get away with tracts of telling, whilst still drawing the reader in. If you spot an author who does this, and does it well, pick apart the prose to see how it was achieved - this is known as 'reading as a writer', a vital skill for fiction and nonfiction writers alike. </p><p> </p><p>Here's an example of how to identify telling, and how to edit it. In the following extract, the telling is underlined. You'll notice that it relates to anything the narrator knows, or is already sure about. The showing, on the other hand, happens as it unfolds, so our narrator is as surprised by these events as we readers are: </p><p> </p><p>'Down by the far side was a woman. She had black hair pulled into a bun. <u>She reminded me of a holo photo Aunt Lucy had at home. My mother, in her younger years: dark, severe, unfathomable. Long before Aunt Lucy went into hospital, I’d taken the picture and thrown it down the waste chute. Whoever she was,</u> she was standing on the same aisle as my mother’s marker. <u>It was the first time I’d seen anybody down here just before closing. </u>I began to walk faster. <u>The further I got, the more</u> the fog muffled my footsteps. <u>When </u>I passed under the last arch, the woman turned and looked at me. Simultaneously, a claxon rang out from the chapel. I jumped. </p><p> </p><p>‘Five minutes until the gates are locked,’ said a digitised voice. </p><p> </p><p>I cursed softly. <u>It had never taken me more than half an hour to find Aunt Connie’s plot before.</u> I glanced back to check the digi display on the chapel clock. The face glowed grey through the twilight. <u>The tannoy was right. </u></p><p> </p><p>When I looked back, the woman had gone. </p><p> </p><p>I hurried on, the carnations flapping loose in my hand. <u>I couldn’t remember the colour of the grave marker. On a hunch, I headed for where the woman had been. </u>There, by a damp footprint in the Astroturf, was my mother’s marker, hemmed in by the fronds of a wasting plant, <u>a real one, probably put there by Aunt Lucy before planting was made illegal. </u></p><p> </p><p><u>Anna Charlotte Bruce, it read</u>, the dates underneath obscured by a thin deposit of muck. </p><p> </p><p>I laid down the flowers and turned to leave.'</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>If we take out the telling, tidy up what's left with some minor changes, and keep only the showing, the story will unfold with more pace: </p><p> </p><p>'Down by the far side was a woman. She had black hair, pulled into a bun. She stood in the same aisle as my mother’s marker. I began to walk faster. The fog muffled my footsteps. As I passed under the last arch, the woman turned to look at me. Simultaneously, a claxon rang out from the chapel. </p><p> </p><p>‘Five minutes until the gates are locked,’ said a digitised voice. </p><p> </p><p>I glanced back to check the digi-display on the chapel clock; its face glowed grey through the twilight. </p><p> </p><p>When I looked back, the woman had gone. </p><p> </p><p>I hurried on, the carnations flapping loose in my hand. There, by a damp footprint in the Astroturf, was my mother’s marker, hemmed in by the fronds of a wasting plant. </p><p> </p><p>Anna Charlotte Bruce, it read, the dates underneath obscured by a thin deposit of muck. </p><p> </p><p>I laid down the flowers and turned to leave.'</p><p> </p><p>I retained the last little bit of telling, the name on the grave marker being the narrator's mother, because it’s necessary for the reader to know who this woman is for the next part of the story. But, you’ll notice that these changes speed up the flow of the story, and make it more dramatic. The golden rule is, telling is explanation, and explanation slows the story down. Showing, unfolding things as they happen, is more vivid, because this is where the heart of every story is. </p><p> </p><p>As writers become more experienced, it's easier for them to understand how to write dramatic telling which will work: 'The day Julian died was burned into her memory forever'; or 'That spring, one of the new calves was born with two heads - the locals said it was witchcraft', and so on. Avoid telling swathes of backstory (where your character was born, grew up or worked) or listing facts ('The bell tower was built in 1894 out of local stone') to set a scene. This isn't necessary, and it won't be well received by the reader, because it's slow and cumbersome in its detail, and so it takes us out of the heart of the story to concentrate on peripheries instead.</p><p> </p><p>Writing in first person (this includes memoir as well as fiction) allows for more telling than writing in third person does. This is because the first person narrator is speaking from the heart, and so can enliven 'telling' with injections of emotional revelation which the reader will warm to (or perhaps be horrified by!) which will draw them further into the story. This isn't the same as giving lists of facts, though, so it's always wise to make judicious choices about including lots of backstory or physical environment detail. Any truly important scene can be rewritten to unfold in 'real time' as a flashback or a chapter in its own right, rather than slipped in as a 'told' section.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, going through your MS and working out which scenes are unimportant, and which really need to stay, can illustrate which scenes to update as showing, and which you'd best leave out entirely.</p><p> </p><p>Short story writers sometimes get away with telling more easily than novelists can. Because short stories don't ask for prolonged involvement from readers, readers are inclined to be more forgiving of rule-breaking; occasionally, successful short story writers on their first foray into longer fiction are surprised to discover that they can't use the same storytelling styles that they did previously, with the same success.</p><p> </p><p>Here are some more links to help with show-don’t-tell:</p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.autocrit.com/editing/support/showing-vs-telling-indicators/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Show Don't Tell 1 - AutoCrit article&nbsp;">Show Don't Tell 1 - AutoCrit article </a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://emmadarwin.typepad.com/thisitchofwriting/showing-and-telling-the-basics.html" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Show Don't Tell 2 - Emma Darwin's blog">Show Don't Tell 2 - Emma Darwin's blog</a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.invisibleinkediting.com/blog/how-to-master-showing-vs-telling/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Show Don't Tell 3 - Invisible Ink article">Show Don't Tell 3 - Invisible Ink article</a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerryjenkins.com/show-dont-tell/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Show Don't Tell 4 - Jerry Jenkins's blog">Show Don't Tell 4 - Jerry Jenkins's blog</a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.ajcollins.com.au/resources-for-writers/what-are-filter-words/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Filter words (related to show don't tell) - an article by AJ Collins">Filter words (related to show don't tell) - an article by AJ Collins</a></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Happy Writing!</p><p> </p><p><i>June 17th 2021</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/66616542021-06-17T01:21:19+01:002023-08-22T08:22:44+01:00What is Dystopian Fiction? <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/a0514cbafefd640084c43d84410dde19b6143ce9/original/adobestock-595032754.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Dystopian fiction is a particular kind of science fiction. Whereas science fiction can be about intergalactic travel, off-world adventures, spaceships and futuristic technology, dystopian fiction is always situated on our Earth, ‘somewhen’ in the future. Dystopian fiction is therefore a sub-genre of the wider umbrella of science fiction, and it has its own unique rules. </p><p>Dystopian fiction imagines how our future might be shaped by all the things we’re doing wrong to the earth and its people today. Pollution, exploitation, plague and nuclear/natural disaster are often the basis for stories set in a dystopian environment. Dystopian fiction is set far enough in the future for us to see the negative effects of these things, whilst being close enough to today for us to recognise our own Earth and its people in the story. So, in dystopian fiction, the planet has already been polluted, or partly destroyed by nuclear war, or divided into social tiers which leave the disadvantaged unprotected, or ravaged by plague. Sometimes, dystopian novels feature all of these things. </p><p>The first dystopian fiction was published around the turn of the last Century. Writers such as HG Wells and Jack London imagined a flawed society in which advancements in technology and social structure might not bring the best out in people. London’s novel ‘The Iron Heel’ set the tone for the underdog narrator, who is pursued and punished by a ruling elite. If you think about Katniss Everdeen in ‘The Hunger Games’ and the kids in ‘The Maze Runner’, you can see how this aspect (known as a trope) has continued through time. The underdog always fights for freedom, and the reader is always on the underdog’s side - this is a major trope of dystopian fiction. </p><p>After ‘The Iron Heel’, the most popular dystopian novels were Zamyatin’s ‘We’, Orwell’s ‘1984’, and Huxley’s ‘Brave New World’. These stories are built on the ‘grey corridors of power’. They aren’t adventure stories so much as tales about a government which tries to supress its people, treating them as automatons who must obey the rules and relinquish true freedom. In these novels, a faceless elite rule from their secret corridors of power, stamping down anybody who tries to be different. You can see how this has continued in ‘The Hunger Games’, with the citizens of Capitol treating the residents of the Districts so cruelly. </p><p>Later dystopian novels began to examine the damage nuclear war might do to the earth, or the havoc that climate change and habitat destruction might bring. These novels are written in the vein of classic adventure-quests, and include ‘Z for Zachariah’ (Robert O’Brien), ‘The Madd Addam Trilogy’ (Margaret Atwood), and ‘The Ice People’ (Maggie Gee). In these novels, wilful damage of the Earth has got truly out of hand; disasters (both natural and man-made) happen with alarming regularity, and all life on the planet is in grave danger. </p><p>Many dystopian novels look at the social aspects of a dysfunctional society, with a focus on women’s roles: Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ and its sequel ‘The Testaments’ are examples, along with Vonda McIntyre’s ‘Dreamsnake’ and Doris Lessing’s ‘The Memoirs of a Survivor’. Other dystopian novels are apocalyptic in nature, dealing with the immediate aftermath of ‘the Fall’. These stories follow a family or a small number of people as they fight for survival in a lawless and destroyed environment. Examples of apocalyptic dystopian novels include Cormac McCarthy’s ‘The Road’, and John Christopher’s ‘A Wrinkle in the Skin’. </p><p>But, the most popular kind of dystopian fiction written today is the YA (young adult) adventure. In these novels, many of which have been made into films, a young protagonist underdog must take on society’s ruling elite and fight for freedom. ‘The Hunger Games’ (Collins), ‘Divergent’ (Roth), ‘Maze Runner’ (Dashner) and ‘The Giver’ (Lowry) are all examples of YA dystopian adventures. The tropes created by writers of dystopian fiction over a hundred years ago can still be seen in these modern stories: the underdog narrator, who leads a rebellion or campaigns for change; the ruling elite who tell others how to behave; the supposition that one-size-fits-all in this futuristic society; and the narrator’s fight for truth and freedom. </p><p>Once upon a time, dystopian narrators were swallowed by the system and ultimately failed to break free - today, YA heroes and heroines triumph over the ruling class and win a better life for themselves and their people. </p><p>It will be interesting to see what developments in dystopian storytelling occur over the next fifty years.</p><p> </p><p><i>This blog was written for a teenage education group who needed a high-level summary of the genre. It really made me think about the most important elements of dystopian fiction, which helped me to distil the genre down to its most basic but informative components. </i></p><p><i>June 17th 2021</i></p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/66546912021-06-10T00:13:00+01:002022-05-21T22:41:21+01:00Google Docs is NOT for Novel Writing - a guest blog by TJ Haynes<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<p>I wrote my first book, <em>The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing</em>, on Google Docs. The book clocked in around 111,000 words. Writing it on Docs was a mistake. </p>
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<p>TLDR: Google Docs is not a good <a contents="book writing software" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://kindlepreneur.com/best-book-writing-software/" target="_blank">book writing software</a>. It is excellent for short-form content like blogging and collaborative projects like corporate documents. But Google Docs struggles to handle documents of more than 15k-25k words. </p>
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<p><u>My Personal Experience Writing a Novel on Google Docs </u></p>
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<p>My personal experience seems to be common — that Google Docs experiences major latency problems at high word counts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, it is difficult to find much about these problems on forums or articles across the web. Mentions of these problems exist, but not many. (Maybe that’s because I’m searching on Google, haha!) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m the type of person who doesn’t like to make a fuss, so I gnash my teeth and hold my tongue. I endured the…: </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…endless waiting it took to simply scroll through my document. <br>…five seconds of frustration it took to insert a new paragraph break. </p>
<p><br>…frequent moments when the cursor didn’t line up with where I was typing on any lines that contained more than one “F” — I’m not kidding! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I just had to sip my coffee (or a stronger drink) and try to ignore how frustrating Google Docs was being. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I thought these problems with Google Docs were only my problems. My desktop computer from which I was writing had to be six years old at that point. But I didn’t think anything of it when I got a brand new Mac laptop for Christmas, and the Google Docs problems just got worse — along with the pit in my stomach. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>More evidence it wasn’t just me: Months after the fact, I had multiple beta readers tell me they didn’t read my manuscript because the sheer size of the document made Google Docs laggy and therefore frustrating to simply navigate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><u>Why isn’t Google Docs good for novel writing? </u></p>
<p> </p>
<p>With large-word count documents, Google Docs is not good for novel writing because: </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scrolling lags <br>Entering paragraph breaks lags <br>Typing lags <br>“Finding” lags (CTRL+F or CMND+F) <br><a contents="Clicking different parts of your book" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://kindlepreneur.com/parts-of-a-book/" target="_blank">Clicking different parts of your book</a> in the outline is laggy <br>The cursor is misaligned on lines that contain multiple F’s <br>Refreshing does help for a couple minutes, but refreshing also takes a very long time <br><a contents="Editing" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.lizmonument.com/blog/blog/what-is-a-line-edit" target="_blank">Editing</a> a large block of text take a long time (like adjusting the font size for the whole document) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Forget <a contents="formatting your book" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://kindlepreneur.com/how-to-format-a-book/" target="_blank">formatting your book</a> while still in Google Docs. With a document that size, it takes forever just to adjust the orientation from portrait to landscape. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><u>Google Docs Alternatives </u></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, Google Docs is free, which is great. That’s why I used it to write a book and a half. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, if you’re writing a full-length novel (40k+ words), you will be miserable using Google Docs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><u>Here are some great alternatives to Google Docs: </u></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a contents="Scrivener" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.literatureandlatte.com/scrivener/overview" target="_blank">Scrivener</a> (what I switched to) </p>
