Started rereading the new novel Twisted Agendas again and have decided I need to make some changes.
Was terrified it would suck as some of one's work does depending on one's mood.
On that point, I do wish some published writers would take their time and not churn out books. Some are really badly written and edited. Instead of building an audience, they're losing readers.
Am happy to report my novel reads pretty good. At least it dos to me, though I think I'm going to rewrite from a different point of view. Also just finished reading a book on writing techniques and feel inspired. We'll see.
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
Sunday
Friday
The trouble with plot is plotting
Recently my writer's group had a discussion about plotting; how arduous it is, how vital, how long-winded, how boring....did I say vital?
Some people just start a novel and write.
Others plot and outline.
Others never start.
Anyway, read what one of our member's blog about it. Marie is the author of a brilliant YA novel, What I Meant..., which we had the privilege of reading and critiquing until she sold it.
Here's Marie's post:
Some people just start a novel and write.
Others plot and outline.
Others never start.
Anyway, read what one of our member's blog about it. Marie is the author of a brilliant YA novel, What I Meant..., which we had the privilege of reading and critiquing until she sold it.
Here's Marie's post:
Sunday
American Country Home For Sale
This gorgeous French Country Style American Home's now For Sale. High ceilings, open plan for modern living, latest amenities and wooden floors throughout. Great local schools.
Situated in the beautiful quiet American Countryside on a wooded 4+ acre lot in famous Bucks County, an hour and twenty minutes from New York City and just under an hour from Philadelphia.
Area abounds with nature and talent--from actors, artists, authors and sculptors. Close to New jersey's Pharmaceutical corridor if you're a techie or corporate director.
And even better, it's in an area of the US that's stable and real estate prices haven't been affected by the recent bust.
Monday
Is there really a thing called women's fiction
So I took the plunge and decided to open the covers of my first 'women's fiction' novel. It's My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
Thursday
Hectic is good
Been a little hectic here as Larry and I were away for a week in Ireland for a family affair. Wonderful to catch up on parents, siblings and nephews and nieces.
Novel is now DONE. I spent many late nights prior to my departure working on it. It was horrible to have to read and rewrite until two in the morning, one of those times wehn I don't like writing. But, of course, once the finished product is in one's hands, it becomes a horse of a different color.
Novel has been read and enjoyed by Jeanne, a member of my writing group. That was an anxious time as Jeanne knows what's bad and what's good and lets me know--which is what I want. Will make changes she suggests and get it off to my agent in NYC.
More anon
Novel is now DONE. I spent many late nights prior to my departure working on it. It was horrible to have to read and rewrite until two in the morning, one of those times wehn I don't like writing. But, of course, once the finished product is in one's hands, it becomes a horse of a different color.
Novel has been read and enjoyed by Jeanne, a member of my writing group. That was an anxious time as Jeanne knows what's bad and what's good and lets me know--which is what I want. Will make changes she suggests and get it off to my agent in NYC.
More anon
Friday
Approaching the finishing post
This week has been a productive week, both from a writing and strategy perspective with regard to my new novel.
The finishing post of the new novel now entitled Tangles in the City is in sight and I'm very excited. Hopefully that will occur in the next few weeks. What was once thought to be a rewrite when it was taken by The Friday Project has become an entirely new novel that will spawn three or more sequels and I have enjoyed most of the time spent writing it. Some characters that were minor, existing only to move the plot forward, have taken on their own lives and the book is richer, I feel, as a result.
The novel, set now in 2001, spans two cities, namely London and New York City.
Some last minute research is ongoing. I needed to speak to someone in the UK's Special Branch (MI5) as one of the plot points revolves around an arrest of a character suspected of terrorist affiliation. That hasn't happened as yet, but I've now made contact with a TV director over there who writes about police and organized crime and that has been very helpful. There are also a couple of excellent books I've ordered from my local library dealing with the issue.
And, as it will go on submission to houses in the United States, I chatted to my agent in NYC this week and he wants to read it as soon as possible and give me his take. I've promised him a copy sometime in March, so that will be my incentive to get it done.
So all systems go.