<p><a contents="Microsoft Word" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX7HACzq7_I" target="_blank">Microsoft Word</a> (great if it’s already on your computer) <br>Apple Pages <br>Ulysses <br>Novlr </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When I purchased Scrivener for a one-time fee (none of those monthly payments), I felt like I was treating myself simply because Scrivener never lags when I type. You know, typing — the very basis of a writer’s career. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thanks for reading my ramblings as I impossibly try to get this critical information into the Google search results, despite Google’s inevitable meddling. One day, I hope to stop seeing Google Docs listed on every “Best Book Writing Software” list. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>About the Guest Author: T. Josiah Haynes </em></p>
<p>T. Josiah Haynes (most call me TJ) is an author just getting started in the self-publishing game, ready to upgrade to <a contents="traditional publishing" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.lizmonument.com/blog/blog/so-how-do-i-get-my-novel-published" target="_blank">traditional publishing</a> any day now. He’s written and directed multiple plays and musicals in the Nashville theatre scene. He works for a Nashville-based startup called <a contents="Clara" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://clara.agency/" target="_blank">Clara</a>.</p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/66538712021-06-09T05:59:08+01:002023-08-22T08:23:15+01:00‘Clunky prose’, and how to avoid writing it <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/f7760d5a3bf579f092a2fbf26e7d68017d17d95e/original/adobestock-336067790.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>The expression ‘clunky prose’ is often used by writing coaches and editors. It describes prose which is clumsily written. We’ve all been guilty of using clunky prose at some point, which is why the phrase is so commonly used. Aspiring debut authors often ask, ‘But what does ‘clunky prose’ mean? And how am I supposed to fix it?’ </p><p> </p><p>Clunky prose is a way of describing sentences which are a little bit awkward, unwieldy, usually not very smooth, or which contain too many words. They don’t read easily, and they can seem to drift. Sometimes, clunky prose has too many focuses, which confuse the reader because they don’t have a clear direction. The good news is, clunky prose is easy to sort out by applying some basic editing techniques. So, for example: </p><p> </p><p>‘I pushed my shoulder into the door and it opened with a creak, before I threw my rucksack into the bushes so that nobody would hear the noise.’ </p><p> </p><p>This is a clunky sentence because it has several focusses: shoulder, door, the sound the door makes, rucksack, bushes and again sound (this time with the inference that the narrator is being secretive for some reason). In storytelling terms, this paints a picture, but the detail is overloaded and the focus of the sentence changes continually. The first thing to do is to split the sentence down into its individual parts, to make it less clunky: </p><p> </p><p>‘I pushed my shoulder into the door. It opened with a creak. I threw my rucksack into the bushes. I didn’t want anybody to hear me leave.’ </p><p> </p><p>Now, the sentence has been split into clear sections, none of which are overloaded (and therefore are no longer clunky). At this point, it’s possible to look at the word choices, with the aim of changing them to increase the level of sophistication: </p><p> </p><p>‘I leaned into the door. The hinge squealed as I pushed. Carefully, I tossed my rucksack outside. It landed in a bush with a soft thud. I couldn’t risk being caught.’ </p><p> </p><p>When tinkering with a sentence, particularly in a high-tension scene, sometimes you can find yourself editing it several more times. So, it can be refined further, perhaps with the description increased: </p><p> </p><p>‘The door was cold against my cheek. I pushed, and the hinge groaned. Carefully, I lowered my rucksack, and shoved it through the gap. A burst of rain stung my face. Somewhere out of sight, the sound of distant footsteps crossed the hall; the grandfather clock chimed, its bell unnaturally loud. I slipped through the gap and closed the door. The latch clicked behind me. I was free.’ </p><p> </p><p>Or, you might want to strip your description right back: </p><p> </p><p>‘The door wasn’t locked. The hinge creaked as it swung open. Somewhere deep in the house, footsteps pounded; the grandfather clock chimed. Throwing my rucksack onto the path outside, I squeezed through the gap, and slipped out into the night.’ </p><p> </p><p>Whether you choose to use lots of words or very few is down to personal choice. It also depends on what you’re trying to achieve with the scene, but the aim is to keep the sentences uncluttered, direct, and with a limited focus. </p><p> </p><p><u>The guidelines for avoiding clunky prose are: </u></p><p> </p><p>Split long sentences into shorter ones, using a new sentence every time the focus changes. </p><p><br>Then, look at your word choices, including repeated words which could be changed or removed. Could any of the words be swapped out to add sophistication, or to enhance atmosphere? </p><p><br>Always leave your prose to ‘sit’ for as long as possible before the final edit, so that you can view it with fresh eyes. It’s amazing how things you never noticed before (like repeated words) will leap out at you. </p><p> </p><p>This editing technique can be applied at any point in the writing process, from a quick review of a page of work-in-progress, to a full first-draft edit and beyond.</p><p> </p><p><i>9th June 2021</i></p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64872812020-11-28T04:21:53+00:002023-08-22T08:23:46+01:00What is a line edit?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/f4bf04622afb0d2bfda418730aeec5f1a76cf562/original/adobestock-284687065.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>A line edit (sometimes referred to as a copy edit) addresses a manuscript line-by-line, putting right any little errors, removing repetitions, correcting mistakes in punctuation, and anything else required to perfect the prose. Sometimes, longer sentences might need breaking down, or too much description or talking might need paring back. Writing to a publishable standard is so competitive that aspiring debut authors need to be in control of these aspects - a line edit done by a professional editor should ideally only be light-touch in nature.</p><p> </p><p>Part of learning to self-edit involves standing back from the script to assess it with a dispassionate eye. This is best achieved after a break of several weeks or (preferably) months, because time away from the manuscript allows the writer to see it with fresh eyes.</p><p> </p><p>For a writer editing their own work, line edits can be quite intensive, because you've developed your script from scratch and so it stands to reason that it will need a lot of pruning over many months. This may include several thorough edits. For an editor working on a professional writer's MS, line edits are designed to put the final gloss on a MS before a final proof read. As a freelance editor, I've turned down requests to correct all the mistakes in a debut manuscript which has no punctuation, for example, because aspiring writers need to be able to handle these aspects of the craft for themselves. I've recommended websites, courses and classes to help. I mostly always include a short sample line edit in reports, to illustrate to the client which areas can be corrected (punctuation, if applicable) or trimmed down (perhaps too much talking or telling). </p><p> </p><p>Below is an example line edit designed to make the story spring off the page, and to put right minor errors:</p><p> </p><p>ORIGINAL:</p><p>'Dead Beat' wasn't my kind of club. Despite the fact I'd dressed entirely in black and slicked back my hair, I knew I didn't fit in. The dance floor pulsated with black-clad youths and scantily dressed girls. Most of them looked high. Even the crowd standing round the edge swayed in time to the music like mannequins pulled by a single string. (If you could call it music. Goth death metal has never been my taste, especially when it's so loud it lifts your feet off the ground.) I pushed my way through the sweaty bodies and headed for the stairs. That's when I saw him. He was on the balcony, his back pressed against the rails. </p><p> The stairs were teeming with youths who made no effort to move. My progress was slow. Somebody slopped ice cold lager down my back, and slurred an apology. Once I reached the top, the crowd thinned out. The slouchy settees on the mezzanine level had been bagged by amorous couples. I spotted a threesome in one corner, their lean limbs entangled. </p><p> I guess he must've seen me emerge from the shadows. He shot away from the balcony, dropped his water bottle, and stood in the middle of the gangway with his mouth open. Forgive me for being critical, but there's something singularly unattractive about a guy who wears a parka and jam-jar bottom glasses to a night club. </p><p> 'Jess?' he squinted. 'Hello Merv.' I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and stared. </p><p> What are you doing here"</p><p> 'Looking for you,' I said.</p><p> "I have to take you in, Merv." </p><p> </p><p>SUGGESTED LINE EDIT TO IMPROVE CLARITY, PACE AND TENSION - remove unnecessary words and phrases, cut conversation where appropriate, remove telling so that showing is foregrounded (underlined), remove frequency of 'he said'/'she said', use speech marks correctly: </p><p> </p><p>'Dead Beat' wasn't my kind of club. <u>Despite the fact</u> I'd dressed entirely in black and slicked back my hair, [but] <u>I knew</u> I didn't fit in. The dance floor pulsated with black-clad youths and scantily dressed girls. Most of them looked high. <u>Even</u> the crowd standing round the edge swayed in time to the music like mannequins pulled by a single string. <u>(If you could call it music. Goth death metal has never been my taste, especially when it's so loud it lifts your feet off the ground.)</u> I pushed my way through the sweaty bodies and headed for the stairs. That's when I saw him. He was on the balcony, his back pressed against the rails. </p><p> <u>The stairs were teeming with youths who made no effort to move. My progress was slow. Somebody slopped ice cold lager down my back, and slurred an apology. </u>Once I reached the top, the crowd thinned out. <u>The slouchy settees on the mezzanine level had been bagged by amorous couples. I spotted a threesome in one corner, their lean limbs entangled. </u></p><p> I guess he must've seen me emerge from the shadows. He shot away from the balcony, dropped his water bottle, and stood in the middle of the gangway with his mouth open.<u> Forgive me for being critical, but there's something singularly unattractive about a guy who wears a parka and jam-jar bottom glasses to a night club. </u></p><p> 'Jess?' he squinted. </p><p> 'Hello Merv.' I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and stared. </p><p> 'What are you doing here?' </p><p> 'Looking for you,' I said. 'I have to take you in, Merv.' </p><p> </p><p>FINAL RESULTS: </p><p>'Dead Beat' wasn't my kind of club. I'd dressed entirely in black and slicked back my hair, but I didn't fit in. The dance floor pulsated with black-clad youths and scantily dressed girls. Most of them looked high. The crowd standing round the edge swayed in time to the music like mannequins pulled by a single string. I pushed my way through the sweaty bodies and headed for the stairs. That's when I saw him. He was on the balcony, his back pressed against the rails. </p><p> At the top, the crowd thinned out. </p><p> I guess he must've seen me emerge from the shadows. He shot away from the balcony, dropped his water bottle, and stood in the gangway with his mouth open. </p><p> 'Jess?' he squinted. </p><p> 'Hello Merv.' I thrust my hands deep into my pockets. </p><p> 'What are you doing here?' </p><p> 'Looking for you. I have to take you in, Merv.' </p><p> </p><p>The wordcount is reduced, the speech is clearer, and the explanatory tracts have been stripped down because sometimes, in storytelling, less is more. </p><p> </p><p>For more information on Line Editing:</p><p> </p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="http://avajae.blogspot.com/2015/12/line-editing-what-to-look-for.html" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this blog here">this blog here</a>;</p><p>And <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jamigold.com/2018/03/what-is-line-editing-and-what-should-line-editors-do/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this article here">this article here</a>;</p><p>Or <a class="no-pjax" href="https://thewritelife.com/line-edits/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this blog here">this blog here</a>;</p><p>Try <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Complete-Write-Novel-Course-Yourself/dp/1473600480/ref=sr_1_7?dchild=1&keywords=the+complete+guide+to+editing+your+fiction&qid=1628302780&sr=8-7" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this self-help non-fiction book">this self-help non-fiction book</a> for general tips;</p><p>And <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Self-Editing-Fiction-Writers-Second-Browne/dp/0060545690/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=self+editing+for+authors+brown&qid=1628302881&sr=8-1" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="this book to">this book </a>also. </p><p><i>28th November 2020</i></p><p> </p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64809622020-11-19T03:50:29+00:002024-02-12T10:18:09+00:00Do I need a writing coach?<p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/222c976cd0200ee5bf3680ad29713a79af29b466/original/adobestock-536631114.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p>I’m delighted to have recently been appointed a coaching <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/complete-novel-mentoring/liz-monument-mentor-profile/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Mentor for Jericho Writers">Mentor for Jericho Writers</a>, alongside my regular freelance editing and coaching work. I’m a huge fan of mentoring/coaching, because it turned me from an aspiring novelist into a mainstream published author. I hate to think how much longer it might’ve taken me to complete a saleable debut novel, without the light but firm guidance of my <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.lancaster.ac.uk/english-literature-and-creative-writing/people/sarah-corbett" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="original mentor">original mentor</a>, the <a class="no-pjax" href="https://sarahcorbettpoet.wordpress.com/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="poet Sarah Corbett.&nbsp;">poet Sarah Corbett. </a></p><p>It’s frighteningly easy to overlook simple things like sentence rhythm, vivid characterisation, and the show-don’t-tell rule. Coaching or mentoring looks at all these things but crucially, for many clients, takes a bigger overview too. Plot and genre define the essence of a novel, and all too often, clients have read like sponges without truly internalising effective plot structure or understanding why genres have certain codes which need to be fulfilled. A writer with natural talent can almost be ‘tapped’ back into place (Sarah described this as being like a chiropractor using the tiniest of movements to reposition the bones of the story). With light-touch tuition, the quality of that writer’s prose then increases so much; prose springs off the page, plots hang together, and characters become more vivid. </p><p>Of course, this all takes time, and plenty of practice, which is why working through a client’s prose over weeks, months, or even years is ideal. My journey was almost ten years long, via MA to PhD, because way back when I needed a coach, the on-line options available today just didn’t exist. I’m truly excited to be part of this growing tradition of mentoring creative writers on their journey.</p><p> </p><p><i>19th November 2020</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64608602020-10-22T02:18:20+01:002024-02-12T10:14:07+00:00Stories from Geelong and regional Victoria - How can an editor help me? <p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/e8970821c7b929cae27e855cfba76491f0cfcf2a/original/170532-aerials-254.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p>One of the interesting things about offering services for<a class="no-pjax" href="/script-doctor" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Script Doctor" contents=" novel editing in Geelong"> novel editing in Geelong</a> is how often the local landscape crops up in the fiction I read. While my clients come from different countries, it's a lovely surprise when I recognise place names and settings, sometimes even the odd historical figure from my town’s frontier past - because when clients get in touch, they don't always tell me where they're based! Offering novel editing in Victoria also draws writers from a state-wide landscape, which so far has included a psychopath in Apollo Bay, a 19th Century gold-miner from Ballarat, and a family historical saga set in pre-war Gippsland, to name only three. </p><p>Whatever the focus of a client’s novel, when I write a <a class="no-pjax" href="/script-doctor" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Script Doctor" contents="structural report">structural report</a>, I split it into areas of relevance. These can include an assessment of genre, a closer look at characterisation, plot, layout, the ‘show don’t tell’ rule, and a host of other things. Often, it's punctuation (particularly of speech), the suggested addition of decent female characters (which I blogged about <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/blog/blog/writing-women-characters" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="here">here</a>), or changing point of view. Other details include the setting - the physical landscape, for example, can be important to an unfolding story. It can be so much more than simply a backdrop, because landscape can reflect or echo the characters’ states of mind, it can create suspense or a sense of foreboding, or it can be used literally to hide dead bodies. The popular phrase ‘write what you know’ is repeated for good reason… your familiar locale can make a surprisingly good setting.</p><p> </p><p><i>22nd October 2020</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64608592020-10-22T02:17:58+01:002023-08-22T08:25:20+01:00Coaching fiction writing in Geelong<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/6d3072282220ef5505194cb937125f0ed894af63/original/adobestock-185877428.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>In March 2020, I began working full time as a freelance fiction <a class="no-pjax" href="/writing-coach" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Writing Coach" contents="writing coach in Geelong">writing coach in Geelong</a>, my hometown. I was at the end of a PhD in Creative Writing, so the timing seemed perfect. Nobody could’ve guessed that Covid and lockdown were only just around the corner. </p><p>For a while, I wondered whether I’d done the right thing. I’d applied to teach at my local university, too, but jobs were being cut thanks to the effect of the virus on the economy. The staff who remained were now working from home. Being a <a class="no-pjax" href="/writing-coach" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Writing Coach" contents="fiction writing coach in Victoria">fiction writing coach in Victoria</a> and beyond (sometimes dealing with clients in different time zones such as South Africa, New Zealand, Europe, and the UK) meant that I was already working from home. My clients were communicating with me via email and Zoom or facetime, so rather than being on a back foot, I realised that my daily work routine needn’t necessarily be affected. </p><p>I have no doubt that work has been slower to build during Covid than it might’ve been otherwise, but I’ll never know, because just as I began advertising as a <a class="no-pjax" href="/writing-coach" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Writing Coach" contents="fiction writing coach in Geelong">fiction writing coach in Geelong</a>, Covid arrived too. </p><p>Now, I’m eight months in, and work is building up nicely – for the first time I have a queue of novels waiting to be edited. I also have a lovely group of writers-in-progress who use me as an ongoing fiction writing coach. This morning I awoke to four emails from previous clients, touching base to tell me how their novels were progressing. </p><p>I couldn’t be happier.</p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64399472020-09-22T04:48:31+01:002023-08-22T08:26:16+01:00How do I write decent Women Characters?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/c0d63cf65abfd27466087275c13c4715d26562ec/original/adobestock-556509172.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Writing decent women characters is vital for the modern novelist, because surveys tell us that sixty per cent of all readers are female. The majority of editorial and commissioning staff in publishing houses today are also women. This means that, as a debut novelist, both the market majority and the people you are pitching to are largely women. This is why it’s so important to have well-rounded female characters in your fiction. It is perfectly acceptable to write a novel in which women are historically absent (for example, the film Master and Commander, based on the novels of Patrick O’Brian, features no women whatsoever because they were genuinely absent from Napoleonic warships). It isn’t such a smart move to omit women from societies in which women truly are present. Neither is it a good idea to have female characters whose only purpose is to snuggle into the hero’s chest, to make him look good in front of his mates. The key, when it comes to writing decent women characters, is balance. If you’ve written a novel with a male lead and a male supporting cast, and you review your fiction and realise that the women float around the edges of the page only appearing for bedroom scenes or to cook a nourishing meal, then it’s time to do some re-drafting. </p><p> </p><p>I’ll admit that this blog is largely aimed at blokes. As a fiction editor, I’ve encountered numerous unpublished/self-published novels in which the female characters aren’t really any more than props. However, what has surprised me is that women writers, too, can occasionally be unconsciously conditioned by traditionally male-authored accounts of certain historical periods (wartime, for example) or genres (the sci fi adventure), and can also perpetuate the predominantly-male cast in their own writing. </p><p> </p><p>If you need tips on writing decent women characters, because your fictional females aren’t vivid enough, here’s a quick checklist designed to help: </p><p> </p><p><strong>Read books written by women</strong> - never have a male-only reading list, whatever genre you aspire to write. Even if you're writing a hard sci fi interplanetary adventure, there's a lot you can learn from women writers about the minutiae of character/emotion/relationships. <strong>Read outside your comfort zone </strong>- this will keep you in touch with current trends, and what makes a believable, fully formed character. <strong>Join a writing critique group </strong>which has members of both sexes and all ages. This will provide you with different ‘takes’ on your work. <strong>Speak to a significant female in your life</strong> (one you can trust to be honest) about your women characters. Create believable women characters who your readers will warm to - give them a proper role in your unfolding story, bestow on them responsibilities, respectful relationships, interests, talents, the odd mean streak... just as you would with your fictional men.</p><p> </p><p><u>The most common mistakes I see in women characters in the books of aspiring debut authors:</u></p><p> </p><p>The women appear only to cook, clean, provide sex, comfort, or to act as a sounding board (or as a facilitator) for the leading man;</p><p>The women are limited to spinster-like sketches, femme fatales or matronly homemakers in a world where the men make all the decisions and have all the fun;</p><p>The women characters only appear to chronicle different angles of the lives of the leading men;</p><p>In non-fiction, memoir narrators omit any reference to long-term female partners who have shared their life journey with them, and who have genuinely contributed to where they are today.</p><p>The age of consent is ignored; female children are described with sexualised language; non-consensual sex scenes (rape and molestation) are described with erotic language which would be better placed in a regular love scene.</p><p> </p><p>Bear in mind that publishing was once run by men, principally for a male readership. So, if you're hugely influenced by dated fiction, it may affect your portrayal of the people and attitudes in your story. It's useful to remember that you stand the best chance of controlling your influences, as they begin to spill out into your work, if you understand where those influences stem from. This applies to all aspects of writing.</p><p> </p><p><i>October 2020</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/64021492020-08-05T00:42:42+01:002023-08-22T08:26:43+01:00Can I write my family history as historical fiction?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/6266200f3fe51f254120d68a14a132c0c7a78c0c/original/adobestock-602922657.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Yes - family stories provide terrific inspiration. Here are <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lithub.com/on-the-anxiety-of-writing-historical-fiction-a-users-manual/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="a few things to consider ">a few things to consider </a>before you embark on your journey.</p><p> </p><p>Recently, I’ve been privileged to connect with three writers who used aspects of real-life family history to craft their novels. Families provide excellent and often exciting sources of ‘remembered’ information, from wartime heroics and smart inventors to colourful eccentrics who made a mark on their respective communities. Families can also carry hidden histories or secrets, such as bigamists, illegitimate children, even murderers. The big question is, how does the writer harness this into story, and turn it into a novel? </p><p>A writer’s two main considerations when <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-historical-fiction" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="using family history as inspiration">using family history as inspiration</a> are structure and believability. </p><p>Structure is how the story is told. Whereas real life can be chaotic, fractured and inconclusive, readers expect a novel to depict a journey, a crisis/resolution, and then a satisfactory conclusion. Real life families also have a huge cast of characters, but the writer must decide which to introduce judiciously because a story can become diluted by too many names and faces. The biggest structural issue for the writer is therefore deciding how to craft events so that they reflect the truth, whilst giving a reader what is expected in terms of story. Readers don’t warm so much to chains of events - these might be drawn from real life, but they don’t deliver an evolving story with a proper conclusion. The ‘family history’ novels which find their way into mainstream publication are often said to be ‘based’ on the life of X or Y, simply because the writer has identified that the reader needs a beginning/middle/end, and therefore has deftly woven a few changes between the facts to fulfil this expectation. </p><p>Believability is a different issue. This is carefully cultured by staying true to the times in which the historical novel is set. So, although Great Aunt Jamila might’ve genuinely been the first naked lady trapeze artist to have graced the continental stage between the Wars, if she isn’t treated with an appropriate amount of suspicion by the wives of her largely-male audience, and doesn't cause a scandal because of her unmarried lifestyle and lack of clothes, it is likely that the writer hasn’t got behind the ‘spirit’ of the times. The facts are generally the easiest bits to check, but the elusive spirit - the ethos and values of a bygone era - can be more difficult to capture. </p><p>For the writer, taking on the mantle of another era has no quick or easy solution. It involves submerging yourself in the past by visiting museums, displays, and buildings; experimenting with recipes from the era in question; understanding how citizens of this time perceived art, appreciated books, designed home-ware and spent their days (which varied depending on wealth); reading newspapers and novels of the era (library microfiche collections and general internet research are useful here); and considering language. Many terms we use today in speech simply weren’t in existence in bygone times, and likewise, some words we still use are so old that they have their roots in the Dark Ages. </p><p>As with all kinds of writing, whatever era you wish to explore, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.abebooks.com/books/features/50-essential-historical-fiction-books.shtml" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="reading widely ">reading widely </a>is always a good place to start.</p><p> </p><p><i>August 2020</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/63195092020-05-22T06:45:26+01:002023-08-22T08:28:27+01:00The Day I Burned My Books<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/3bbccefe2edf6693e514edb5da162959f8456f9f/original/adobestock-118986746.