The finishing post of the new novel now entitled Tangles in the City is in sight and I'm very excited. Hopefully that will occur in the next few weeks. What was once thought to be a rewrite when it was taken by The Friday Project has become an entirely new novel that will spawn three or more sequels and I have enjoyed most of the time spent writing it. Some characters that were minor, existing only to move the plot forward, have taken on their own lives and the book is richer, I feel, as a result.
The novel, set now in 2001, spans two cities, namely London and New York City.
Some last minute research is ongoing. I needed to speak to someone in the UK's Special Branch (MI5) as one of the plot points revolves around an arrest of a character suspected of terrorist affiliation. That hasn't happened as yet, but I've now made contact with a TV director over there who writes about police and organized crime and that has been very helpful. There are also a couple of excellent books I've ordered from my local library dealing with the issue.
And, as it will go on submission to houses in the United States, I chatted to my agent in NYC this week and he wants to read it as soon as possible and give me his take. I've promised him a copy sometime in March, so that will be my incentive to get it done.
So all systems go.
A page a day
I heard John Grisham on the telly the other day. he was being interviewed about his new novel, The Appeal, his first return to the legal thriller genre in four years.
One of the questions he was asked from an unpublished writer was "Any advice for a writer?"
He looked deadpan at the camera and said "Write a page a day." That's 365 pages in a year and a book. One book a year. It's the only way someone will get published. Writing a page a day.
Many people want to write but they feel overwhelmed. They begin a novel but eventually lose momentum and it languishes and then gets forgotten about. So Mr. Grisham gave excellent advice.
He was also asked if he starts a book and just lets things flow. He doesn't. He spends ages writing a detailed outline, knowing where every chapter begins and ends, and only begins when that's done.
That works for some writers. Myself, I don't write an outline. I've done it, but deviated from it so much that I'm not at all convinced it's the only strategy. I do character portraits so I know my characters very deeply before I begin, but that's about it. I allow them to breathe and talk as I write, let them take me to places they want to go in the story. But always I bear in mind that they cannot be allowed to control the story. Only I can do that, and they must be subordinate to the needs of the plot.
And I realize that subconsciously I have an outline in my head. I know where I want to begin and where I want it to end, but in between is open season so to speak.
Grisham's interview made me think about his books. I like them. He is a plot master, though I would not consider him a tremendous writer. I don't think that's his objective though. His goal is to tell excellent stories and he uses the prose that gets that done. Ergo, he is successful and I'm not just talking commercially.
When I compare his style to say McEwan, it is clear McEwan is a master of language. Some of his descriptions in Atonement are literally breathtaking, evoke a joyful "Yes, I've seen moss and colors like that on an old fountain and it does look like that" or "Wow, that's perfect." And yet, I have picked up Atonement twice now and cannot seem to get through it. I don't know if it's because the life of an upper-class English family no longer interests me or the plot is slow and, at times, a little unbelievable.
Either way, when you pick up a Grisham, you know you're going to finish it. So in conclusion, I guess the two writers have different objectives which they meet and are thus successful in their own distinct ways.
One of the questions he was asked from an unpublished writer was "Any advice for a writer?"
He looked deadpan at the camera and said "Write a page a day." That's 365 pages in a year and a book. One book a year. It's the only way someone will get published. Writing a page a day.
Many people want to write but they feel overwhelmed. They begin a novel but eventually lose momentum and it languishes and then gets forgotten about. So Mr. Grisham gave excellent advice.
He was also asked if he starts a book and just lets things flow. He doesn't. He spends ages writing a detailed outline, knowing where every chapter begins and ends, and only begins when that's done.
That works for some writers. Myself, I don't write an outline. I've done it, but deviated from it so much that I'm not at all convinced it's the only strategy. I do character portraits so I know my characters very deeply before I begin, but that's about it. I allow them to breathe and talk as I write, let them take me to places they want to go in the story. But always I bear in mind that they cannot be allowed to control the story. Only I can do that, and they must be subordinate to the needs of the plot.
And I realize that subconsciously I have an outline in my head. I know where I want to begin and where I want it to end, but in between is open season so to speak.
Grisham's interview made me think about his books. I like them. He is a plot master, though I would not consider him a tremendous writer. I don't think that's his objective though. His goal is to tell excellent stories and he uses the prose that gets that done. Ergo, he is successful and I'm not just talking commercially.
When I compare his style to say McEwan, it is clear McEwan is a master of language. Some of his descriptions in Atonement are literally breathtaking, evoke a joyful "Yes, I've seen moss and colors like that on an old fountain and it does look like that" or "Wow, that's perfect." And yet, I have picked up Atonement twice now and cannot seem to get through it. I don't know if it's because the life of an upper-class English family no longer interests me or the plot is slow and, at times, a little unbelievable.
Either way, when you pick up a Grisham, you know you're going to finish it. So in conclusion, I guess the two writers have different objectives which they meet and are thus successful in their own distinct ways.
When is it art and when is it shite?
Though I mull this question often--especially when I start reading new books whose covers I find attractive--this question came into sharper focus when I learned the iconic album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club was released by The Beatles forty years ago today. Though I was far too young to understand its significance then, I am always deeply moved every time I hear one of its tracks played out of the blue on radio now. That it is still relevant and moving today is a sign of true art in my estimation.
I wonder if the same will be said forty years hence of another Brit's work. The artist Damien Hirst will exhibit his latest and most expensive piece at a gallery in London early this month. Renowned, admired or ridiculed for his steel and glass tanks containing a 'pickled' shark, sliced cows, whole sheep and sides of hogs, he has now cast a skull of platinum and encased it with 8,500 diamonds in collaboration with a Bond Street jeweler, which will sell for fifty million pounds to an art collector. The artist states the piece represents his 'to hell with death'--what better way to depict it than taking the ultimate symbol of death and covering in in something that represents absolute luxury, decadence and desire.
Already speculation is mounting as to whether the American financier Steve Cohen who bought Mr. Hirst's shark for millions (a shark that is now so deteriorated another replacement had to be pickled and installed) will now pony up for the skull. Or will it be new Russian money or a rich Arab, perhaps?
Some speculate that Hirst is taking the mickey, that by creating this piece from such expensive raw materials he is really deriding all the nouveau riche art patrons who fork out huge sums for his and other similar works.
Is a shark pickled in formaldehyde that rots and has to be replaced art? Or is it just a shark suspended in formaldehyde? Is the art the original shark or is it the replacement shark?
I don't have the answer. What I can honestly say is the following: if I had fifty million dollars I would neither buy a jewel encrusted skull nor a Jackson Pollack.
Turning my musings to the book world, I find I am confronted with the same dilemma when I begin a new book, most often fiction. Sometimes I will eagerly begin to read a work from a much celebrated writer, a writer who's feted and puffed in the review sections of newspapers, a writer who's won prizes, and a few pages in I slam it shut and set it aside in disgust. At first, I used to blame myself when I could not enjoy such a work. After all, he or she was critically acclaimed so who am I to judge that it's illiterate, plotless, whiney? (the latter relating to nonfiction).
Now I just say it's shite and move on.
Some might say that I'm a writer and thus jealous because these writers have received tons of exposure, sold millions of books, and their opinions are swallowed whole when they render them in public. But it's definitely not that. I love good writing. And shite is shite, whether it comes from an unpublished or much ballyhooed author.
I wonder if the same will be said forty years hence of another Brit's work. The artist Damien Hirst will exhibit his latest and most expensive piece at a gallery in London early this month. Renowned, admired or ridiculed for his steel and glass tanks containing a 'pickled' shark, sliced cows, whole sheep and sides of hogs, he has now cast a skull of platinum and encased it with 8,500 diamonds in collaboration with a Bond Street jeweler, which will sell for fifty million pounds to an art collector. The artist states the piece represents his 'to hell with death'--what better way to depict it than taking the ultimate symbol of death and covering in in something that represents absolute luxury, decadence and desire.
Already speculation is mounting as to whether the American financier Steve Cohen who bought Mr. Hirst's shark for millions (a shark that is now so deteriorated another replacement had to be pickled and installed) will now pony up for the skull. Or will it be new Russian money or a rich Arab, perhaps?