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Many years ago, when my bookshelves were filled with ‘how to’ manuals on developing character, with titles like 'Write a Million', I remember struggling with the popular wisdom that writers should make a ‘character board’ for every character they invent. I associated these kind of pictoral boards with the ‘mood board’ that you’d use to collect decorating ideas for a bedroom or kitchen, not with a narrator for a story. But several how-to-write books were very specific on the character board and its contents, instructing budding novelists to cut out magazine or catalogue photos of somebody resembling your character (fair enough, I suppose, if your narrator needed to be young, skinny and glamorous), and to write down details of everything from the character’s favourite colour to his or her pet hate. Eager to put these words of wisdom into practice, I battled through the list of character board tasks, holding question-and-answer sessions with my heroine or hero, pondering over the relationships they might’ve had with their parents and siblings, trying to discover answers to questions about what had shaped their characters. After all, the how-to-write books explained that if you didn’t know your character’s quirks and deep-seated motivations, then how could you convincingly tell a story through their eyes? </p><p>The trouble was, by the time I’d reached the end of each character board, I felt utterly miserable. Despite the time they took to put together, I remained unconvinced by my characters – and I hadn’t even put them into a novel yet. Pondering over what they might wear to an office meeting or what kind of pasta they’d order at lunch (and sticking a picture of it onto the board) didn’t help me unfold the story and it certainly didn’t make my would-be characters any more fully-fleshed in my head. They were just pictures on a piece of card, accompanied by lists of facts and speech bubbles containing random words. I worried that there must be something intrinsically wrong with me as a writer. </p><p>Understanding character, and character development, as I was later to find out, doesn’t come through following a list of tasks in a certain style of how-to-write book. It took me many years of trying things my own way to realise that characters spring out of the page best when you put them in a situation and let them show you how they will handle it. In other words, start with a blank page and just write. Your character will reveal herself gradually. You don’t know her yet but pretty soon you’re going to, as she shows you how she handles having her car stolen, or being dumped by text by the man she thought she was going to marry. Somewhere along the line you may have cause to reveal that Lucy had a bad relationship with her mother or that Anna’s favourite colour is green because she was brought up in a hippy commune in the middle of a forest, but these aren’t facts you necessarily need to know when you start to write. </p><p>Among published writers, there’s a theory that characters, like stories, emerge whilst being excavated by the writer. It’s an image which comes up again and again. Ursula Le Guin noted: ‘If William is a character worthy of being written about, then he exists. He exists, inside my head to be sure, but in his own right, with his own vitality. All I have to do is look at him. I don’t plan him, compose him of bits and pieces, inventory him. I find him’ (from 'The Language of The Night', <i>Dreams Must Explain Themselves</i>, 1979). </p><p>The day I finally realised that characters need to be found and not inventoried was the day that I collected up a selection of my how-to-write books and threw them on an Autumn bonfire in the back garden. Well, at least the books that insisted on a character board...</p><p> </p><p>For some recommended 'How To Write' books, see a selection on the <a class="no-pjax" href="https://lizmonument.com/free-guide-to-writing" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Free Guide To Writing page">Free Guide To Writing page</a>. </p><p><i>May 2020</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/63172312020-05-15T06:41:38+01:002023-12-16T20:16:36+00:00How do I get my novel published?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/9cf195b4598937b7cb39dd042384459b6aae8086/original/adobestock-180424397.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>A client recently asked me how the mechanics of publishing work. This client has no interest in self-publishing; rather, he’s hoping to take the mainstream route when his novel is ready. I decided to blog about this because there are probably many as-yet-unpublished writers who might find the following information useful. </p><p> </p><p>MAINSTREAM PUBLISHING – HOW IT WORKS </p><p> </p><p>You can’t approach a publisher without finding a literary agent first. The role of the agent is to screen the fiction or non-fiction manuscripts they receive. Agents receive hundreds of manuscripts each week. Many won’t even be read. If you make a mistake in your covering letter, such as a typo or getting the agent’s name wrong, your work will be deleted immediately. Agents do this because they have far too many people requesting their services. It is not uncommon for a writer to approach fifty plus agents with a manuscript and to be rejected repeatedly. If and when this happens, you need to stop submitting your work and concentrate on improving it. Honestly, we’ve all been there – it’s part of the writer’s road.</p><p> </p><p>If you’re new to all this, please don’t confuse literary agents with publishers who will charge you to print your book. This is called self-publishing (or vanity publishing) and it isn’t what we’re discussing here. If you’re looking for an agent, an agent is not a publisher, and no decent agent (or mainstream publisher) will ever charge you to read or to print paperbacks of your work. I say this because at the time of writing, in Australia at least, an internet search for ‘literary agents’ will actually pull up publishers who are hoping to sign you up to pay for your book to be printed. This is not the same thing as getting an agent. </p><p> </p><p>If an agent likes your work, they will sign you up for a standard percentage cut of your future royalties. Your agent will suggest edits for your manuscript first, and once they’re completed, he or she will pitch your book to a number of publishers simultaneously. Novels can get as far as the acquisition stage (a meeting where new books are discussed at the publisher’s ‘round table’) and still be turned down at the last minute. If your book is accepted for publication, then it’s time to crack out the champagne. From hereon in, you won’t need to read blogs like this, because you will be involved in the industry directly, and will be offered plenty of advice from people in the know, on everything from editorial help to film rights representation. </p><p> </p><p>All literary agents have websites, some containing considerably more detail than others. Some of the long-established agencies don’t need a big shop front on the internet, because they have traded for so long that they get work through recommendation and word of mouth. Many literary agents now operate internationally, although at the time of writing, most Australian and New Zealand agents will only take writers from these countries. It is vitally important that you read each agents’ submission guidelines on their websites. If you don’t follow them, your work will be deleted without being read. The industry is very competitive, and more is turned down than is published. </p><p> </p><p>Useful and interesting links for writers seeking representation and advice: </p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://austlitagentsassoc.com/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Australian Literary Agents' Association">Australian Literary Agents' Association</a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Writers and Artists resource, UK">Writers and Artists resource, UK</a></p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://thewritelife.com/how-to-get-a-literary-agent/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="The Write Life article 'How To get A Literary Agent'">The Write Life article 'How To get A Literary Agent'</a></p><p> </p><p>THE SMALL INDEPENDENT PRESS </p><p> </p><p>There’s only one kind of publisher that a writer can approach directly (discounting self-publishing, which, as I’ve already noted, this blog doesn’t deal with): the small independent press. Indie presses won’t usually pay you an advance, won’t do huge print runs, and won’t put an awful lot of money into promoting your work because they don’t have the budgets that the bigger publishers have. If you wish to approach an indie press instead of an agent, research indie presses so that you know you’re targeting the right organisations. If you send your work to a publisher who isn’t independent, it will be deleted without being read, and you’ll spend months wondering why you didn’t hear anything back. </p><p> </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://mslexia.co.uk/shop/indie-press-guide/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Find small indie presses UK here.">Find small indie presses UK here</a><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.thisissplice.co.uk/about-splice/small-presses-in-the-uk/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Find small indie presses UK here.">.</a></p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://thejohnfox.com/2017/09/30-best-small-indie-literary-publishers/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Find small indie presses US here.">Find small indie presses US here.</a></p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://nothingintherulebook.com/2019/05/01/so-alternative-50-independent-and-alternative-publishers-to-support-buy-books-from-and-submit-your-work-to/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Fifty alternative presses are listed here.">Fifty alternative presses are listed here.</a></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s a long and often rocky road, because writing is a long and often difficult business. Expect every step to take at least twice as long as you thought it would, but know that this is perfectly normal for all us writers. For help in preparing your MS for publication, <a class="no-pjax" href="/contact-form" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Contact Form" contents="contact ">contact </a>Liz (based in Geelong, Victoria; working with clients worldwide).</p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/63141632020-05-13T03:46:20+01:002023-08-22T08:29:26+01:00Why use an editor?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/0b4be0338ec420b33c340a9cb6fcaa651e62cfdd/original/adobestock-572840250.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Why is editorial help important? How can independent advice improve a manuscript?</p><p> </p><p>As a writer, you can only get so far on your own before you need an outside eye. Even bestselling authors have a regular editor. The job of the editor is to say what works in your manuscript, and what doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>Do your ideas need developing? Do your characters spring off the page? Is the plot compelling enough? And, more importantly, if not, what should we do about it without scrapping the entire project and starting again? Here's my personal experience of what editorial help can do for a writer...</p><p> </p><p>In 2010, when I was pregnant with my second child, I had a part-time teaching job, a lively toddler, and a stack of unpublished fiction on my bookshelf that I despaired would ever make it into print. Like many aspiring writers, I knew that I needed help with my writing, but I was struggling to find it. I discovered a couple of local writers’ circles, and I hoped they might provide what I needed. But the problem was, with a young child, a baby on the way, and an evening job, I simply couldn’t make the meetings. Disappointed, I found a couple of writer forums on the net and hoped I’d struck gold, but the other members were an awful lot younger than me (I was 40). I didn’t want to be the only middle-aged woman in a group of eager young students. No matter where I looked or what I found in terms of writing support, it just didn’t tick the boxes for like-minded members or flexible meeting times. I was getting desperate. </p><p>Looking back, it strikes me how different things were ten years ago. There were few creative writing courses available on-line, and I don’t recall writing coaches advertising their services on the net, either. Those were the days of the Yellow Pages, a publication known more for its practical tradesmen than its freelance fiction editors! So, in 2011, it was in desperation that I finally joined an MA in creative writing. I remember balking at the astronomical fees, and desperately re-jigging the family finances and my workload in order to continue teaching after the arrival of baby number two, whilst studying part time. </p><p>I bit the bullet because every writer needs editorial help. That’s why literary agents screen clients, offer editorial advice and then filter novels through to publishers; it’s also why every publisher employs an editor who is assigned to your work to go through the process (yet again!) before you eventually find yourself in print. </p><p>Almost a decade later, after plenty of hard work and several false starts, I have two novels published, a third finished (as yet unpublished), a fourth novel in-progress, and a stack of short stories that I might just do something with one day. Because my PhD is almost complete, I recently decided it was time to take on some more work. I launched a Script Doctor service because I’m passionate about offering editorial advice on finished manuscripts (it’s a vital part of the journey to becoming published). But no sooner had I opened my doors for business, than it occurred to me that there are plenty of aspiring writers stuck in exactly the same position that I was, back in 2010 - writers with a stack of un-finished manuscripts, fragments of novellas, and detailed plot plans left on a shelf somewhere gathering dust simply because they cannot afford to engage in the expensive process of joining a publishing academy course or a creative writing MA, in order to get the advice they need. </p><p>This gave me an idea. The most helpful part of the <a class="no-pjax" href="/get-published" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Get published" contents="process of becoming published">process of becoming published</a>, for me, was having my un-finished work critiqued in chunks. As part of the MA, I’d submit extracts of fiction to a peer group or to my tutor. Nobody ever read the full novel, not even my final examiners. The extracts I sent for critique ranged between 1,000 and 5,000 words in length. I’d receive a detailed commentary in return, telling me what worked and what didn’t, exploring the extract in the wider context of the plot, and suggesting improvements. In the background, my critique group threw in plot breakdowns, flash-fiction, non-fiction, book reviews, recommended reading and other interesting suggestions. It was not only great fun, the process transformed my writing. I discovered what readers like, and what they don’t. After all, until this point I'd been writing for myself! I found out how to hook a reader with a choice opening line. I began to understand character and backstory. I became acquainted with a whole load of fiction I’d never previously heard of, which opened up tremendous possibilities to me as a writer, not just as a reader. And all this happened as I was writing my (then) unfinished novel, submitted in chunks, allowing me to tinker with plot, characters, and scenes throughout the journey rather than waiting until the very end to ask for help. Without this process, my first novel would have been unpublishable in 2013 when I finished the MA. Instead, it was short-listed for a competition that year, found an agent in 2014, became a talking book in 2015, and was published as a paperback in 2016. </p><p>So, my <a class="no-pjax" href="/the-script-doctor" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="The Script Doctor" contents="novel and fiction editing service">novel and fiction editing service</a> has now expanded to include <a class="no-pjax" href="/writing-coach" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Writing Coach" contents="The Writing Coach">The Writing Coach</a>. Writers can follow a similar blueprint to the one I did: nobody needs to submit a full manuscript to take advice on their prose. A writer can submit a single chunk as a one-off, or can return every few chapters to ask for more feedback. This system works very well indeed, as I know first-hand. This is the system that led to me finding an agent and becoming mainstream published.</p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/62780692020-04-10T05:42:21+01:002023-08-22T08:29:53+01:00What is Genre?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/a3be2e3e306bfb69ef45707b3d7b1499c6fd3b67/original/adobestock-606446384.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Genre describes the category to which fiction (or non-fiction) belongs. Crime, romance, Sci Fi, fantasy, memoir - these are all examples of different genres. The question is, why is genre important?</p><p> </p><p>Genre fictions (horror, fantasy, romance, crime, sci fi, and many more) all have codes set by the expectations of their readership. These codes have been refined over many years, some being perhaps cast off when books fall out of fashion or print, the stronger ones perpetuating and eventually being developed by each generation of new writers. So, genre fiction has a huge history that can’t, from the writer’s point of view, be ignored or skipped around. </p><p>Genre fiction is generally thought to be more approachable than literary fiction, and perhaps less sophisticated. I personally don’t believe this, because I’ve read awful examples of literary fiction and brilliant examples of genre fiction (and, of course, vice versa). I’ve also found that literary authors who decide to dabble in genre fiction often don’t do it anywhere near so well as genre writers who stick with their own favoured specialism. But, as with everything, there are always exceptions to the rule. </p><p>Even if you don't think of yourself as a crime novel or science fiction fan, along with everybody else who watches TV dramas, visits the cinema, or reads a canned plot resume of the latest Hollywood release, you will have become familiar with the various conventions of genre fiction without necessarily realising it. Think of film launch posters. The back-lit silhouette of a gun-toting figure on a rainy street, or a blood-spattered surgeon’s mask topped by a pair of dark and sinister-looking eyes, tap into our understanding and expectation of genre, and tell us an awful lot about how a story will unfold – even though we might never have picked up a combat-noir thriller or a slasher horror novel in our lives. </p><p>A fantastic example of genre expectation can be seen in the James Bond franchise. Most of us have watched re-runs of the old Bond films at Christmas, or followed Bond’s various incarnations when a new actor is employed to play the lead role. Even before we take a seat at the cinema, we know what to expect – lots of dramatic action supported by international political intrigue, a powerful villain, plenty of smart, beautiful women, and the knowledge that no matter how bad things look, Bond will always win the day. If our expectations weren’t met in these films, if Bond was killed or the villain destroyed an entire continent and fled Earth to live on a base on planet Mars, say, the audience would feel pretty cheated, and doubtless the Bond franchise would crash and burn. Genre expectation for written fiction runs on exactly the same principle. Readers have certain expectations, and as writers, we need always to be sensitive to this. </p><p>There are sub-genres, of course, and blends of genres (which is maybe why genre as a concept can seem confusing at times). Dystopian narrative is a sub-genre of science fiction, and apocalyptic dystopia is a sub-genre of dystopia; detective noir can be combined with science fiction (think 'Blade Runner', based on PK Dick's <i>Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?</i>) and historical fiction can be combined with detective fiction (think <i>The Cadfael Chronicles</i>, Ellis Peters). But, rather than feeling overwhelmed by this, in order to understand genre, the best thing an aspiring writer can do is to read widely. This develops an appreciation of how genre works, and how it links with narrative voice, plot, pace, and setting, all of which are essential for the writer to understand in order to build the 'toolkit' needed for the craft. </p><p>So, if you want to write, then keep reading. Take yourself out of your comfort zone from time to time (you’ll discover some fantastic fiction alongside novels you just cannot finish), and connect with book reviews, articles and anything else which tells you what readers think of books. </p><p>A deeper understanding of narrative foundation helps all writers to appreciate the importance of reader expectation, and to understand how to fulfil it to the best of our ability.</p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/62404962020-03-07T06:49:30+00:002023-08-22T08:30:43+01:00Editorial service - The Script Doctor <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/2eef5e5e6ce4006743680d66e32f521a5d2553f3/original/adobestock-267858509.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>Today, my <a class="no-pjax" href="/script-doctor" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Script Doctor" contents="Script Doctor service">Script Doctor service</a> went live. I’m delighted to be able to offer editing and structural services for writers of fiction, non-fiction and memoir, based on everything I’ve learned and achieved over the past few years as a full-time writer/editor. </p><p>In the last month I’ve been lucky to have two cracking novels to read and appraise, plus a wonderful short story by a very talented writer. My testimonials are coming in slowly and will be built on over time. </p><p>In an environment where many editors avoid science fiction, fantasy and horror like the plague, these just happen to be my areas of special interest. </p><p>I’ll also appraise and edit historical, women’s, YA, thrillers, crime, children’s and non-fiction – and anything else that lands on my desk! </p><p>So, if you’ve been working on your script for a while, if you’ve polished it as much as you can, but still can’t quite break that glass ceiling, then I might just be able to help take your project a step further. </p><p>Visit The Script Doctor page on my website. You're very welcome to <a class="no-pjax" href="/contact-form" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Contact Form" contents="get in touch">get in touch</a>, and see how I can help with my <a class="no-pjax" href="/the-script-doctor" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="The Script Doctor" contents="novel editing service">novel editing service</a><a class="no-pjax" href="/script-doctor" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Script Doctor" contents="novel editing service.">.</a></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/57302542019-04-24T08:37:10+01:002023-08-22T08:31:36+01:00The PhD in Creative Writing<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/216502d1495ad161e7a36f90a8629f9ceadd9ef1/original/adobestock-234223852.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>It’s been a long time since I blogged, mainly due to having moved to the other side of the world. I took a brief intercalation from my PhD, which helped with the readjustment, then picked up writing where I’d left off. Since then, we’ve moved house again, my eldest has started high school, my youngest has joined a very intensive junior gymnastics squad, and we’ve been adopted by a stray black-and-white cat called Puss, not necessarily in that order. All good stuff. </p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="/get-published" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Get published" contents="Writing a novel">Writing a novel</a> is a long-term project, which is extended by the time you need to spend away from it in order to forget what you’ve written, and to see it anew with fresh eyes. Writing a PhD project over several years creates problems of its own, because if you carry on for as long as I have, then the nature of what you’re writing changes. I finally decided to hand the project in, so that it can’t continue to evolve. I’m soon to begin writing-up (less supervisor contact, but a definite commitment to finishing sooner rather than later). At last, I can see that the end is in sight. </p><p>I have the next few weeks to finish the first full draft, and to complete the 20,000-word critical essay which supports why I’ve written what I’ve written, and explains what I’m trying to achieve. My supervisor will review my work, then I have a year or so to implement any suggestions. Meanwhile, I have a supernatural thriller part-written, a story which has been waiting for a time when I can give it more attention. I’m looking forwards to July, because it will be a month of new beginnings.</p><p><i>April 2019</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/46453752017-03-25T09:13:17+00:002022-05-11T02:05:56+01:00Exciting news!<p>Fahrenheit Press tweeted the following. It won't last forever but it made me smile:<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/ce3816cfcc3c7dbe5a40f3405c205a368ae0ca1c/original/iteration-sales.jpg?1490433152" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/46423832017-03-23T13:17:32+00:002022-02-17T08:32:59+00:00It's Book Launch Time... March 2017<p>The design team at Fahrenheit have created a wonderful cover (they also came up with the new title 'Iteration' to replace my working title 'Jennifer's Garden') - and the book is due to hit the shelves tomorrow. </p>
<p>Here’s the blurb: </p>
<p><em>Behind the perpetual cornfields and fast-maturing livestock of the world’s most effective genetic engineering project, computerised efficiency has outstripped even the smartest human mind. Famine, warfare, and the effects of natural disaster will soon be neutralised forever. But when unexpected events suggest that the supercomputer in charge is conducting its own secret experiments, only one person guesses exactly where this could lead. And it’s down to Dr Jennifer Munroe to convince an increasingly careless task group to listen to her fears… </em></p>
<p><em>Spanning two thousand years and told by three narrators, Iteration follows the consequences of computation on the world around us - and on the future of the human race. </em></p>
<p>End of blurb. </p>
<p>I’m seriously excited about Fahrenheit Press publishing my second novel. Fahrenheit are due to put ‘Iteration’ forward for the Arthur C Clarke Award 2018 (which is open to any SF novel published the previous year; all titles to be nominated by their publisher). I’ve heard that in previous years, considerably more male authors have had works entered than female, but a quick scan of the 2017 list shows quite a few women’s names. The general thought on this is that women write more fantasy than SF, something hotly debated on genre fiction forums. </p>
<p>Talking of genre, I can’t resist quoting Ursula Le Guin: </p>
<p>“...the only means I have to stop ignorant snobs from behaving towards genre fiction with snobbish ignorance is to not reinforce their ignorance and snobbery by lying and saying that when I write SF it isn't SF, but to tell them more or less patiently for forty or fifty years that they are wrong to exclude SF and fantasy from literature, and proving my arguments by writing well.” </p>
<p style="text-align: right;"><em>The Wild Girls, Ursula K Le Guin, 2011 </em></p>
<p>Now all I need is a bottle of something cold and fizzy to put in the bottom of the fridge for tomorrow evening. </p>
<p><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/fb580aab441c4f12ac32cad8d874916d9f4a76de/original/iterationcover.jpg?1490115997" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/43869922016-09-23T09:21:06+01:002023-08-22T08:33:15+01:00How Mslexia magazine's Indie Presses guide connected me with my new publisher Fahrenheit Press (Facebook article for Mslexia)<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/75c01bfb0efc7bca471d5f8cebc71fd16708b4b1/original/adobestock-99598608.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> <br> <br>My MA novel <i>The Eternity Fund </i>was shortlisted for <a class="no-pjax" href="https://mslexia.co.uk/magazine/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Mslexia’s ">Mslexia’s </a>unpublished novel competition in 2013. The shortlisting may have been a factor in securing me an agent four months later - it added something to my covering letter, making it a little bit ‘different’. <i>The Eternity Fun</i>d was subsequently published by Audible.co.uk as a talking book, but, despite my agent organising a pretty substantial UK and US submission, nobody bought the kindle or paperback rights. When my second novel also failed to find a publisher earlier this year, I knew I had some tough decisions to make. It’s every writer’s nightmare to spend years writing books that nobody reads. <br> <br>My first thought was that self-publishing was the only way forwards. I duly signed up for blogs and forums dominated by self-published writers, and looked closely at their success stories. I wasn’t interested in how much money these writers made (often they’d begun by giving Kindle stories away for free), but I was interested in how much work it would take to get my book out there, especially now that Amazon e-book rankings no longer allow free giveaways to appear in their ‘top seller’ list. I was disappointed to discover that recently successful self-published authors stated openly that their blogs, forums and twitter accounts took just as much time as their creative work. This just wasn’t ‘me’. I knew I wouldn't enjoy the process, and so I would never make it work. <br> <br>I resigned myself to writing novel after unpublished novel in order to wait for that magical day when I was eventually signed (and was able to offer up a considerable backlist of my unpublished fiction). Frankly, the future looked depressing. <br> <br>A matter of days later, I spotted Mslexia’s Indie Presses 2016/17 advertised in the monthly magazine. I pre-ordered a copy immediately. All I knew was that I had nothing to lose. The independent presses don’t insist on the agented submissions that the big publishers do, so I was free to send my manuscript direct to anybody who would consider it. <br> <br>The day Indie Presses 2016/17 landed on my doormat, I spent three hours reading every entry in detail. I narrowed the field down to fifteen possibilities, each based on the publishers’ specs, and what they were looking for. Not all of them will take SFF, for example, and not all of them (despite appearing in the handbook) are currently looking for new fiction. My rule of thumb is to always be polite on receiving a negative reply to an enquiry, because as an editor at Penguin recently said, a publishing career is a very long thing – be rude at your peril. You don’t want to be remembered for the wrong reasons a few years down the line. <br> <br>Eventually, the field narrowed itself to eight serious contenders. Three responded almost immediately (not taking on anything new, doesn’t fit our list, and yes please). The others, I never heard back from. <br> <br>The third and most enthusiastic response was from Chris McVeigh at <a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.fahrenheit-press.com/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Fahrenheit Press">Fahrenheit Press</a>, a crime thriller specialist publisher. I stuck my neck out here because <i>The Eternity Fund</i> is set in a futuristic world and pays more than a passing nod to urban fantasy, yet all the other novels on Chris’s list were mainstream crime thriller. I decided to chance it simply because <i>The Eternity Fund</i> is built on traditional detective noir. It’s an updated Chandleresque story with a female protagonist, a dystopian backdrop, and a truly twisted murderer. Chris told me that he and two colleagues read the novel very quickly, and wanted Fahrenheit Press to take it on immediately. <br> <br>Nothing could've made me happier.<br> <br>After a three year wait, I finally have a publisher for my debut novel! <br> <br>Chris McVeigh of Fahrenheit Press says: <br> <br>"Like most people who work in publishing we've been massive fans of Mslexia for years so when we got a submission from Liz mentioning she'd been shortlisted for the unpublished novel prize in 2013 we knew there'd be quality there. And so there was, we all loved it. <br> <br>Making an offer for<i> The Eternity Fund</i> was one of the easiest publishing decisions we've ever made. <br> <br>We're so pleased that Fahrenheit is included in Mslexia's Small Presses Guide and we're looking forward to receiving more submissions - if we're very lucky we'll find another Liz. "</p><p> </p><p><i>March 2016</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/43376272016-09-20T09:27:15+01:002023-03-25T08:48:51+00:00Seriously?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/9a268264e08a34e455ac614a7c5f449e640eaa5c/original/liz-1.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br>Recently, I came face to face with one of those odd little unsolvable mysteries.<br><br>I was ordering an on-line shop including ice cream for the kids, when I noticed that the Morrisons site had somehow put a picture of The Eternity Fund's cover where an ice cream should be. I took a screen shot just to prove to myself I wasn't hallucinating.<br><br>Clearly my computer did this, as Morrisons don't sell The Eternity Fund and even if they did, the blue door of Department Thirteen could never be mistaken for a Viennetta.<br><br>Happy days!<br><br><br><br><br><br> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/43244862016-08-14T14:56:03+01:002023-04-22T00:42:27+01:00Out in paperback!<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/214a6c1848582c821d760feb17b95807e453791b/original/theeternityfund-kindle.