Some speculate that Hirst is taking the mickey, that by creating this piece from such expensive raw materials he is really deriding all the nouveau riche art patrons who fork out huge sums for his and other similar works.
Is a shark pickled in formaldehyde that rots and has to be replaced art? Or is it just a shark suspended in formaldehyde? Is the art the original shark or is it the replacement shark?
I don't have the answer. What I can honestly say is the following: if I had fifty million dollars I would neither buy a jewel encrusted skull nor a Jackson Pollack.
Turning my musings to the book world, I find I am confronted with the same dilemma when I begin a new book, most often fiction. Sometimes I will eagerly begin to read a work from a much celebrated writer, a writer who's feted and puffed in the review sections of newspapers, a writer who's won prizes, and a few pages in I slam it shut and set it aside in disgust. At first, I used to blame myself when I could not enjoy such a work. After all, he or she was critically acclaimed so who am I to judge that it's illiterate, plotless, whiney? (the latter relating to nonfiction).
Now I just say it's shite and move on.
Some might say that I'm a writer and thus jealous because these writers have received tons of exposure, sold millions of books, and their opinions are swallowed whole when they render them in public. But it's definitely not that. I love good writing. And shite is shite, whether it comes from an unpublished or much ballyhooed author.
Thursday
A word about 75,000 words
Yesterday I reached a critical point in the writing of my first work of nonfiction, the one about my coming to live in America, and have been toying with the idea of publishing an excerpt on the blog.
Anyway, I reached a critical point yesterday and passed the 75,000 word mark. I don't exactly know why 75,000 thousand words is so important, but suspect it's because it would be a pleasingly thick book, a book with heft, if it were to be published tomorrow--the sort of heft that asserts 'I have 270 ragged-edged pages inside for you to feel and I am well worth the $24.95 you'll fork out for me in hardcover.' ($24.95 is a sort of median price for hardcovers here in the US.)
I also know the ending now--the final scene ran in my head yesterday like the speeding ticker tape at the ABC TV studios in Times Square--and the manuscript will come in at around 80,000 words in its rough form.
Of course, word content doth not a quality book make. I know that. That takes good writing and an interesting story, which requires a great deal of drafting and redrafting until one is sick of the manuscript so one doesn't ever want to see the manuscript again, hates and loves and hates and loves the manuscript, sometimes wants to hurl it into a blazing fire because it makes one think one is a shite writer. Oh, and a great book requires a great editor.
But, to get to the love-hate-love stage I must have words, at least 75,000 words. Because then I know I have written a book and I can slash and add and edit with impunity. I can because I do not have to fear facing a blank screen page that cries to be filled. I need to have that knowledge. It's my security blanket.
Now to think up an interesting title because I don't think America and Me cuts it for me any longer.
Anyway, I reached a critical point yesterday and passed the 75,000 word mark. I don't exactly know why 75,000 thousand words is so important, but suspect it's because it would be a pleasingly thick book, a book with heft, if it were to be published tomorrow--the sort of heft that asserts 'I have 270 ragged-edged pages inside for you to feel and I am well worth the $24.95 you'll fork out for me in hardcover.' ($24.95 is a sort of median price for hardcovers here in the US.)
I also know the ending now--the final scene ran in my head yesterday like the speeding ticker tape at the ABC TV studios in Times Square--and the manuscript will come in at around 80,000 words in its rough form.
Of course, word content doth not a quality book make. I know that. That takes good writing and an interesting story, which requires a great deal of drafting and redrafting until one is sick of the manuscript so one doesn't ever want to see the manuscript again, hates and loves and hates and loves the manuscript, sometimes wants to hurl it into a blazing fire because it makes one think one is a shite writer. Oh, and a great book requires a great editor.
But, to get to the love-hate-love stage I must have words, at least 75,000 words. Because then I know I have written a book and I can slash and add and edit with impunity. I can because I do not have to fear facing a blank screen page that cries to be filled. I need to have that knowledge. It's my security blanket.
Now to think up an interesting title because I don't think America and Me cuts it for me any longer.
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