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> <br>Fahrenheit Press's Chris McVeigh has signed <i>The Eternity Fund</i>, which is now a published e-book, and will soon become, for the first time, a paperback. This is after what seems like a very long wait, during which time the novel was only available in audio. It just shows that if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again - eventually, it will pay off. Now, off to the fridge to find the bubbly...</p><p><i>August 2016</i><br> <br> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/41451782016-04-20T13:32:11+01:002023-08-22T08:33:54+01:00An industry view on the Creative Writing MA<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/ed11ef7f6814703133ead5c70a908d1f43910561/original/adobestock-553922649.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>A Creative Writing MA is a notoriously expensive investment and, in terms of distance learning, it’s also a relatively new phenomenon. When I began mine at Lancaster in 2011, it was one of only two on-line courses available. Now, in 2016, a google search brings up so many options that they run to several pages. </p><p>Twenty or so years ago, an agent would pick up a new writer and would be prepared to work with that writer for up to two years in order to produce a polished debut novel. Then a couple of serious recessions impacted the publishing industry, and the internet altered the nature of publishing. Publishers became more risk averse, and agents had no choice but to follow suit. Today, agents will only take on a novelist who is virtually ready to be put straight out into the public arena. Authors still have to do their training somewhere, but the system has conspired to ensure this is at the author’s cost and not the publisher’s, both in terms of time and money. </p><p>Enter the education system, sometimes with seductive promises that ‘anybody can write’ (I have known at least one well-known University use this slogan in its advertising campaign), effectively offering to sell any paying member of the public the dreamed-of chance to find themselves on the other side of a signing table. The truth is that education is now an industry, and universities are smart enough to cash in on your dreams, because like it or not, writing is just like any other job out there: not everybody can do it. </p><p>My own distance learning MA experience was brilliant, and a choice I will never regret having made. I’d reached a glass ceiling in my writing where, after several novels, my enthusiasm repeatedly fell flat as they reached their final stages. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t work out what. Enrolling on the MA to sort out this dilemma wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I didn’t have the £6,000 fee, so after four years of telling myself no, you can’t do this, I finally re-mortgaged my house to find the money, and took the plunge. My biggest fear was discovering that I simply didn’t make the grade and that I’d better give up and start origami or flower arranging instead. I knew the MA was, in a way, my dreaded watershed moment. </p><p> </p><p>My tutors were all published novelists, poets and short story writers with a plethora of industry awards to their names. Between them, they had a huge amount of educational experience. Just because you write doesn’t mean that you can teach people to write, so both publication and teaching experience are essential for good tutors. Before I joined the course, I thought I had a handle on the basic differences between genres. I followed various literary agents and read authors’ blogs, and I had a general understanding of how the publishing industry works. It took my MA to teach me that there are many more styles of novel out there than I’d realised, and that there are good, mediocre and pretty poor examples of each on the bookshelves. With some guided reading suggestions from a tutor and a wider selection of book reviews offered by my MA cohort, the reading I amassed proved a positive influence on my prose. </p><p>Nothing makes you perform like a date in the diary. Rather than winging it alone, the MA provides along-the-way critiquing which shapes your work as you go. This means that you’re constantly refining both your prose and your intentions, rather than tackling 80,000 words plus before anybody else gets to tell you what they think. The submissions for MA prose samples vary between 1,000 words and 3,000 words. At Lancaster, these submissions go alternately to your tutor, and to your conference group. Fortunately, there are several members in each group, so any weaker links (in the form of people who either rip your work to shreds for the fun of it, or are just plain nice because they can’t be bothered to be constructive) shouldn’t ruin your experience of the course. I was lucky: both my tutor Sarah and my conference group were amazingly supportive. </p><p>Two years of part-time study later, my MA novel <i>Frozen</i> (since re-named <i>The Eternity Fund</i> thanks to the Disney film!) was shortlisted for Mslexia’s unpublished novel competition (2013), and signed by The Viney Agency (2014). In 2015, <i>The Eternity Fund</i> became a talking book with Audible.co.uk. </p><p>I was so impressed by the MA system that I’m now a part-time PhD Creative Writing student, distance learning again at Lancaster. The fees are more manageable for PhD (at the time of writing, £2,000 per annum), and the regular tutor contact keeps me focused and broadens my exposure to critical work and contemporary fiction. I can’t imagine detaching my writing from the academic process, simply because it has transformed me from an eager student into a published novelist. I may have got there on my own eventually, but I’m sure it would’ve taken much longer. However, the fact remains that the MA isn’t for everyone, as reflected by literary agent Charlie Viney, who notes that: ‘Creative Writing MAs have proliferated over the last 20 years and offer clear advantages to would-be writers, not least the process of peer group review. Do all courses realistically reflect the challenging climate for debut novelists with British and American publishers? I’m far from sure.’ </p><p>If your concerns are financial, and you simply can’t afford to enroll on an MA, there are plenty of excellent short writing courses staffed by published authors who are also experienced teachers. Many take place in retreats where you will have the delight of switching off daily life to focus purely on your art.</p><p><i>April 2016</i></p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/41050152016-03-25T15:44:03+00:002022-03-25T23:00:30+00:00Writers’ Retreats<p><br> </p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" style="width:500px;"><tbody> <tr> <td><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com/" target="_blank"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/197a94e4314fcb799afe2ee402a4c9c50cdf8515/medium/girl-with-red-hair-a-chapter-away-image.jpg?0" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></a></td> <td> <p><span class="font_regular">Having experienced a ‘taught’ retreat as an MA student battling with my debut novel, I have to say that I found it liberating. <br> <br> <br> <br> There’s nothing like escaping from the daily drag in order to be able to write exclusively. It’s also great to spend your evenings in the company of like-minded students and experienced authors. <br> <br> <br> <br> At the time of my retreat in 2012, I had an 18-month-old son, a five year old daughter, and a part-time teaching job. Getting away from home for a week to go on retreat was a revelation</span>.</p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <p>It wasn’t just escaping the unsuccessful potty training and tantrums, becoming free of policing pre-meal hand-washing and an endless mountain of laundry, it was the sheer bliss of <a contents="not having to think about anything other than storyline" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com/novel_writing_retreat.html" target="_blank">not having to think about anything other than storyline</a>. </p>
<p><br> <br> <br> <br> Once my retreat was over, I didn’t necessarily use all of the writing I’d completed that week, although I did keep it (poetry included, even though I’m no poet). Rather, the retreat showed me that I could be creative under pressure, and encouraged me to try different forms I’d previously never considered. <br> </p> </td> <td><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com/" target="_blank"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/987e1ff4c46aee3fba53f9a6de6dce92007d15f1/small/project-11-portrait.jpg?0" class="size_s justify_center border_" /></a></td> </tr> <tr> <td> <p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com" target="_blank"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/b4e67f9bd8bf95cc008f528df3c4d9f2b9773d61/medium/project-9-square.jpg?0" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></a></p> </td> <td> <p>If you want to concentrate purely on one form, <a contents="say novel writing or script writing" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com/" target="_blank">say novel writing or script writing</a>, or even just have meals provided and absolute peace to continue with your project uninterrupted, you’ll be able to find the appropriate retreat option in an internet search - there are plenty out there to choose from.<br> <br> <br> <br> <br> I was delighted to be asked recently to teach on a fiction writing course at the Miradoux House in Gascony, for Karen Pegg’s achapteraway.com.</p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <p>I’m particularly taken by the fact that Karen’s retreats work hand-in-hand with literary agencies, actively talent-scouting as well as offering agent-author sessions as part of each course. </p>
<p><br> <br> <br> <br> Who wouldn’t want to spend a week in Gascony, working on and discussing a potential debut novel with an established literary agent?! </p> </td> <td> <p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.achapteraway.com/" target="_blank"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/22a071a76d74504b1ced9a5d51d047c6418a3ebd/medium/project-12-portrait.jpg?0" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></a><br> <br> </p> </td> </tr>
</tbody></table>
<p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/38969822015-10-14T18:35:46+01:002022-05-22T22:44:48+01:00Something I found today...<br><br>I went through a few desktop documents today, and found a screenshot I took when The Eternity Fund reached number 2 bestseller position in the 4,000 plus SF/F titles available on Audible.co.uk. It may not have been there for long, but it was a lovely surprise. Still, it's a bit strange only having an audio debut and not a print debut yet. Fingers crossed...<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/d39ca388c97b9b8f7d717af03ab2643b9260d57a/original/capture-4.jpg?1444844015" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/38080982015-08-07T17:54:59+01:002023-04-22T00:43:32+01:00Some thoughts on reaching the end of my first year as a Creative Writing PhD student<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/2cf0f42288633040946cc2431e62e9bbf2a5b83b/original/img-6993.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> <br><br>I’m now a year in, and delighted I made the decision to enroll. In the hope that my experience will be helpful to others wondering whether this step is the right one to take, I’ve summarised some of what I’ve learned, below.<br><br>A PhD is a huge commitment in terms of time and expense, so, before enrolling, take plenty of advice, and search the internet for blogs by novelists who’ve done PhDs. The last thing you want to do is make a time-consuming and expensive mistake (studies suggest many PhD students (whatever their discipline) leave before completing their research).<br> <br>I took the plunge because I felt it was right for me; I’d flourished under the MA system, and with the option for 80% of my PhD to be a novel, with 20% as a critical essay, the mix seemed just right.</p><p> </p><p>Things to consider:<br> <br> <br> </p><ul><li>
<strong>Enrolling</strong>. Don’t enrol for a PhD without having taken an MA (this applies to Creative Writing – I can’t speak for other disciplines). No matter how talented a writer you are, and no matter how well-read, the MA will acquaint you with a pretty rigorous system of tutorials and work-in-progress sessions with other students. Part of becoming an academic (as well as a better writer) is learning about the academic system, how it evaluates what you do, how you read as a writer, and what critical reading you need to do within your particular genre and beyond. Your MA will furnish you with this practice, and will ease your passage into PhD.</li></ul><p> <br> </p><ul><li>
<strong>Reading</strong>. Before I began to study Creative Writing formally, I thought I had a handle on the basic differences between genres. I followed various literary agents and read authors’ blogs, and I had an understanding of how the publishing industry works. It took my MA to teach me that there are many more styles of novel out there than I’d realised, and it is becoming clearer during my PhD that there are good, mediocre and pretty poor examples of each already on the bookshelves. Quite simply, with some guided reading suggestions from a tutor who understands what I’m trying to achieve, and a wider selection of book reviews offered by my PhD cohort (these appear on a diverse ‘What I’m Reading’ intranet forum), I have now surveyed the literature relevant to my field. I haven’t read it all yet, but the list is drawn up, and the additional reading I’ve amassed has provided a positive influence on my prose.</li></ul><p> <br> </p><ul><li>
<strong>Writing. </strong>Nothing makes you perform like a date in the diary. Rather than a publisher’s deadline on which to hand in a finished novel, the PhD provides along-the-way critiquing which will shape your work as you go. This means that you’re constantly refining both your prose and your intentions, rather than bumbling along on your own, tackling 100,000 words plus before anybody else gets to tell you what they think. The submissions for PhD prose samples vary between 3,000 words and 5,000 words (I’m part time, so for full time it may be more, or it may be more frequently, I’m not sure). These submissions go alternately to your tutor, and your work-in-progress group. You get to spot pretty quickly which work-in-progress members will actually help you out by critiquing you properly, and who is just coasting through because they don’t like this part of the system. Fortunately, there are several members in each group, so the weaker links shouldn’t affect you. Once you've upgraded (achieved formal recognition that your project will make PhD rather than being cut short at MPhil) then you can choose whether or not to carry on with Work in Progress groups.</li></ul><p> <br> </p><ul><li>
<strong>Positive & Negative Feedback</strong>. If the academic system suits you, by the time you enrol for PhD, you will be used to receiving feedback from readers who don’t like what you write. Ignore sensible advice at your peril. But PhD isn’t all about people telling you what you’re doing wrong. Positive feedback, in the form of telling you which bits of your novel actually work really well, is fabulous. </li></ul><p> <br> </p><ul><li>
<strong>Reasons for Doing a PhD</strong>. My reasons are pretty clear-cut, but they are only my own and are not indicative of the many other reasons out there. So, here goes:</li></ul><p> <br>Writers don’t know how much they are going to earn. There are those who hit the jackpot, become popular and sign film deals that make them millionaires overnight, and there are those who barely sell at all. Some novels come into fashion after their writers’ deaths, others sink without trace. No writer knows at the outset which of these brackets they will fall into. I have a background in teaching (music, for 22 years) and my PGCE is in the post-16 sector. It therefore makes sense for me to aim to teach creative writing to adults, whilst continuing as a novelist. All too often we’re told to write for the love of it. This isn’t wrong (you need to be pretty driven to write 100,000 words in the first place!) but everybody needs to work to live, and just because you’re creative, that doesn’t make you any different. Have a goal, but make it a sensible, achievable one. Although I’d love to be a millionaire, this is not definitely achievable. But being a published novelist and a creative writing tutor is!<br> <br> <br> <br>When I look back over my first year, I can’t believe how many changes I’ve made to my novel-in-progress, and for the better. My reading list is firmed up, and I can see a timeline through it, of the most fabulous female sci fi fantasy writers who’ve created a platform for me to write the way I write today. Without the PhD, I wouldn’t understand the development of the genre, or how it responds to changing feminist thought. Creatively, I’ve learned how not to muddy the waters when switching from a present narrative to a past memory; why disposable characters are not a good idea; and that plots don’t have to be linear, and novels don’t necessarily have to be plot-driven… and I’m still learning.</p><p><i>August 2015</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/37834262015-07-19T18:39:35+01:002023-08-22T08:35:30+01:00Women in Sci Fi <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/7dab2216ac1af695351edeac05905cc26b58fd4e/original/adobestock-622445055.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>The debate on whether women write true SF or whether this is best left to men (while the ladies stick with softer fantasy) is always thought-provoking, and at times amusing. Read <i>The Atlantic's</i> article on women SF writers, and the awards they've won this year for fiction:</p><p> </p><header><div class="" style="box-sizing:inherit;">
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<div class="ArticleHero_title__altPg" style="box-sizing:inherit;margin:0px 0px 18px;"><h2>Women Rise in Sci Fi (Again)</h2></div>
<div class="ArticleHero_dek__tzvz3" style="box-sizing:inherit;margin:0px 0px 18px;"><p>This year’s major science-fiction awards had strong female representation, but don’t call it a feminist victory for the genre just yet.</p></div>
<div class="ArticleHero_byline__vNW7C" style="box-sizing:inherit;margin-bottom:56px;"><div class="ArticleBylines_root__CFgKs" style='box-sizing:inherit;color:rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:AGaramondPro, "Adobe Garamond Pro", garamond, Times, serif;font-size:24px;font-weight:400;line-height:32px;'><address id="byline"><p>By <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.theatlantic.com/author/rose-eveleth/" data-action="click author - byline" data-label="https://www.theatlantic.com/author/rose-eveleth/">Rose Eveleth</a></p></address></div></div>
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</div></header><section><p>'In February of this year, <a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.annleckie.com/novel/ancillary-justice/">Ann Leckie’s book <i>Ancillary Justice</i></a> won a Golden Tentacle Award from The Kitschies—an award that celebrates “the year's most progressive, intelligent and entertaining works that contain elements of the speculative or fantastic.” Leckie was elated. The Kitschie trophy is a hand-sewn stuffed tentacle of sorts, and it sits proudly on Leckie’s mantle. “I was like, ‘Oh that’s really wonderful, how could anything be more validating,’” she says. “I love my golden stuff tentacle with the sparkly pom poms.”</p>
<p>Then the rest of the awards rolled in. First there was the Hugo Award for Best Novel. Then the Nebula Award. Then the Arthur C. Clarke. Scattered amongst them is a BSFA Award and a Locus Award. It was hard for Leckie to believe. “It was kind of like hallucinating,” she says. “It’s still kind of like hallucinating. I’m sitting here on my couch and I can turn my head and see them on the mantle and it’s really hard to see that they’re there.”</p>
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<div class="ArticleRelatedContentList_content__qe_fY" style="box-sizing:inherit;display:flex;justify-content:space-between;padding:28px 0px;position:relative;white-space:normal;width:auto;" data-view-action="view link - recommended reading 1 - item 1" data-view-label="https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2020/02/loneliness-early-parenthood-mothers-estrange-friendships/606100/" data-gtm-vis-first-on-screen-31117857_217="4796" data-gtm-vis-total-visible-time-31117857_217="100" data-gtm-vis-has-fired-31117857_217="1">
<figure><picture><source style="box-sizing:inherit;" media="(prefers-reduced-motion)" srcset="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/IIaqZcRjm9syUF3ahM3EQ9vYeGc=/438x0:1563x1125/90x90/media/img/mt/2020/02/Webart_PregnancyFriends/original.jpg 90w, https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/LHt52DcJUFFzsE128_mehbS9c10=/438x0:1563x1125/180x180/media/img/mt/2020/02/Webart_PregnancyFriends/original.jpg 180w"><img src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/IIaqZcRjm9syUF3ahM3EQ9vYeGc=/438x0:1563x1125/90x90/media/img/mt/2020/02/Webart_PregnancyFriends/original.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="A woman on a beach holds hands with a group of her friends, who are blotted out by graphics." height="90" style="border-style:none;box-sizing:inherit;display:block;height:auto;left:0px;max-width:100%;object-fit:cover;opacity:1;position:absolute;top:0px;transition:opacity 0.3s ease 0s;width:90px;" width="90" /></source></picture></figure><div class="ArticleRelatedContentList_textWrapper__wNfJT" style="box-sizing:inherit;flex-grow:1;"><h3> </h3></div>
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<figure><picture><source style="box-sizing:inherit;" media="(prefers-reduced-motion)" srcset="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/-3vdNKgi1MUmwf-ME6qvu9eowKc=/984x42:3486x2544/90x90/media/img/mt/2021/07/Atlantic1_copy/original.jpg 90w, https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/nMhmkxaS5vO2qi54n1rZC-UaI3E=/984x42:3486x2544/180x180/media/img/mt/2021/07/Atlantic1_copy/original.jpg 180w"><img src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/thumbor/-3vdNKgi1MUmwf-ME6qvu9eowKc=/984x42:3486x2544/90x90/media/img/mt/2021/07/Atlantic1_copy/original.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="illustation women dining" height="90" style="border-style:none;box-sizing:inherit;display:block;height:auto;left:0px;max-width:100%;object-fit:cover;opacity:1;position:absolute;top:0px;transition:opacity 0.3s ease 0s;width:90px;" width="90" /></source></picture></figure><div class="ArticleRelatedContentList_textWrapper__wNfJT" style="box-sizing:inherit;flex-grow:1;"><h3> </h3></div>
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<p>It appears as though women in science fiction are having a moment, and perhaps even more. This year, women were nominated for, and won, close to half of the major science-fiction awards out there. And much of that work touched upon gender in some way. In <i>Ancillary Justice</i>, the main character is a space ship (this sounds strange, but it’s worth reading the book to see what I mean) and the genders of the characters are continuously ambiguous. <i>LIGHTSPEED</i> magazine Kickstarted a series called “<a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/lightspeedmagazine/women-destroy-science-fiction">Women Destroy Science Fiction</a>” that showcases work entirely written and edited by women. It asked for $5,000 and got $53,136 in return.</p>
<p>But to say that all of this represents progress for women in the traditionally male-dominated world of sci-fi oversimplifies the history of the genre a bit.</p>
<p>As with anything else, women have long been working alongside men to create fiction that covers on science, the future, technology and more. Mary Shelley’s book <i>Frankenstein</i> is often cited as one of the first classics of the sci-fi genre, and even before that Margaret Cavendish wrote <i>The Blazing World</i>—a satirical utopian vision—in 1666. “We’ve been doing this for ever,” says writer Kameron Hurley. This idea, that women have always been beside men everywhere from the battlefield to the writers’ room, is one that Hurley thinks about a lot. This year, her essay “‘<a class="no-pjax" href="http://aidanmoher.com/blog/featured-article/2013/05/we-have-always-fought-challenging-the-women-cattle-and-slaves-narrative-by-kameron-hurley/">We Have Always Fought': Challenging the 'Women, Cattle and Slaves' Narrative</a>” on the long history of female fighters and why history writes them out of the picture, won a Hugo Award for Best Related Work. (She also won another Hugo this year for Best Fan Writer.) Like the fighters she wrote about, Hurley says that female science-fiction writers are often forgotten. “It’s always Asimov and Heinlein,” she says. “You don’t hear about Russ or LeGuin. And there are very particular ways that people talk about it. One of those is by saying ‘well she did it, but it wasn’t really science fiction,’ or ‘her husband has a big impact.’”</p>
<aside><p>When men wonder where all the women in science fiction are, those women can point out that they’ve been there all along.'</p>
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<p>Article link below:<br><br><a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/11/women-rise-in-science-fiction-again/382298/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/11/women-rise-in-science-fiction-again/382298/">http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/11/women-rise-in-science-fiction-again/382298/</a></p></aside></section>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35795742015-03-06T09:41:29+00:002023-08-22T08:36:06+01:00Mslexia's Advice for Aspiring Writers<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/36c82e01803bc56e950a91684439d5f55e2947e5/original/adobestock-220293246.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><br>The Spring edition of Mslexia is full of great tips for would-be writers.<br><br>The magazine’s philosophy of creative practice echoes my own, so I can’t resist quoting: <br><br>‘[Writing researcher] Robert Boice compared writers who scheduled a daily writing session with those who wrote only when inspired. He found those who scheduled time to write were three and a half times more productive than those who wrote when inspired. (<i>Professors as Writers: A Self-Help Guide to Productive Writing</i> by Robert Boice, New Forums Press).<br> <br>In addition to a mounting word count, ‘scheduled’ writers also had more creative ideas, on a more regular basis, more editorial acceptances, better mental health.<br> <br>…it takes ten years or 10,000 hours to become an expert (<i>The Making of an Expert</i> by KA Ericksson, Harvard Business Review)… to become a better writer, Ericsson believes you need to work at all elements of ‘deliberate practice’, including: significant effort to improve performance, expert feedback, and high levels of repeated activity.’</p><p> </p><div style="text-align:right;">Bec Evans, Mslexia, Issue 65 (Spring 2015)</div><p><br>As I've always maintained, writing is like any other job - some days you turn up for work and you don't feel in the mood, but that wouldn't stop you teaching your class/filing your invoices/finishing the spray-paint job on a van, so why should it stop you writing?<br><br>Mslexia is a UK-based magazine and e-supplement for women writers, link below:<br><br><a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.mslexia.co.uk" contents="http://www.mslexia.co.uk">http://www.mslexia.co.uk</a><br><br> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35507082015-02-23T09:21:47+00:002022-02-17T08:40:56+00:00Number One!<p> </p>
<p><br>It's certainly transitory, and it may only even last a few hours, but I was delighted to check the Audible.co.uk listings this morning and to find <em>The Eternity Fund</em> in the number one spot for contemporary fantasy sales. This is fabulous news after only six days on sale. To celebrate the moment, I took the screen shot below. Just in case I don't get a second chance...<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/134087/204d4c4e0c64c98c573aaca8af9aa5a199ec7251/original/tefisnumber1.jpg?1424851468" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35394482015-02-18T13:45:03+00:002023-04-22T00:49:31+01:00Hunting Agents, Getting Book Deals - a guest blog for Jericho Writers agent-hunter service<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/746045c77f6193761dfe2980c22d675db9661489/original/41-best-jpg-optimal.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p>Jericho Writers run a terrific agent hunting service for writers looking for representation (see <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/hub/uk-literary-agents/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="UK list here">UK list here</a>, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/hub/us-literary-agents-listings/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="US list here">US list here</a>). </p><p><br>I'm delighted to have been invited to guest blog for Agent Hunter (now Jericho Writers). The site is easy to use, inexpensive, and full of detail - and it connected me with my agent, so it works! </p><p><br><br>'A guest post from Liz Monument – who found her agent through <a class="no-pjax" href="https://jerichowriters.com/agentmatch/" target="_blank" data-link-type="url" contents="Agent Hunter.">Agent Hunter.</a></p><p> </p><p>'Like most novelists, I’ve been writing since childhood. And like most novelists, it took several drafts of several novels before I reached a publishable standard. My ‘first’ novel is actually the seventh I’ve written… the earlier six are still in a shoe-box underneath the bed. </p><p><br>'Every writer has a turning point, and mine came in the form of an MA in Creative Writing. I’d reached a glass ceiling I couldn’t seem to break through, so I saw the course as a last resort. It was expensive but for me, it worked – two years during which to write a project of my choice, supported by a tutor and a critique-group of fellow students. With some technical tips that helped to polish my prose, and the realisation that the fantastical worlds of science fiction and fantasy gave free rein to my imagination, I began to write The Eternity Fund. </p><p>'The novel is a futuristic noir thriller. My narrator Jess Green is an empath employed by the Unit. She’s assigned an uncooperative handler, and given the grimmest of cases that conventional science isn’t able to solve. Jess soon finds herself with a price on her head, and knows that her life depends on the success of her predictions. </p><p>'At the end of the MA, The Eternity Fund was short listed by Mslexia for their unpublished novel competition. I was absolutely thrilled, and knew it was time to look for a literary agent. </p><p>'In today’s market, if you’re a debut novelist then it’s impossible to have a book signed directly by a publisher. It might be different if you’re a household name, or if you’re already an established novelist, but for first-timers it’s far from easy. That’s where a literary agent comes in. Agents sell manuscripts, have a host of publishing editors willing to read new novels they recommend, and will look after your business interests. </p><p>'Agent Hunter popped up on a website trawl, and I joined up because I had nothing to lose. I was immediately impressed by the level of detail on the site. The search facility allowed me to input criteria relevant to my needs (agents had to be agreeable to sci fi, for example, and actively looking for new clients). I found a list of thirty or so agents who fitted. </p><p>'Over the next few weeks, I sent emails and a fiction sample to batches of five at a time. Then I sat back and waited, which, as some agents warn you, can take in excess of three months. I struck lucky; Charlie Viney emailed and then telephoned as soon as he began to read the manuscript. Within two days he’d read the whole novel, and three days after that Charlie came to my hometown to sign me up. We had a wonderful champagne lunch in an old coaching Inn, one of the few companionable highlights of what is a very lonely and demanding vocation. Then it was straight back to work. Based on Charlie’s suggestions, I set about editing the manuscript in preparation for it to be read by publishers. </p><p>'Charlie wasn’t the only agent I heard back from. Over the next two months, I had a further five interests in the manuscript, all through Agent Hunter. Some asked for exclusivity, but I’d already been signed. </p><p>'In February 2015, Audible will publish The Eternity Fund. I’m now working on another novel, and taking a part time PhD in Creative Writing. </p><p>'Charlie told me that The Viney Agency don’t advertise openly to ensure that they aren’t swamped with unwanted manuscripts. If I hadn’t used Agent Hunter, I wouldn’t have connected with the agency. Fate, I suppose.'</p><p><i>February 2015</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35343452015-02-16T17:53:35+00:002023-08-22T08:37:12+01:00What do you do, on the eve of a virtual book launch?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/6d3072282220ef5505194cb937125f0ed894af63/original/adobestock-185877428.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><br>It’s the eve of the launch of my debut novel. I’m delighted that Audible sent me a sound-clip this afternoon. It’s the first chance I’ve had to listen to my words read by a professional actress and narrator. Imogen Church has brought Jess, Mo and the others to life! So the sound-clip has just this moment gone up on the website, for visitors to try-before-they-buy. <br><br>Husband has taken both children swimming, leaving the house quiet and dark. I’m on my swivel chair in front of my computer, listening to the fire crackle in the living room behind me, and wondering if I’ve done absolutely everything I need to on the eve of a ‘virtual’ book launch. (Virtual, because as I keep pointing out to friends who want a printed copy, The Eternity Fund is currently only out in audio. There will be no book-signing, because I don’t actually have anything to put a pen to!)<br> <br>So here’s what I’ve done:<br> <br>Website: check.<br>Cover art splashed everywhere: check.<br>Fiction sample in text and audio on website: check.<br>Extract of second novel on website: check.<br>Amazon and Goodreads Author pages up and running: check.<br>Bottle of something fizzy in the fridge for tomorrow: check.<br> <br>During the course of trying to get the word out there, I’ve started to use my twitter account, opened a facebook author page, and tweeted and posted on a daily basis during the last week. I’ve also contacted numerous e-zines and have been asked to guest blog in three different places. All good publicity.<br> <br>So I guess I just have to get my head back down, now, and keep on writing, or Jennifer’s Garden will never get finished…<br> <br> </p><p> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35306552015-02-14T18:17:30+00:002023-08-22T08:37:53+01:00Creative Writing Courses: is the Bad Press Fair? A guest blog on author Zoe Lambert's page<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/13ac2f4c80bb3b6dc40b0af7c87c32db1095f005/original/adobestock-610024351.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><br>Delighted to have guest blogged on author Zoe Lambert's site. If you're interested in creative writing courses, or you're following the debate about their worth, then visit:<a class="no-pjax" href="http://zoelambert.org/"> zoelambert.org</a> (article date 14th Feb 2015)<br><br><br>Text to follow:<br> </p><p> </p><p><i><strong>Creative Writing Courses – Is the Bad Press Fair? </strong></i></p><p>FEBRUARY 14, 2015 </p><p>A GUEST POST on zoelambert.org BY LIZ MONUMENT </p><p>Before I enrolled on a Creative Writing MA, I’d written several novels, none of them to a publishable standard. But instead of getting progressively better, I seemed to have reached a glass ceiling I couldn’t break through. The worst thing was, I had no idea why. I’d published non-fiction and competition-winning short stories under my belt, and my novels seemed to begin OK, but the endings repeatedly fell flat. Cost or not, an MA seemed to be the last option I had before I accepted that I was doomed to fail. This is every writer’s biggest fear: the monster that lurks under the bed; the shadow that sneaks into your darkest thoughts as it dawns on you that you might just not be up to the job after all… and I had to find out. </p><p>Only a few weeks into my MA, I realised that I’d been writing the kind of fiction I thought I should write, rather than the kind of fiction I really needed to write. My novel endings were hollow because I simply hadn’t gone the extra mile to make my fictional worlds vivid enough. As an experiment, I wrote a test piece to assess my tutor’s and peer-group’s reaction, and was delighted to find they had as much fun as I did venturing into my make-believe world. From that moment onwards, I began to concentrate on Sci Fi Fantasy, something I’d not written since childhood. I’ve never looked back. </p><p>The MA’s critiquing process worked, for me, far better than slogging away alone hour after hour. Two years of part-time study later, my MA novel was shortlisted for a competition and signed by an agent. But, without the camaraderie of my critique group and the wise comments of my tutor, I felt adrift. So, the following year, I returned to university to begin a PhD in Creative Writing. Six months in, and I’m back in my comfort zone – in fact, I’m positively thriving on the experience. I’m exploring women in Sci Fi Fantasy, and writing a dystopian novel in which I’m being encouraged to push boundaries and experiment freely. This is what creative practice should be all about. My tutors were, and are, published novelists, poets and short story writers with a plethora of industry awards to their names. And between them, they have a huge amount of educational experience. Just because you write doesn’t mean that you can teach people to write, so publishing and teaching skills are essential for good tutors. So, I simply don’t agree with the angry voices in the aether who blog or post that CW courses are over-priced and pointless. I sometimes wonder whether those dissatisfied customers resent the fact that their MA taught them they don’t make the grade as professional writers. After all, it’s a fact that not everybody with a Creative Writing MA goes on to get published. </p><p>So why do we need CW courses at all? </p><p>In the old days, an agent would pick up a new writer and would be prepared to work with that writer for up to two years, to produce a polished debut. Then, things changed. A couple of serious recessions impacted the publishing industry, and the internet altered the nature of publishing. Publishers became more risk averse, and agents followed their lead. Today, agents will only take on a novelist who is ready to be put straight out into the public arena. In other words, authors have to do their training somewhere, and the system has conspired to ensure this is at the author’s cost (both in terms of time and money) rather than at anybody else’s. Case in point, Robert McKee (Story, Methuen, 1999) notes that apprenticeships used to exist in the world of film writing. They don’t any more. So, welcome the Creative Writing course… </p><p>Now take a look at the Universities who run the majority of CW programmes. I studied for my degree in the days when every UK citizen was entitled to state funding. Student loans were only introduced in my final year (and the maximum amount you could take at that time was £350). Today, Universities are run in a different way. Students take out huge debts to study, and universities have to balance their books, which means courses have to appeal to applicants who will be paying out of their own pockets. And what better way than offering would-be writers the chance to realise what is, for many of us, a long-chased dream. Education is no longer simply a system: today, it is an industry, and universities are smart enough to use it to cash in on those dreams. </p><p>You may have read that Stephany Meyer wrote Twilight in three months flat. Combine this with the maxim that ‘everybody has a novel in them,’ and you’ve a heady combination of possibility and promise aimed at the would-be writer. Of course, dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that it actually took Meyer ten years to write Twilight, with only the final edit being put together in three months. As I writer, I know it is simply not true to say that anybody can write a novel to a publishable standard, but it’s fair to point out that if most people think they can, then English departments have a guaranteed audience for CW courses. So there you have it. A simple equation, but an equation non-the-less. Add to this the fact that on-line (distance learning) courses have answered the demand for students to keep costs down by studying from home, and you can see why, at the end of 2011, an internet search for CW on-line tuition brought up only two distance learning courses whereas two years later, the same search listed a screen-full of possibilities. Now, in 2015, there are even more. So, if the education industry is providing what we as consumers are asking it for, can we really complain? </p><p>I can only talk about my own experience, and it’s been extremely positive. I perform best with repeated reviews of my work, intelligent and structured comments from a feedback group, the overarching guidance of a supervisor, and a recommended reading list. Yes, it’s true you can learn to edit your own work (you have to!) and trawl websites for book reviews but for me, that’s never been a substitute. Every writer benefits from mentoring at some stage in their career. I wouldn’t change my path one bit. I remain a champion of Creative Writing courses, and of distance learning. I’m sure I would’ve got there in the end, but I have no doubt that my MA shaved two or more years off the process. Long may the CW course continue! </p><p><i><strong>Liz Monument is a novelist and PhD student at Lancaster University. Her novel, The Eternity Fund, is published as an audio exclusive by Amazon Audible on the 17th February. </strong></i></p><p>www.lizmonument.com</p><p><i>February 2015</i></p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35131142015-02-07T19:39:41+00:002023-08-22T08:38:21+01:00New Horizons? Sci Fi Fantasy and What Authors Say… <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/1cf4f795ec6e045b779a6089c20fa2d91df36774/original/adobestock-598289274.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><br>Here are a few of my favourite quotes, from people who’ve spent their entire careers in SF and F, and which, no matter how many times I read them (and for vastly different reasons) remain an inspiration…<br> <br><i>Ursual Le Guin on writing SFF in the 1970’s:</i><br>‘Writing was something that men set the rules for, and I had never questioned that… So I fit myself into the man’s world of writing and wrote like a man, presenting only the male point of view. My early books are all set in a man’s world. [And then literary feminism came along and I thought] hey, guess what? You’re a woman. You can write like a woman. I saw that women don’t have to write about what men write about, or write what men think they want to read. I saw that women have whole areas of experience men don’t have—and that they’re worth writing and reading about.’<br>The Art of Fiction No. 221, <a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.theparisreview.org/">www.theparisreview.org</a> (2014)</p><p><br> <br><i>Margaret Atwood on the truths that set a foundation for ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’:</i><br>‘I made a rule for myself: I would not include anything that human beings had not already done in some other place or time, or for which the technology did not already exist. I did not wish to be accused of dark, twisted inventions, or of misrepresenting the human potential for deplorable behaviour. The group-activated hangings, the tearing apart of human beings, the clothing specific to castes and classes, the forced childbearing and the appropriation of the results, the children stolen by regimes and placed for upbringing with high-ranking officials, the forbidding of literacy, the denial of property rights: all had precedents, and many were to be found not in other cultures and religions, but within western society…’<br>www.theguardian.com/books/2012</p><p><br> <br><i>Ursula Le Guin on fantasy:</i><br>‘Commodified fantasy takes no risks: it invents nothing, but imitates and trivialises. It proceeds by depriving the old stories of their intellectual and ethical complexity, turning their action to violence, their actors to dolls, and their truth-telling to sentimental platitude… Like all we do and have, it can be co-opted and degraded; but it survives commercial and didactic exploitation. The land outlasts the empires. The conquerors may leave desert where there was forest and meadow, but the rain will fall, the rivers will run to the sea. The unstable, mutable, untruthful realms of Once-upon-a-time are as much a part of human history and thought as the nations in our kaleidoscopic atlases, and some are more enduring.’<br>Foreword to ‘Tales of Earthsea’ (2001)</p><p><br> <br><i>Octavia E Butler on labels in fiction:</i><br>‘Most of what I do is science fiction. Some of the things I do are fantasy. I don’t like the labels, they’re marketing tools, and I certainly don’t worry about them when I’m writing. They are also inhibiting factors; you wind up not getting read by certain people, or not getting sold to certain people because they think they know what you write. You say science fiction and everybody thinks <i>Star Wars</i> or <i>Star Trek.’</i><br>Callaloo Journal (1991)</p><p><br> <br><i>Ann McCaffrey on being called a fantasy writer:</i><br>‘People have freaked out when I tell them that my dragons are scientifically based... what else can you call a genetically engineered life form? But I must say I get a kick out of cutting them short when they call me a 'fantasy' writer.’<br>Writing-world.com, interview with Lynn Jamneck (2004)</p><p><br> <br> </p><p><br>Women's SF & F is my inspiration, and has a huge influence on my continuing PhD project.<br> </p>Liz Monumenttag:lizmonument.com,2005:Post/35074432015-02-05T12:37:24+00:002023-08-22T08:38:50+01:00Why Sci Fi/Fantasy?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/134087/ed11ef7f6814703133ead5c70a908d1f43910561/original/adobestock-553922649.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><br><span>Dressing old problems in a new overcoat is a terrific way of holding a mirror up to society. I love the freedom that SF gives authors to reinvent cultures, to mess with hierarchies and to make social comment.</span><br><span> </span><br><span>Some of the most thought-provoking fiction ever written (Frankenstein, Dracula, Nineteen Eighty Four, Day of the Triffids, The Memoirs of a Survivor) deals with imagined realities.</span><br><span> </span><br><span>And yet, so I’m reliably informed, around 80% of readers will never pick up a book that is labelled SFF because they don’t think they will enjoy it.</span><br><span> </span><br><span>Why?</span><br><span> </span><br><span>I’m genuinely puzzled when people say ‘I don’t read SF/F’ but then watch (and love!) films such as Terminator, Alien, The X Files, Jurassic Park, and Avatar. Is it possible that the majority of the film-going, TV-watching public simply </span><i>don’t notice</i><span> that a huge portion of their cinematic diet is Sci Fi/Fantasy? (And this is a genuine question, because as a writer of SF/F, I’m hardly impartial.)</span><br><span> </span><br><span>My message to those of you who loved any of the above, or the Harry Potter, Twilight or Hunger Games films, is this: If you watch it, you should read it, too.</span><br><span> </span><br><span>Below are some of my absolute favourite Sci Fi Fantasy reads. This is a diverse list, and I unashamedly use the SF/F label as a catch-all term for anything not quite of this world/reality.</span><br><span> </span><br><span>So here goes, in no particular order…</span><br><span> </span><br><span>The Memoirs of A Survivor, Doris Lessing</span><br><span>Mara and Dann, Doris Lessing</span><br><span>The White Dragon, Anne McCaffrey</span><br><span>The Earthsea Trilogy, Ursula Le Guin</span><br><span>Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell</span><br><span>The Bone Clocks, David Mitchell</span><br><span>The MaddAddam Trilogy, Margaret Atwood</span><br><span>The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood</span><br><span>The Crystal World, JG Ballard</span><br><span>The Drowned World, JG Ballard</span><br><span>A Natural History of Dragons, Marie Brennan</span><br><span>The Ice People, Maggie Gee</span><br><span>A Wrinkle in the Skin, John Christopher</span><br><span>The Trouble with Litchen, John Wyndham</span><br><span>Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey</span></p><p><i><span>February 2015</span></i></p><p> </p>Liz Monument